Sticky Notes: The Classical Music Podcast

When the great pianist and composer Frederic Chopin decided to write a piano sonata in 1837, fashions had turned against the genre itself. Perhaps it was a feeling that Beethoven had essentially "finished" the genre, or perhaps it was a sense that a non-Germanic composer couldn't possibly master a form such as the Sonata, but Chopin's forays into the realm of the Piano Sonata were not generally appreciated. Robert Schumann famously said this about the Sonata: "The idea of calling it a sonata is a caprice, if not a jest, for he has simply bound together four of his most maddest children, thus under his name smuggling them into a place into which they could not else have penetrated.", This is criticism that we'll pick apart later, because it is very specific and goes to a big challenge within the piece. Mendelssohn also despised the piece, and until 1900, most of the critical reception to the piece was negative, criticizing its supposed lack of coherence and the strange last movement in particular. As a complete piece, the Sonata was rarely played until the 20th century. But there was one movement of the Sonata that was played a lot, and which has remained perhaps one of the most recognizable pieces of classical music in history. Yes, the famous Chopin Funeral March isn't a standalone piece, it's part of the 2nd piano sonata! And slowly, as forms became less rigid, and as experiments with tonality and even with inner coherence of movements became less taboo, Chopin's sonata received a critical second look, and performers began to take on the piece not as an exercise in trying to make the rest of the Sonata work around the Funeral March, but as a great work in its entirety. Now it is firmly part of the repertoire and is hailed as a masterpiece of innovation and creativity. The Funeral March itself is probably in the top 5 most played pieces of classical music, and was played at Chopin's own funeral, as well as at the funerals of John F Kennedy, Winston Churchill, Margaret Thatcher, Queen Elizabeth II, as well as of Soviet and Communist leaders. This of course doesn't include the countless times the movement has been heard at funerals of lesser-known figures. It is practically a cultural meme at this point and has been adapted thousands of times - if you think about a funeral, or about death, it is certainly possible that the Chopin Funeral march filters through your mind. But today is about much more than the Funeral March, it is about exploring this whole sonata, from its scintillating first few chords, to the experiments with sonata form throughout the first movement, to the dramatic scherzo, to that funeral march, and to the frankly bizarre last movement, which is over before you even blink. We're going to talk about all this, and more, on this Patreon Sponsored episode. Join us!

As I've often said, I love doing Patreon-sponsored episodes in part because they allow me to discover music I might never have encountered otherwise. Today's episode is one of those, because the truth is that before I made it, I had heard of Finzi, but that was about it. I knew nothing about the circumstances of his life or his music, and while I knew this was a hole in my musical knowledge, I hadn't had time to fill it. Well, thanks to Jillian, I got the time to explore this wonderful 20th-century composer's works, and now I'm ready to tell you about him, since I imagine his is an unfamiliar name to many of you listening.

Gerald Finzi was a terrific composer and a fascinating figure in 20th-century music. He struck out on his own path, refusing to follow the trends of the time, and as a result his music has a special, unique quality: a bit more modest than that of someone trying to change the world, like Schoenberg, but nonetheless deeply human and often inspired by literary interests. Finzi was interested in much more than music, and amassed a library of over 3,000 volumes of English poetry, philosophy, and literature, much of which ended up appearing in his music.

This powerful marriage of poetry and music produced Finzi's strongest and most enduring works. Since Jillian left it up to me which of his works to tell you about today, I decided to lean into his love of English poetry and take a detailed look at a piece many consider his masterpiece: Dies Natalis, which translates to "Day of Birth," a work for solo voice and string orchestra.

The piece is set to the poetry of the 17th-century English Metaphysical poet and priest Thomas Traherne, and explores innocence, from the first moments a baby enters the world to the tarnishing of that innocence as the child grows older. This was a topic Finzi knew all too well, having lost all three of his brothers during his early years. The piece is a profound yet tender meditation on the joys and sufferings of new life, and I can't wait to share it with you today.

Dmitri Shostakovich: "I have set myself a task fraught with tremendous responsibility, to express in sound the immortal image of Lenin as a great son of the Russian people and as a leader of the masses. I have received numerous letters from all over the Soviet Union with regard to my future symphony. The most important advice contained therein was to make considerable use of musical folklore."

In the massively consequential year of 1939, Shostakovich used these words to launch his Sixth Symphony. The piece was meant to have soloists and a chorus alongside the orchestra — perhaps a nod to his Second and Third Symphonies, which were essentially propaganda pieces. Shostakovich even promised to use the poem "Vladimir Ilyich Lenin" by Vladimir Mayakovsky as the basis for his choral text.

The Soviet public eagerly awaited this new symphony, which was inevitably going to be compared with his Fifth Symphony — the piece that had brought Shostakovich back into the Soviet government's good graces, and which remains one of his most popular works even as it's also one of his most complex and nuanced pieces beneath its relatively conservative surface.

But whether Shostakovich ever actually planned to write this gigantic "Lenin" symphony is highly doubtful, since no sketches of it have ever turned up. Instead, Shostakovich pivoted publicly to describing his new symphony this way:

"The musical character of the Sixth Symphony will differ from the mood and emotional tone of the Fifth Symphony, in which moments of tragedy and tension were characteristic. In my latest symphony, music of a contemplative and lyrical order predominates. I wanted to convey in it the moods of spring, joy, youth."[6]

As you can see, Shostakovich wasn't actually saying much about the content of the symphony — if anything at all. He was leaving things deliberately ambiguous, and, fittingly, ambiguous is a pretty good description of this highly enigmatic symphony.

Everything about this symphony is slightly off. It's in three movements, not the typical four, and it opens with a massive slow movement; the two remaining movements are fast and significantly shorter, together lasting less than the first movement alone. It was written in 1939 — supposedly a year of military triumph for the Soviet Union, given the Stalin pact with Hitler that allowed Hitler to invade Poland and launch World War II — and yet there is not a hint of military triumphalism in it.

In short, this symphony confused a lot of people and has always received mixed reviews, whether from musicologists trying to fit it into the traditional "everything in Shostakovich is about Stalin" narrative, or from Soviet critics of the time trying to fit it into Socialist Realist aesthetics. In the end, descriptions of Shostakovich always attempt to put him into a box — silent dissident, Soviet stooge, hero, coward, etc. The truth, of course, is complicated, and this symphony is a great example of the eternal enigma that is Dmitri Shostakovich.

Today, on this Patreon-sponsored episode, I'll take you through this wonderful symphony from a musical perspective, trying to parse its unusual form, its unusually lyrical first movement, and the wild, madcap dash of the final two movements. Join us!

Grieg's Peer Gynt suites are among the best-known and best-loved works of classical music in the world. They are practically embedded into popular culture, being used in a dizzying number of cartoons, advertisements, and films. In the classical music world, as with Beethoven's 5th symphony, they have almost become a cliché, and they are often performed on so-called Pops concerts. The two big hits from Peer Gynt, Morning Mood and In the Hall of the Mountain King, are instantly recognizable to the general public, even if they don't know who wrote the music or where it comes from. And where all this music comes from is really interesting, and is going to be one of the main topics of this show. Because the famous music from Peer Gynt comes from the two suites that Grieg took from his massive score of incidental music to Henrik Ibsen's play in verse, Peer Gynt. The two suites together take about 45 minutes to perform, but Grieg actually wrote an extra hour's worth of music! He then extracted, for his suites, the music that he felt would stand on its own without the text, and this was quite a good decision, as they are certainly his most popular pieces and have etched his name into the classical music pantheon forever. But what about the rest of that music? What about the play itself? Today, on this Patreon-sponsored episode, we'll tell the story of the origins of Peer Gynt, both from Ibsen and from Grieg, and then we'll go through the nearly 2 hours of incidental music, most of it in a bit of a cursory way (which frankly is perfectly appropriate for Grieg, whose music abounds with naive simplicity and gorgeous tunes), but all the way through we are going to tell the wacky, wonderful, and way-ahead-of-its-time story of Peer Gynt, all through the music that Grieg wrote. On the show today you'll hear some of the most famous music in the world, and then some music that only the most passionate of connoisseurs have encountered. So, in essence, my kind of show. Join us!

When it comes to a piece like the Mozart Clarinet Concerto, a few words or phrases regularly come up: the concerto is described as "mellow" or Mozart's "swan song," but most often it is described as "perfect." Such a perfect piece as Mozart's Clarinet Concerto must have been hugely popular during Mozart's lifetime, right? It must have been played all over, by all the virtuoso clarinetists of the day. Well, that is not even close to the case. At the age of 35, Mozart was kind of old news in the economically depressed, repressed, and censored city of Vienna in 1790. There were very few concerts during this period, and Mozart's popularity had waned severely. The clarinet concerto, one of a wealth of brilliant (and yes, perfect) pieces Mozart wrote in the final year of his life, was performed once by the man for whom Mozart wrote it, Anton Stadler, before Mozart's death, but the location and the program of that concert are forgotten. The manuscript of the concerto is lost, which means we actually don't know a lot about it, especially considering it wasn't actually written for a standard clarinet, but for a basset clarinet (we'll get to that later). The piece was written just about two months before Mozart's death and was his last completed work, though there's absolutely no evidence that Mozart knew he was dying when he wrote it. All in all, there's actually a lot of mystery surrounding this perfect piece, and yet, when we hear the luminous music that Mozart wrote, all of this falls away. There is truly a kind of perfection to this music, a golden quality that is inescapable. There is no clarinet concerto that is performed more often or more recorded, and it remains a perennial favorite for clarinetists and orchestras around the world. Today, on this Patreon-sponsored episode, we'll talk about all these mysteries surrounding this concerto, Anton Stadler, the basset clarinet, and of course, the wonderful music itself, though, as always, Mozart sometimes defies description. Join us!

It took a lot to make the composer and critic Virgil Thomson happy. He was famous for savaging new works he didn't like, and the truth is, he didn't like very many new works at all. One exception was Bohuslav Martinů's very first symphony, written in 1942. Thomson said this: "The Martinů Symphony is a beaut. It is wholly lovely and doesn't sound like anything else."

The story of how this symphony came to be is as fascinating as the music itself, and it's perfectly in keeping with the relentless curiosity of Martinů as a composer. Martinů, a prolific composer who wrote nearly 400 works, had just arrived in the US in 1941 as a refugee from war-torn Czechoslovakia. He was 51 years old and had never written a symphony before. This delay wasn't a case of crushing self-doubt, as it was for Brahms. It was actually a seeming lack of interest in the symphonic genre, which was not unusual at the time. But in 1942, Martinů sent a letter to Serge Koussevitzky, the music director of the Boston Symphony Orchestra and a friend to the dozens of refugee composers who had arrived from Europe during the early days of World War II. Koussevitzky commissioned Martinů to write a large-scale work, and Martinů responded with his First Symphony -- a perfect welcome to his new home, and to the grand adventure he was setting off on in a country he found intimidating, exciting, and full of opportunity. The result is a piece of remarkable contrast, energy, light, and boisterous hope, given the situation back in his homeland. As the sponsor of this episode, Pere Casan Bonet, put it, the symphony is "a pool of energy that makes me feel optimistic even at my lowest points."

We'll start today with a quick overview of Martinů's life and work, since he might not be the most familiar composer to you, and then we'll talk our way through this incredible First Symphony. Martinů has always been one of my favorite "underrated" composers, so it's a thrill to get to talk to you about him today. Join us!

Thence the universe resounds

With a joyful cry

I AM.

These are the final lines of Alexander Scriabin's epic Poem of Ecstasy, a 300-line poem that takes nearly 10 minutes to read aloud and is one of the most surreal texts in the world. Scriabin wrote a Poem of Ecstasy in text and a Poem of Ecstasy in music simultaneously. Both are absolutely wild, with the musical Poem of Ecstasy being a 20-minute thrill ride that alternates between languid, sinewy, seductive music and some of the loudest, most over-the-top, and dramatic music that could possibly exist. I've always been fascinated by Scriabin, and so this week's episode is an opportunity to talk about his wild (I'm going to be using that word a lot today) life and the eclectic philosophy behind Scriabin's works, as well as to take you through this masterpiece of musical sensuality. Scriabin not only doesn't shy away from sensual aspects in music but instead fully embraces them; in fact, the original title for this piece was Orgiastic Poem! Thankfully, since the piece probably would have never been performed with that title, Scriabin changed the name to Poem of Ecstasy, and the piece has stayed in the repertoire of most big orchestras ever since. And big is the key word here, because this piece is written for an absolutely massive orchestra. Like a Mahler symphony, the Poem of Ecstasy is an event whenever it is performed, simply from seeing the sheer size of the orchestra on stage when you see this piece live in concert. It is truly an overwhelming experience to listen to this piece, and I can't wait to share it with you this week. Join us!

Ancient, mysterious, brooding savage dreams; Within them dwells the Forest's mighty God, And wood-sprites in the gloom weave magic secrets.

These lines are affixed to the first page of Sibelius' tone poem Tapiola, a piece that is mysterious in many ways and stands as Sibelius' last completed major work. You might be expecting me to say that Sibelius died soon after its composition, but this is not the case. Sibelius wrote Tapiola in 1926, but did not pass away until 1957. Over the course of Sibelius' final 30 years, he wrote almost no music, a creative silence that has never been properly explained. There are many theories about this silence, but the answer to why Sibelius stopped composing might never be found. So, we have this final major piece, Tapiola, written at the very height of the composer's powers. Tapiola, a piece of around 15–20 minutes in duration, is concentrated Sibelius at its very best. It is a piece full of mystery, atmosphere, and most of all, the immense and overwhelming power of nature. Tapiola directly translates to "The Realm of Tapio," Tapio being the forest spirit that is prominent in the Finnish national epic myth, the Kalevala. Throughout this piece, Sibelius uses an incredible economy of ideas to create something wholly unique. There is not a single composer who sounds like Sibelius, and furthermore, no piece of Sibelius' that sounds like this one, save maybe for the 7th symphony, written just before Tapiola. It is a piece absolutely at odds with modern life, with the speed and energy of a city, with the short, attention-grabbing dopamine hits of social media, and even with our modern understanding of nature. As the writer Jay Goodwin says, "Like all art, music is chiefly a humanistic pursuit, meant to provide us with a window to our world. In this piece, however, there is the hair-raising sense that the paradigm has been reversed and that we are the ones being watched. There is the sense that the music is listening to us." I would only change one word in that quote: during Tapiola, I think we have the sense that nature is listening to us, because this music is, essentially, nature. I can't wait to talk you through this wonderfully enigmatic work. Join us!

In the aftermath of World War II, the Swiss composer Arthur Honegger, who had been living in occupied Paris throughout the war, wrote a new symphony entitled "Liturgical." He wrote an extended commentary on the piece, which included these lines: "My intention in this work was to symbolize the reaction of modern man against the morass of barbarism, stupidity, suffering, machine-mindedness, and bureaucracy that has been besieging us for some years now. I have reproduced in musical terms the combat that is joined in man's heart between yielding to the blind forces that encircle him and his instinct for happiness, his love of peace, his apprehension of a divine refuge. My symphony is, if you like, a drama played out between three characters, whether real or symbolic: misery, happiness, and man. These are everlasting themes. I have tried to give them new life."

It doesn't get much clearer than that in terms of a "message" behind a piece, and the symphony reflects these feelings of Honegger's in almost every note. This is not a symphony to be taken lightly, and over the course of its roughly 30-minute runtime, Honegger explores these ideas from three different perspectives, all centered around the Catholic liturgy. In this symphony, we find an attempt at understanding after the unthinkable had occurred, a passionate condemnation of war, and a search for eternal peace. This is a symphony that, in its heyday, was fairly popular, with recordings by two of the world's great conductors, Herbert von Karajan and Charles Munch, but it slowly faded from concert stages and is now very rarely performed. Thanks to Staffan for sponsoring today's episode on this symphony, which was a discovery for me and which I think will be a discovery for many of you as well. Today we'll talk about the detailed program that Honegger attached to the symphony, the liturgical connections in the piece, and of course the music itself. Join us!

In 1872, at the age of 31, Dvořák wrote a Piano Quintet designated as Opus 5. Dvořák was not a prodigy like some other famous composers; instead, his development as a composer was slow and steady. Later in his life, he would look back at some of these early pieces with a mix of nostalgia and embarrassment, burning some and revising others. In the case of the Op. 5 Piano Quintet, Dvořák decided to revise the piece in 1887, some 15 years after its original composition, at a point when he was approaching the peak of his creative powers. Soon, however, he cast aside the older quintet and decided to write an entirely new piece. What we were gifted was his Op. 81 Piano Quintet: a luminous, gorgeous, exciting, tragic, joyful, folk-like, classical, and flat-out masterful work that in some ways sums up what makes Dvořák such a wonderful composer, and why his music never really gets old.

The Dvořák Piano Quintet is the kind of piece that feels like an old friend from the moment you start listening. Forty minutes later, as it comes to its rollicking end, you feel as if you've been on a journey through a familiar tale told in the most illuminating way. I've always adored this piece, and now that I'm able to explore more chamber music on the show, I'm thrilled to share it with you this week. We'll talk about Dvořák's blend of folk-like sonorities with his adherence to classical forms, his inexhaustible melodies, and the intangibles that make his music so fresh and inviting. Join us!

Recording: Cleveland Quartet w/ Emanuel Ax

You might be wondering: why on earth would I choose a piece that is literally called "Dissonance" when I was looking for something a bit simpler or cleaner to talk about on the show today? Actually, Mozart's Dissonance quartet, probably his most famous and beloved quartet, was not called "Dissonance" by Mozart, and the rest of the piece is thought of as one of Mozart's most outgoing and cheerful works, though I think there's a bit more to it than that.

This quartet was part of a set of quartets dedicated to his friend and mentor Joseph Haydn, the father of the String Quartet. Upon their publication, Mozart wrote to Haydn: "Behold here, famous man and dearest friend, my six children. They are, to be sure, the fruit of long and arduous work, yet some friends have encouraged me to assume that I shall see this work rewarded to some extent at least, and this flatters me into believing that these children shall one day offer me some comfort."

The final one of this set of six quartets is the one we're going to talk about today, the one that has been dubbed "Dissonance." This single dissonance caused massive controversy in its time, which we'll get to later, but it is a fascinating insight into the rules of harmony at the time. Our sojourns into late Romanticism over the last few weeks, and especially my conversation with Case Scaglione about Wagner and the Tristan Chord, should help us understand the intensely heated debates that arose over that chord I just played you. So today on the show, we'll spend some time on that famous dissonance, then dive right into this glorious quartet, exploring Mozart's unparalleled ability to write the most glorious melodies and the most perfect harmonies.

Recording: Alban Berg Quartet

First Sight Analysis: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IctjJOMU9dk

Produced by: Charlie Koczela

Bienvenue dans cette édition spéciale du podcast Sticky Notes en français ! Aujourd'hui, nous parlons de la symphonie la plus célèbre du monde, et de la symphonie que nous allons interpréter à Lille les 21, 22 et 23 mai, la 5e symphonie de Beethoven. Et veuillez me pardonner pour toutes les erreurs de prononciation dans ma deuxième langue ! Bonne écoute ! »

Thank you to Jerry for sponsoring today's episode on Patreon!

Goethe's Faust is considered to be the greatest work of German literature. This sprawling, 2-part play occupied Goethe's life for nearly 60 years, from its original version, begun in 1772, all the way to Goethe's final revisions before his death. It inspired just about every Romantic era composer who came after it, including Beethoven, Schubert, Schumann, Brahms, Berlioz, Gounod, Mahler, and our subject for the show today, Franz Liszt.

Liszt, who was in many ways the world's first pop star, was initially skeptical of Faust, saying that he couldn't relate to the eponymous main character of the play. He wrote: "Faust's personality scatters and dissipates itself; he takes no action, lets himself be driven, hesitates, experiments, loses his way, considers, bargains, and is interested in his own little happiness."

But slowly, Liszt began to be taken in by this remarkable play and decided to try his hand at a reflection on it, writing a massive, 3-movement, 75-minute-long symphony that never attempts to tell the story of Faust, but instead reflects on the psychological nature of the 3 central characters: Faust, Gretchen, and Mephistopheles (the Devil). A lot of English-speaking listeners will know this as the story of a man who sold his soul to the devil, but for Goethe it was much more than that, and it was for Liszt as well.

I've never talked about Liszt on the show, because frankly I've never been in love with his music. But this is one of the great things that these Patreon-sponsored episodes can do — help me discover pieces that I've never come across before. So today, we're going to talk about Liszt, Faust, and then take a stab at some of the greatest moments in this symphony. We'll talk about thematic transformation, a technique Liszt essentially invented and which is a vital part of understanding this piece.

This is a free preview of my new series of mini-episodes over on Patreon all about Schubert's Die Schöne Mullerin, one of the great masterpieces of the 19th century. Each week we'll explore one song from the cycle, in a series of 21 episodes! Come join us over on Patreon.com/stickynotespodcast and thanks for listening!

This is a continuation of my new series where I learn about a new piece from a great friend/musician. This week I'm thrilled to welcome Case Scaglione, the Music Director of the Orchestre National D'Ile de France, for a discussion of the Prelude and Liebestod from Wagner's Tristan and Isolde. This is one of the most beloved pieces in the entire repertoire, and my longtime skepticism of Wagner has always kept me away. But Case has such a beautiful way of talking about Wagner that I might very well be convinced to give it another shot! This is a really fun and also philosophical episode - I hope you enjoy it!

https://open.spotify.com/track/3HcRU6WhAZ6ZON9tFhanJv?si=4cf47cfde06a4434

https://open.spotify.com/track/7AtzmeOGG4PdXcfoVklSo1?si=69034a5a52704929

The story of Lili Boulanger's life is one of the most fascinating and tragic in all of musical history. A remarkably precocious talent, Boulanger learned to read sheet music before the alphabet, played the violin, piano, cello, and harp, and composed regularly from a young age. Despite her talent and commitment, Boulanger suffered from chronic illness her entire life, which severely dampened her budding career and prevented her from reaching her potential. She died at the age of just 24, likely from Crohn's disease, and left behind several spectacular pieces that unfortunately were soon relatively forgotten. Boulanger's sister, Nadia, became one of the preeminent composition teachers of the 20th century, working with luminaries such as Aaron Copland, Elliott Carter, David Diamond, Philip Glass, Astor Piazzolla, and many more. But throughout the 20th century there was very little interest in Lili Boulanger's musical output. That has changed somewhat with a renewed focus on bringing the works of female composers to the stage, and this has led to an explosion of performances of a few works, specifically Boulanger's brilliant short orchestral pieces D'un Matin de Printemps and D'un Soir Triste. But there is still a dearth of performances of some of Boulanger's great choral pieces, and in particular of Psalm 130, a piece that I find to be absolutely stunning but which is almost never performed. The piece, written in memory of Lili and Nadia's father Ernest, is a lament that shows off the potential of the 22-year-old composer, writing a piece far beyond her years in its emotional maturity and technical construction. In many ways, Lili Boulanger should be thought of in the pantheon of the great musical prodigies in Western classical music. Unfortunately she should also be thought of in the pantheon of the great composers who died tragically young. Today on the show, we're going to do a brief overview of Lili Boulanger's life to orient you into her style, and then we'll go through this gorgeous piece, talking about Boulanger's influences and her creative use of those influences, and discussing whether the piece was autobiographical or not. I think you will really discover something very special with this piece, so come join us!

In a letter to Tchaikovsky's nephew Vladimir Davydov, Tchaikovsky wrote: "I'm very pleased with its content, but dissatisfied, or rather not completely satisfied, with the instrumentation. For some reason it's not coming out as I intended. It would be typical and unsurprising if this symphony were torn to pieces or little appreciated, as that wouldn't be the first time such a thing had happened. But I absolutely consider it to be the best, and in particular the most sincere, of all my creations. I love it as I have never loved any of my other musical offspring."

I'm returning to that word sincere this week for Part 2, because it's the through line that makes Tchaikovsky's music so immediately arresting. You always know exactly where you stand with Tchaikovsky, since he always seems to be speaking so honestly in his music. Well, almost always.

The last two movements of Tchaikovsky's 6th Symphony are among the most fascinating in the entire Western classical repertoire, and the reason for their fascination (beyond simply being wonderful movements) is the order in which Tchaikovsky places them. In a typical symphony, the third movement would be either a fast scherzo or a slow movement, depending on what the second movement had been. Since the second movement of this symphony was a waltz, audiences would have expected a slow third movement followed by a fast finale to send them home with some energy. But that is not what Tchaikovsky does. Instead, we hear a thrilling, exhilarating scherzo followed by a devastating slow movement, a choice that completely upended the form of the symphony as a genre, and was revolutionary for its time.

Why did Tchaikovsky do this? And why did this decision, in part, fuel massive controversy surrounding his death, just nine days after the symphony's premiere? We're going to explore all of that today, including the many theories about Tchaikovsky's death, before examining the 3rd and especially the 4th movements of this masterpiece in detail, unpacking the nuances of these profoundly contrasting movements.

The great and somewhat controversial conductor Leopold Stokowski said this about Tchaikovsky: "His musical utterance comes directly from the heart and is a spontaneous expression of his innermost feeling. It is as sincere as if it were written with his blood." I couldn't agree more with Stokowski, because I think he hits on a word that has made Tchaikovsky's music so powerful to almost every audience that encounters it: sincere. Tchaikovsky's music is so profoundly moving because you feel as if there is no gap between the music and Tchaikovsky's emotions. It's as if he is earnestly speaking to you through his music. But paradoxically, this ability that Tchaikovsky had made him a punching bag of critics and cynics throughout his career and even into today. Even though Tchaikovsky remains one of the most popular composers in the Western Classical canon, his name is still not treated with the respect of a composer like Beethoven or Brahms or other luminaries. I understand that, but I also think Tchaikovsky's skills as a composer are extremely underrated, which brings me to Tchaikovsky's 6th and final symphony, nicknamed the "Pathetique."

Tchaikovsky's 6th symphony essentially rewrites the traditional symphonic form. It is one of the few 19th century symphonies that end quietly, and that ending is one of the most extraordinary and daring in the entire repertoire. It is a piece of remarkable complexity and brilliant construction, and it packs an emotional wallop that leaves you walking out of the hall slightly changed from the way you walked in. In fact, this piece is so multi-layered that I wanted to devote some extra time to it, so I've decided to make this a two-part episode. This week, we're going to talk about the controversies over Tchaikovsky's emotional state as he composed this symphony, and the first two movements of the piece: a massive, 17-minute first movement that ingeniously melds multiple different symphonic forms into one long breath, and a waltz with a twist. We'll get into a lot more detail than we usually do, giving us a chance to really give Tchaikovsky the respect he deserves.

I'm always tickled by composer trivia questions, like which standard canon works begin in a major key and end in a minor key? I'll give you one, but please comment others below: Mendelssohn's 4th Symphony. Well, how about this one: how many of Beethoven's 16 string quartets end in a minor key? The answer? Just one, Op. 59, No. 2, the subject of today's show. And that minor key is hugely important to this darkest of the three Op. 59 quartets, three towering achievements that changed the string quartet repertoire for good.

Beethoven, as I've said many times on the show, was a revolutionary within limits, always expanding, rethinking, and reshaping what was possible without breaking anything beyond repair. But make no mistake: the Op. 59 quartets were revolutionary works. No one had written anything like them before in terms of scope, emotional intensity, difficulty, and complexity. In fact, like a few of Beethoven's greatest works, they were received with confusion and, in some cases, anger by musicians, audiences, and critics. Famously, the cellist of the first string quartet to receive the parts of Op. 59, No. 1 saw the Morse code-like, one-note theme of the second movement, threw the music aside, and stomped on it!

These quartets were Beethoven going out on a limb, applying the intensity and drama of his Middle Heroic Period to a genre that had been at least partly the province of amateur musicians, but not anymore. Op. 59, No. 2, as I said, is the darkest of this group: four movements all centered around the key of E, and with the exception of the glorious second movement, all in minor, presenting a seriousness and directness of purpose that is powerfully compelling. This might be my favorite of the Op. 59 quartets, and so I'm very excited to dig into it with you today. We'll discuss the enigmatic and ecstatic aspects of this quartet, as well as Beethoven's own philosophical views on life, which come to light in the second movement, one of Beethoven's greatest creations.

Recording: Cleveland Quartet

Brahms spent much of his adult life battling with his ambition to write the next great symphony and his terror at the shadow of Beethoven standing behind him. Brahms tortured himself for 14 years with his first symphony, and only published it when he was 49 years old. But when that symphony finally came out, it was a relative success for a new work, and with immense relief, Brahms quickly turned out another symphony in just 4 months. Brahms' first symphony was quickly dubbed "Beethoven's 10th" something that annoyed Brahms to no end. When told that the main theme of the last movement resembled the Ode to Joy, he notoriously responded, "any ass can see that!" But all the same, Brahms had been re-anointed as Beethoven's successor with the symphony, and so therefore his second symphony would also be given a Beethovinian name, Pastoral. The question since the symphony has been written has been this: just how pastoral and idyllic is this symphony? Many commentators see an unadulterated joy and gentleness in the piece, with some melancholy moments to be sure. But overall, the piece is as sunny as it seems on its surface, with just the typical battles between happiness and sadness that mark every symphony. But there's another school fo thought with this symphony, and that is that it is marked by shadows and tremors that go way beyond simple sadness and happiness, and that these shadows and tremors leave a mark that can't be ignored. I tend to believe in the second theory, but we're going to discuss this symphony with this framework in mind; whether this piece is as sunny as some people would have you believe, or if the shadows are the lasting impression we get as we walk away from the concert hall. We'll also discuss Brahms' innovations with form, and his evergreen ability to write some of the most stunning melodies on the planet. Join us!

The story of Alexander von Zemlinsky's The Mermaid begins with a passionate love affair and ends in heartbreak of the most unabashedly big-R Romantic kind. In 1900, the young, fabulously talented, and famously beautiful Alma Schindler came to Zemlinsky's home to study composition. Wildly passionate feelings soon developed between them, and Alma wrote the following in her diary: "I would gladly be pregnant for him, gladly bear his children. His blood and mine, commingled: my beauty with his intellect. I would gladly serve him in his professional life, live for him and his kith and kin, breathe [for him], attend to his every happiness, serve him with a gentle hand. God give me the strength and the willpower to do so."

The relationship lasted a little over a year, until one night when Schindler attended a party that happened to be frequented by a brilliant conductor and composer twenty years her senior: Gustav Mahler. The rest is history.

Zemlinsky was devastated and poured his energies into a tone poem based on Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid. The source may seem surprising, but as we'll see later on, it proved to be the perfect vehicle for Zemlinsky to exorcise the tortured memories of this turbulent relationship. For a long time, however, the score was lost. It wasn't until the 1980s that the full work was reconstructed, and it has since become one of Zemlinsky's most frequently performed pieces.

And it's not hard to see why. The Mermaid is a forty-minute tone poem that, from start to finish, overflows with fin-de-siècle romanticism, very much in the vein of Schoenberg's Verklärte Nacht (Transfigured Night). It is a work of irresistible beauty and passion, and it is being played more and more as Zemlinsky's name begins to take its rightful place in the standard canon of composers.

Today on the show, I'll tell you a bit more about Zemlinsky in case you're not familiar with him, read more of the unbearably passionate letters and diary entries from both Zemlinsky and Alma Schindler, and, of course, walk you through the heartbreakingly beautiful music of The Mermaid, showing how Zemlinsky balances narrative and abstract form, and how he created this opulent, lush, and profoundly moving score. Join us!

Many aspects of Giovanni Battista Pergolesi's life seem relatively normal when it comes to composers of the Baroque era. He was prolific, died young, and his music became very famous only after his death. However, all three of these facts are complicated by the unique circumstances of Pergolesi's life.

He was somewhat prolific, but dozens of pieces that were once attributed to him are no longer considered authentic, including much of the music that Igor Stravinsky made famous in his ballet Pulcinella. Pergolesi did not just die young; he died remarkably young, at the age of twenty-six, from tuberculosis. And the idea that he became famous only after his death actually made him unusual among composers of his time, when popularity during one's lifetime was the primary mark of success. Most composers quickly fell into obscurity after they died.

In Pergolesi's case, the opposite occurred. There was a massive surge of interest in his music immediately after his death, which in some ways contributed to the museum-like atmosphere that classical music has today. Pergolesi was ahead of his time in many ways, and that brings us to the piece we are going to talk about today, his Stabat Mater.

We will discuss what the Stabat Mater is in more detail later, but simply put, it is a musical setting of the poem Stabat Mater Dolorosa, which, in a rather clumsy translation, means "the sorrowful mother stood." This thirteenth-century Christian hymn and poem focuses on the Virgin Mary's suffering as she witnesses the crucifixion of Jesus. The text has been set to music by many composers, but Pergolesi's version, surprisingly given his relative obscurity today, has endured in a way that many settings by more famous composers have not.

Today, on this Patreon-sponsored episode, we will learn a bit about Pergolesi's life, or at least what we know of it, and talk through this Baroque-era masterpiece. Join us!

We humans seem to love comeback stories, and there is no comeback quite as compelling in the classical music world as Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto. It was written three years after the disastrous premiere of his First Symphony, a premiere so catastrophic that it lives on in the annals of musical history, and is the essential starting point for understanding the Second Piano Concerto and how it came to be.

The concerto revived both Rachmaninoff's career and his spirits, and it remains his most famous orchestral work. It is a towering masterpiece of Romanticism, overflowing with glorious melody after glorious melody, supported by virtuosic and sumptuous writing for the solo piano, and a deeply satisfying orchestral part that continues to make audiences swoon around the world.

Today on the show, we'll begin with the story of Rachmaninoff's First Symphony, and then walk through this extraordinary concerto, highlighting what truly makes Rachmaninoff's music so special. Hint: it's not just the pretty melodies.

Recording: Vladimir Ashkenazy with the Moscow Philharmonic Orchestra, Kirill Kondrashin cond.

A piece that I have been asked to cover probably a dozen times is Handel's Messiah. It's a piece I love, but a piece that I've never conducted or played, and so therefore I don't know it incredibly well. There are plenty of pieces like this in the repertoire, and so I've decided to start a new series on Sticky Notes, which will be to take pieces that I don't know very well and to bring on experts to help me learn about them. This series will be a bit sporadic, and won't disrupt the but I'm really excited to share the first episode in this series, all about the Handel Messiah, featuring my good friend and the wonderful conductor Aram Demirjian, the Music Director of the Knoxville Symphony! I really hope you enjoy this episode and that you have a Happy Holidays and New Year!

Mr. Holst, wherever you are, I apologize in advance for what I'm about to say. From my research, I know you resented this fact, but unfortunately, I think it's true. Here it is: despite the large catalogue of music Gustav Holst composed, much of it wonderful, he is essentially a one-hit wonder in the classical music world, à la Pachelbel, Dukas, Mascagni, and others. His one hit is a big one, though: an epic, seven-movement suite entitled The Planets.

As I said, Holst was not happy about this in the slightest. He was a prolific composer and someone who devoted himself fully to his subjects. He considered other works he wrote better than The Planets, and yet, in the end, we hear very little of his other music, though since the 1980s some of it has been performed more frequently, particularly in the UK.

But The Planets is truly a hit: the reason we know Holst's name today, and one of the most frequently performed pieces in the entire Western classical canon. Holst took a novel approach to his depiction of the planets. They are not ordered by their astronomical distance, but by musical cohesiveness. Nor do they depict the planets in a scientific sense; instead, they present a deeply personal astrological interpretation, something we'll explore as we discuss the piece.

The orchestration is massive yet subtle, with colors unique both to the work itself and to Holst's output more broadly. It is easy to listen to and straightforward, while also somehow intensely complex and varied. It is powerful, Romantic, thrilling, joyous, mysterious, terrifying, and ultimately cosmic in both conception and execution.

This is one of those pieces that people love without necessarily giving it the full respect it deserves. So today on the show, we'll learn a little about Holst's life, what led him to write The Planets, and why this piece grabs hold of us and doesn't let go throughout our journey through the stars. Join us!

In the 1960s, Leonard Bernstein famously helped to popularize the music of a then relatively obscure composer, Gustav Mahler. His work, as well as the work of other conductors, made Mahler into a classical-music household name. Mahler's symphonies are played every year all over the world, and he is firmly ensconced in the so-called canon of standard orchestral repertoire.

Would it surprise you to know that Franck's D Minor Symphony once had the same reputation? It was played almost every year by most major orchestras, it was recorded by all the great conductors, and it was a fixture of the canon just like a Brahms symphony. Nowadays you would be lucky if, outside of France and Belgium, you hear Franck's Symphony once every five years, if that.

The truth is that, other than a short golden period for this symphony, it has either been controversial (around the time it was premiered) or ignored (nowadays), which is a real shame, since it is a glorious piece that I would argue is drastically underrated in our modern world. The symphony was radically innovative for its time, which probably explains some of the more virulent criticism it received, but even though those innovations now sound completely normal to our ears, they are still at the heart of what makes this symphony so profoundly satisfying to listen to.

Ahead of my performances of the symphony in Lille this December, I wanted to dive in and explore this unfairly ignored masterpiece. In about 40 minutes of music in three grand movements, Franck pours his soul into this work. That phrase sounds a bit cliché, I know, but I really mean it; there is an earnestness about this music that I find deeply moving, and it is something we will explore together today.

We will talk about Franck's late entry into the world of composition, his reputation as an organist, and the challenges he faced in finding acceptance as a composer. Along the way, we will discuss this gorgeous piece in all of its passion and intensity. Join us!

Nowadays it's hard to imagine Maurice Ravel as a "bad-boy" revolutionary, a member of a group whose name can be loosely translated as The Hooligans. To most listeners today, Ravel's music is the very picture of sumptuous beauty. But the group he belonged to, Les Apaches ("The Hooligans"), earned its name because of its members' uncompromising attitudes about music; attitudes that clashed sharply with the conservative tastes of the establishment.

Another composer who belonged to Les Apaches was the Spanish composer Manuel de Falla. Falla is certainly not as well known as Ravel, but the two became fast friends when he arrived in Paris in 1907. They formed a kind of mutual-admiration society that proved immensely fruitful for both of them. Falla was deeply impressed by Ravel's Spanish-inflected music, marveling at its authenticity given that Ravel was French. But Ravel, now a symbol of French music, was the son of a Swiss father and a Spanish-speaking mother, and he was born just eleven miles from the Spanish border in the Basque region. His Spanish voice was no affectation; it came from somewhere deep within, and Falla noticed this immediately, remarking that Ravel's Rapsodie espagnole was "a Spain ideally presented by his mother."

Today on the show we'll explore the Spanish world of Falla and Ravel through two central works: Falla's Nights in the Gardens of Spain and Ravel's Rapsodie espagnole. These pieces, both astonishing in their creativity and craftsmanship, offer a wonderful opportunity to compare and contrast the music and approaches of these two close friends. We'll also talk about Les Apaches and their goals, legacy, and some of their legendary members.

All this and more is coming up on this final collaboration on Ravel and Friends with G. Henle Publishers! Join us!

Longtime listeners of Sticky Notes know that Shostakovich's 10 symphony was the inaugural piece covered on the show. It's been 8 years(!) since that show, so I've totally re-written the episode and had the privilege of presenting this new version live with the Aalborg Symphony Orchestra last week in Aalborg.

Shostakovich, like so many composers before him, was obsessed with musical codes and messages, with songs that expressed two or more meanings, with ideas that were at once black and white and profoundly complex. This also describes Shostakovich himself, a man who was incredibly guarded with his public persona, and even his private persona as well. It is impossible to know anything for sure with Shostakovich, and to me therein lies the greatest strength of his music. The 10th symphony has been described as a portrayal of the Stalin years, as a portrayal of obsessive love, as a requiem, as sarcastic, as humorous, as agonizing, as triumphant, as, as, as….and the truth is that like all of the greatest works of Western Classical music, it is all of those things and so much more. It is a work of profound intensity, grabbing you from the start and not letting go for nearly 50 minutes, which makes sense considering that the piece was written in the shadow of another momentous event, the death of Joseph Stalin. There are very few experiences like hearing Shostakovich's 10th symphony live, and it is the kind of piece that, by the end of it, leaves you a slightly different person than you were when it started. Today on the show, we're going to be talking about a wide range of topics, from orchestral color to Joseph Stalin, from symphonic form to obsessive love, and much more. Join us!

There are so many great apocryphal stories in the long history of classical music, from the reason Tchaikovsky wrote his Sixth Symphony to what famous composers supposedly said on their deathbeds, to my favorite story: how Joseph Haydn's Symphony No. 96, The Miracle, got its name.

Apparently, during the premiere of the symphony, a chandelier fell, but miraculously didn't hit anyone. Hence, The Miracle Symphony. The chandelier did, in fact, fall, but we now know it happened during the premiere of Haydn's Symphony No. 102, which has no nickname. Coincidentally, or perhaps not so coincidentally, the 96th Symphony is performed far more often than the 102nd, likely because of its nickname, even though it's the nickname of the wrong symphony.

The Barber Violin Concerto has a great and true story behind it. But before certain information was revealed in 2010, the story everyone knew was quite different. The original version goes like this: Barber had completed the first two movements of his Violin Concerto and sent them to the soloist scheduled to premiere the work, Iso Briselli. Briselli didn't like the concerto, claiming it wasn't virtuosic enough, and asked Barber to write something more difficult.

Barber, perhaps with an evil laugh, obliged and returned with the third movement. When Briselli received it, he realized he couldn't play it because of its extreme difficulty and ultimately withdrew from the premiere, which instead went to violinist Albert Spalding. It's a perfect "Icarus flying too close to the sun" kind of classical music story, but as it turns out, it isn't the full story.

In 2010, letters were released between Barber, Briselli, and the real instigator in this little operetta, Briselli's violin teacher, Albert Meiff. I'll get into the whole story later, but it's a good one, even if it's not quite as cinematic as the legend.

More important than the dispute over its last movement is the remarkable beauty and creativity of this masterful 20th-century concerto. Barber's Violin Concerto is one of my favorite pieces to play and to conduct, and it has charmed audiences ever since its premiere. It features Americana music of a kind only Copland could equal, as well as a heartbreaking oboe solo that might be one of the greatest moments in the history of American classical music.

And then there's that pesky third movement, a challenge to every violinist (and orchestra) and a movement that remains controversial for many reasons.

One of my favorite things about having Patreon sponsors is that they often suggest the most fascinating pieces and topics for shows. Adrian, who sponsored a show last year, gave me one of my favorite prompts when he suggested looking at works based on literature. Now he's sponsored another episode, this time with an equally compelling idea that I was eager to explore right away. His prompt was:

"The evolution of conducting techniques throughout recorded history. How have innovations from great conductors changed how music is performed and understood?"

As a conductor, the thought of diving into different recordings of a single piece naturally whets my appetite. But the real reason I was so excited about this episode is that interpretation is, in my view, wildly misunderstood. I've tried to tackle this idea in many different ways, in my episode about the sound of the violin with Soovin Kim and my dad, Donald Weilerstein; in my "What Does Music Mean?" episode; and even in "What Does a Conductor Really Do?" But I've never taken a single piece and focused solely on its interpretation, and on how that interpretation has changed over time.

This gives us the chance to dig deeply into what makes an interpretation. So today, I'm going to share a set of recordings of one piece (and don't worry, I'll reveal which one in a moment). I'll talk about what sets them apart, both the obvious differences, like pitch and extremes of tempo, and the more subtle ones, like vibrato, phrasing, and other elements of performance that most listeners aren't trained to notice.

So, let's do some exploring together, coming right up, on Sticky Notes.

The great Polish composer Witold Lutoslawski said this after the premature death of his contemporary Grazyna Bacewicz: "She was born with an incredible wealth of musical talent, which she succeeded to bring to full flourish through an almost fanatical zeal and unwavering faith in her mission. The intensity of her activities was so great that she managed, in a cruelly-shortened life, to give birth to such treasures that any composer of her stature with a considerably longer life span could only envy." Bacewicz is a name that is probably not that familiar to you, but during her lifetime she was an extremely popular composer in her native Poland and across Europe as well. In the United States, her music has been rarely performed, though this has started to shift thanks to a renewed interest in female composers of the past. This new look at Bacewicz has revealed an incredible wealth of music. Bacewicz was one of the most prolific composers of the 20th century, writing over 200 works during her short lifetime! Some call her style neo-classical, but the main thing that I hear in her music is a sharp originality that permeates her music and makes her compositions a thrill to listen to. The vitality, energy, and creativity that embodies Bacewicz's works will be the main part of the show today, as we'll go through a set of some of her most representative pieces, pieces that I hope will enter the standard repertoire of performers all over the world even more so than they already have. So join me today to explore the life and music of this unfamiliar but vital 20th century master!

I had such a wonderful time joining the jazz podcast You'll Hear It! We talked about the meeting of jazz and classical music, a topic I've explored before, but never in this much depth and never with so much input from jazz musicians and experts like Peter Martin and Adam Maness. We talk about great jazz and classical composers, but we also talk about the strange divide between jazz musicians and classical musicians, trying to break down the barriers that exist between purveyors of these wonderful genres of music. I hope you enjoyed this one as much as I did!

In the mid-1920s, Maurice Ravel wrote a letter to the legendary composition teacher Nadia Boulanger. Boulanger's class was a mecca for composers, both young and old, and musicians from all over the world vied to study with her. But Ravel's letter wasn't on his own behalf. Instead, he urged Boulanger to take on a young student whom Ravel himself had declined to teach. He wrote:

"There is a musician here endowed with the most brilliant, most enchanting, and perhaps the most profound talent: George Gershwin. His worldwide success no longer satisfies him, for he is aiming higher. He knows that he lacks the technical means to achieve his goal. In teaching him those means, one might ruin his talent. Would you have the courage, which I wouldn't dare have, to undertake this awesome responsibility?"

Boulanger also declined to take Gershwin as a student, fearing, like Ravel, that she might damage his spontaneity and dynamic jazz sensibility. Whether or not the famous story is true (that Ravel turned down Gershwin's request to study with him by saying, "Why be a second-rate Ravel when you are a first-rate Gershwin?") we may never know. But the two composers were friendly, and formed something of a mutual admiration society.

Today, in this fourth collaboration with G. Henle Publishers in honor of their Ravel and Friends project, we're going to explore the connections between these two great composers: their friendship, their mutual influence, and the profound ways jazz infused itself into Ravel's music, particularly in his Violin Sonata and Piano Concerto in G. From the moment he discovered it, Ravel adored jazz, and like many French composers of the time, allowed its influence to permeate his work in ways both explicit and subtle. Join us!

There is a special category when it comes to Beethoven; a catalogue that doesn't include complete symphonies, sonatas, concerti, string quartets, etc., but just single movements. This is the catalogue of great Beethoven slow movements. Beethoven's slow movements are like a great Tolstoy novel. They span the gamut of human experience and also reach beyond it, into something we cannot understand but all somehow perceive. Simply put, Beethoven often seems to know us better than we know ourselves. This brings me to the slow movement of Beethoven's Hammerklavier Sonata. Unlike those late quartet slow movements, the slow movement of the Hammerklavier is not about ecstatic contemplation. Instead, it is a movement of pure and profound despair. It has been described as "a mausoleum of the collective suffering of the world," and "the apotheosis of pain, of that deep sorrow for which there is no remedy, and which finds expression not in passionate outpourings, but in the immeasurable stillness of utter woe." This is not a movement I would necessarily enter into lightly as you go about your day—it requires you to take a moment and enter a world unlike any other.

Today, in Part 2 of this Patreon-sponsored exploration of this great, in all senses of the word, Sonata, we'll go through this slow movement in detail. Then we'll tackle the life-affirming and maddeningly complex last movement, which is not quite the antidote to the slow movement, but perhaps it is the only possible answer to the questions the third movement so profoundly asks. Join us!

Beethoven once wrote to his publisher: "What is difficult, is also beautiful, good, great, and so forth. Hence everyone will realize that this is the most lavish praise that can be bestowed, since what is difficult makes one sweat." If this credo manifests itself most powerfully in any one of Beethoven's works, it might be the piece we'll talk about today, the piano Sonata Op. 106, nicknamed, "Hammerklavier." It is the longest Sonata Beethoven ever wrote, which essentially means that it was the longest sonata anyone had written up to that point. It marks one of the pivot points between Beethoven's so-called heroic period and his late period, where his music became even more cosmically beautiful than before. It is certainly his most ambitious Sonata to that point, and his most difficult. The scale of the Hammerklavier sonata is hard to describe; in around 45 minutes of music, Beethoven explores the full gamut of human emotion. The intensity, the difficulty, and the concentration that this sonata requires from the pianist and listener alike has led to many people, as the pianist Andras Schiff says, to "respect and revere this Sonata, but not love it." Most of the articles and analyses of this sonata that I found in researching this show emphasize its difficulty, its scale, its obsessiveness, and its impenetrability. But I must say that when I talk to musicians abut this piece, their eyes light up. Yes, this sonata is difficult, but what have we just learned from Beethoven? What is difficult is also beautiful, good, great and so forth. Join us as we begin a two part exploration of this remarkable work together.

Thank you to Jerry for sponsoring this show on Patreon!

Recording: https://youtu.be/yBtJF_4msqw?si=bIznKSGuRyXDbFaT

The collaboration between Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht is rightly legendary. The two men could not have been more different from each other, and like the Brahms/Joachim relationship I mentioned in my recent show about the Brahms Double concerto, the friendship between Weill and Brecht was stormy to say the least. The two collaborated on some of the most memorable works of the Weimar era in Germany, such as the Threepenny Opera, which features a pretty famous tune called Mack the Knife.

Their final collaboration was on the "sung ballet" The Seven Deadly Sins. This is a piece that was written at a point of remarkably high tension within Weimar Germany. On an artistic level, the 1920s and early 1930s had seen a veritable explosion in the world of culture, with art, dance, theater, and music all featuring artists who were pushing the boundaries with wild experimentation and a kind of ecstatic fervor that produced some of the world's greatest and most memorable cultural achievements. On a parallel track however, the rise of the Nazis cast a pall over all of this. By 1933, both Brecht and Weill(who was Jewish) knew that Germany was not a place that they could stay safely. Weill ended up in Paris and then in the US for the rest of his life, while Brecht bounced around Europe before returning to East Germany after the war, hoping to be a part of the Marxist Utopia that he believed had been founded there. The simmering combination of Weill's mastery of transforming popular forms into a unique kind of classical music along with Brecht's pointed satire and brilliantly inventive libretti resulted in the Seven Deadly Sins, a piece that that brutally satirizes extreme capitalism and the degradation of the human soul that supposedly results from it. This is a nakedly political piece, and I should make it clear that by talking about it, by choosing to feature it on the show, and by regularly performing it, I don't necessarily endorse its views. Brecht was extreme in all ways, as we'll get to today, and the power of this piece in my opinion doesn't come from its politics, but from its remarkable and devastating portrayal of a human soul and the tragedies that can befall it. This is one of my favorite pieces of the whole 20th century, and I'm so happy to share it with you today. Join us!

I so enjoyed making this latest episode in my collaboration with G Henle Publishers. I talked with two absolute experts in their fields, Norbert Mülleman and Stefan Knüpfer, all about how to edit Ravel's music, and how to create the Ravel sound on the piano. This episode definitely veers into some very nerdy territory, but Norbert and Stefan are both so brilliant at explaining very high level concepts in a way that anyone can understand, from a person who has never looked at a score to a professional performer. I think everyone will learn a lot from this episode and I don't think you'll ever hear Ravel the same way again after listening! Enjoy!

Admit it: if you're a fan of classical music—or even just a regular concertgoer—you might have glanced at the title of this episode and done a double take. The Dvořák Violin Concerto? Not the Cello Concerto?

One of the things I love about my job as a conductor—and my side gig as a podcast host—is bringing audiences and listeners like you pieces you may never have heard before, even if they're by extremely well-known composers. Don't get me wrong, I love the blockbusters. But there's a special thrill in introducing someone to something new.

Now, some of you might already be big fans of the Dvořák Violin Concerto. But in my experience, it's relatively unknown compared to Dvořák's more famous works. I've never performed it myself, and I've only heard it live once. It's not part of most touring soloists' repertoire, and it's just one of those pieces that rarely comes up—especially compared to the Cello Concerto, which I think I've conducted at least once every season since becoming a conductor.

This concerto came about much like the Brahms Violin Concerto, the Brahms Double Concerto we talked about a couple of weeks ago, and so many other great 19th-century works: inspired by the sound of Joseph Joachim's violin. Joachim was the great violinist of the 19th century and had been a friend and supporter of Dvořák for many years. Dvořák ended up dedicating the concerto to Joachim, writing: "I dedicate this work to the great Maestro Jos. Joachim, with the deepest respect, Ant. Dvořák."

Sadly—and for reasons that remain somewhat unclear—Joachim never performed the piece. That may be one of the reasons it's never achieved the popularity it deserves.

Today, in this Patreon-sponsored episode, we'll dive into the concerto, exploring its unusual form, the myriad challenges it poses for the violinist, and perhaps some reasons why it's not part of the so-called "Big Five" violin concertos—even though it probably deserves to be.

It's entirely possible that we would not know the name of Johannes Brahms very well if Brahms hadn't met Joseph Joachim as a very young man. Joachim, who was one of the greatest violinists of all time, had already established himself as touring soloist and recitalist, and he happened to know the musical power couple of Robert and Clara Schumann quite well. Joachim encouraged Brahms to go to Dusseldorf to meet the Schumann's, and the rest is history. I've talked about the Brahms-Schumann relationship dozens of times on the show before, but to keep it very brief, Robert Schumann's rhapsodic article Neue Bahnen(new paths) launched Brahms' career, and until Schumann's deterioration from mental illness he acted as a valued friend and mentor for Brahms. Clara Schumann, as a performer, was a powerful advocate for Brahms' music as well as a devoted and loving friend throughout the rest of their lives. Almost constantly present in this relationship was the sound of Joseph Joachim's violin. Brahms did not have a huge circle of friends, but for the often difficult to get along with composer, Joachim was a musical and spiritual companion. Brahms' legendary violin concerto was written for him, and the two collaborated closely for the entire course of their musical lives, except for one significant break. Brahms and Joachim were estranged for 7 years, until Brahms reached out with a remarkable conciliatory gesture: a concerto for Violin and Cello and that would be dedicated to Joachim. Brahms and Joachim(as well as Brahms and Clara Schumann) had often resolved disputes through music, and this was no exception. Clara Schumann gleefully wrote in her diary after Joachim had read through the piece with cellist Robert Hausmann: "This concerto is a work of reconciliation - Joachim and Brahms have spoken to each other again for the first time in years." One would expect that a work like this would be beloved, but the Double Concerto has had a checkered history, which we'll also get into later. Clara herself wrote that it lacked "the warmth and freshness which are so often found to be in his works," It would turn out to be Brahms' last work for orchestra, and one of the few in his later style, which makes It fascinating to look at from a compositional perspective. Partly because of the cool reception it got in its first few performances, and the practical challenges of finding two spectacular soloists who can meet its challenges, the piece is not performed all that often, though I have always adored this piece and am very grateful to Avi who sponsored this week's show from my fundraiser last year before the US election. So let's dive into this gorgeous concerto, discussing the reasons for Joachim and Brahms' break, their reconciliation, the reception this piece got, and then of course, the music itself! Join us!

The commission for a new Clarinet Concerto from the great American composer Aaron Copland came from a rather unlikely source: Benny Goodman, the man known as the King of Swing. Goodman was one of the most famous and important jazz musicians of all time, but in the late 1940s, swing music was on the decline, and bebop had taken over. Goodman experimented with bebop for a time but never fully took to it in the way that he had so mastered swing. Goodman then turned towards the classical repertoire, commissioning music from many of the great composers of the time, such as Bela Bartok, Darius Milhaud, Paul Hindemith, Francis Poulenc, and of course, Aaron Copland. Copland eagerly agreed to the commission, and spent the next year carefully crafting the concerto, which is full of influences from Jazz as well as from Latin American music, perhaps inspired by the four months Copland spent in Latin America while writing the piece.

What resulted from all this was a short and compact piece in one continuous movement split into two parts. With an orchestra of only strings, piano, harp, and solo clarinet, Copland created one of the great solo masterpieces of the 20th century. It practically distills everything that makes Copland so great into just 18 minutes of music. Today on the show we'll talk about the difficulty of the piece, something that prevented Benny Goodman from performing the concerto for nearly 2 years, as well as the immense difficulty of the second movement for the orchestra. We'll also talk about all of those quintessentially Copland traits that make his music so wonderful to listen to, and the path this concerto takes from beautiful openness to jazzy fire. Join Us!

Recording: Martin Frost with the Norwegian Chamber Orchestra

Pedro Henrique Alliprandini dissertation: https://getd.libs.uga.edu/pdfs/alliprandini_pedro_h_201812_dma.pdf

Steve Reich, the great American contemporary composer, provided this program note about his work Different Trains: "The idea for the piece came from my childhood. When I was one year old my parents separated. My singer, song-writer mother moved to Los Angeles and my attorney father stayed in New York. Since they arranged divided custody, I travelled back and forth by train frequently between New York and Los Angeles from 1939 to 1942 accompanied by my governess. While the trips were exciting and romantic at the time I now look back and think that, if I had been in Europe during this period, as a Jew I would have had to ride very different trains. With this in mind I wanted to make a piece that would accurately reflect the whole situation."

Reich went about this piece in a completely innovative way: he recorded voices and then created the musical material for the piece out of the voices themselves, something that had never been done before. Therefore, the text and music material were integrated in a groundbreaking way, and the results are at times unbearably moving. This is a piece that has captured listeners attention in a way that is relatively rare for contemporary music, and it is a piece of immense power and depth. I have always been fascinated by this piece and have wanted to perform an orchestral version of it, but I never have been able to cover it on the show. That is, until AJ contributed enough to my fundraiser last year before the election to sponsor a piece, and he chose Reich's Different Trains. Today we'll talk a bit about Steve Reich generally for those of you unfamiliar with him, and then we'll tackle this remarkable and unique piece in all of its creativity and profound communication. Join us!

Debussy and Ravel are often described as the prototypical musical impressionists. It is often said that the two composers are the closest equivalents to the artistic world of Monet, Renoir, Pisarro, Degas, and others. But both Ravel and Debussy (like Monet for that matter), vehemently rejected the term Impressionism, and they both felt that they were striking out on their own individual paths in their msuic. That didn't stop the public and critics from constantly comparing the music of these two shining lights of French music, despite the fact that Ravel and Debussy are actually quite different. Comparing Ravel and Debussy is a bit like comparing Haydn and Mozart. At first glance, there are many similarities, but if you look and listen more closely, Ravel and Debussy(like Mozart and Haydn) had totally different approaches, goals, and styles.

All of the constant comparisons and attempts at making the composers compete with each other had a real impact on Debussy and Ravel. Initially they were friends and mutual admirers of each others work, but they slowly drifted apart over time until they stopped speaking to each other altogether. We'll talk about this complicated personal relationship, as well as looking at these differences in their music, not from a critical standpoint, but from the perspective of bringing out what is so wonderfully unique about their music. We'll also talk about Ravel's arrangements of two Debussy's greatest orchestral works: his two piano arrangement of Debussy's Nocturnes, and his piano 4 hands arrangement of the legendary Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun. Join us on another collaboration with G Henle Publishers!

Recordings:

Nocturnes

Claudio Abbado with London Symphony Anne Shasby, Richard McMahon, Piano

Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun

Ravel arrangement: Jean-Pierre Armengaud and Olivier Chauzu Debussy Arrangement: Charles Badami and Anthony Olson

It's hard to overstate the depth of the connection between Dmitri Shostakovich and the legendary cellist Mstistlav Rostropovich. Shostakovich and Rostropovich were extremely close friends, and Shostakovich wrote and dedicated several works to him, including the piece we're going to talk about today, the first Cello Concerto. Rostropovich had been desperate to get Shostakovich to write a concerto for him, but Shostakovich's wife had one simple piece of advice: if you want Shostakovich to write something for you, don't talk to him about it or even mention it. So Rostropovich waited and waited, until July of 1959, when he was asked by Shostakovich to come to Leningrad to try out a new Cello Concerto. Shostakovich played through the piece for Rostropovich, turned to him, and asked him if he liked it. Rostropovich apparently told Shostakovich that he "had been shaken to the core." Shostakovich, in his famously modest way, then shakily asked Rostropovich if he could dedicate the concerto to him. Rostropovich immediately agreed, and then rushed off to learn the concerto as quickly as possible. He learned the entire concerto in 3 days, then returned to Shostakovich and played it for him by heart. The concerto is practically stamped with Rostropovich's name, which is why I'll be using a recording of a live performance of Rostropovich during the show today, though I must say I also recommend a pretty great modern recording by a certain cellist who is also my sister, Alisa Weilerstein. This concerto has always been one of my favorites; it is compact, powerful, punchy, beautiful, intense, concentrated, and tremendously exciting. For me, it is one of Shostakovich's most Beethovenian works, in its lean power and its obsession with a single motive. Today on this fundraiser sponsored show, we'll talk through this fantastic concerto, and explore just what makes its momentum so inevitable and so thrilling from start to finish. Join us!

Amy Beach is a name that might not be familiar to you. She was born in 1867 and died in 1944, and her life was one of the most fascinating and varied in musical history. She was a child prodigy, became a successful pianist, and then pivoted to composing at her husband's request. She was one of the first successful composers without any training from Europeans, and when her Gaelic Symphony was performed for the first time in 1896, it became the first symphony by an American woman to be published or performed. This symphony, and Beach's whole career, is inextricably linked with the history and mores of the time, from the influence of Dvorak on American music, to Beach's stop and start relationship to performing. The Gaelic symphony is a remarkable amalgamation of American symphonic brilliance, some European influence(especially from Dvorak), and the music of Beach's own heritage. It's a symphony that was very popular in its time and then was forgotten, but now is finding itself on the stage more and more often. This week on the show we'll go through this beautiful symphony, a pillar of early American classical music, and a piece that certainly deserves to be better known than it is. Join us!

Voici un épisode bonus spécial de Sticky Notes en français, en avant-première de mes concerts avec l'Orchestre National de Lille, présentant la 13e symphonie de Shostakovich. Si vous souhaitez écouter la version anglaise de cet épisode, elle est disponible dans les archives. Je m'excuse pour toute mauvaise prononciation en cours de route, et j'espère que vous l'apprécierez !

This is a special bonus episode of Sticky Notes in French ahead of my concerts with the Orchestre National de Lille, featuring Shostakovich's 13th symphony. If you would like to listen to the English version of this episode, it is available in the archives. Apologies for any mis-prononciations along the way, and I hope that you enjoy it!

Magician, Swiss Watchmaker, Aloof, Elegant, Precise, Soulful, Childlike, Naive, Warm: these are all words that have been used to describe Maurice Ravel, a man of elegant contradictions. But perhaps these contradictions are why his music remains so beloved and universally appealing to so many musicians and audience members. Ravel has long been one of my favorite composers, and I always adore listening to his music and performing it. For the 150th anniversary of his birth, the legendary publishing house of G Henle has decided to focus on Ravel and his circle this year, calling this series Ravel and Friends. A few months ago, the Henle office contacted me to ask if I would be willing to collaborate with them on a series of Sticky Notes episodes about Ravel, each one focusing on the relationship between Ravel and another composer who was in his circle. This sounded like an amazing idea, and so I jumped at the chance to work with them. So, over the course of the next 5-6 months, you will be seeing 5 episodes under the Ravel and Friends theme. Today's episode will be a chance to do an overview on Ravel himself and to take a look at some major works that I haven't gotten around to covering on the show yet. We'll then finish the show with an interview with the great pianist Boris Giltburg, as we discuss the solo piano verison of Ravel's La Valse, one of the most challenging pieces in the entire repertoire. Later episodes will include a look at Ravel's relationships with Debussy, Gershwin, and De Falla, and much more! This is such an exciting chance to take a deeper look at one of the greatest 19th and 20th century composers, as well as take a look at the broader musical and social trends of that era, something I've always been deeply interested in. Join us!

Nationalism, patriotism, cultural identity, a sense of home; these are concepts and ideas whose popularity have ebbed and flowed throughout history. Nationalism has been seen as a natural expression of cultural identity and pride, and it also has been at the core of virulent racism and xenophobia. Patriotism has been used as a cudgel by all sides of the political spectrum for good and evil, and a sense of home has led to cultural explosions and also to some of the bloodiest wars of all time. For Bedrich Smetana, these concepts were extremely multi-layered. He was a proud Bohemian nationalist for much of his life, but he also barely spoke Czech(German was the lingua franca among educated classes in Prague), and he was also disenchanted with the Prague musical establishment due to their cool reception of his Wagnerian/Lisztian style. He even left Prague for a time to work in Gothenburg Sweden, writing curtly to his parents: "Prague did not wish to acknowledge me, so I left it." But only 6 years later, he wrote again to a friend: "My home has rooted itself into my heart so much that only there do I find real contentment. It is to this that I will sacrifice myself." Stirred to patriotic and nationalistic sentiments, Smetana began studying the Czech language in earnest, and his second opera, The Bartered Bride, became the first Czech opera to enter the mainstream repertoire around Europe. It was a piece fully in Czech style, and even though Smetana battled to the end of his life with different members of the Prague musical establishment, he is still thought of today as the founder of the Czech national sound. This is even before we begin talking about the topic for today, Ma Vlast, which is commonly translated to My Fatherland, My Country, or My Homeland. Ma Vlast is a massive, nearly hour and a half long work that amalgamates Wagnerian and Listzian ideas of a tone poem along with nationalistic music that has stirred not only the Czech soul but the souls of people all around the world. As Semyon Bychkov, the great Russian conductor and current Music Director of the Czech Philharmonic says: "The core subject of this piece is home and the meaning of home; everything else is the gravy." Today on the show we'll begin by talking about Smetana's tragic experience of deafness, and then we'll go through each movement of his huge piece, talking about the msuic from the perspecitve of nationalism and also Wagnerian ideas of leitmotifs as well as orchestration and style. Join us!

Recording: Czech Philharmonic conducted by Rafael Kubelik

In the early 1930s, at the height of the atonal and twelve tone movement in music, the American violinist Louis Krasner commissioned a concerto from the Viennese Composer Alban Berg. Berg declined at first, saying that his idiom was not appropriate to a concerto and that he did not belong in the world of Wienawski and Vieuxtemps, two relatively obscure composers nowadays who wrote virtuoso showpieces for the violin that are very exciting but not particularly deep on a musical level. Krasner countered with the Beethoven and Brahms' violin concertos, which, frankly, is a pretty great argument! Krasner was convinced that Berg was the vessel through which 12 tone/serial music could reach, as the great writer Michael Sternberg called it, "it's expressive potential." The 12 tone/serial technique of writing music was still controversial at the time(and it remains that way now), with many composers and performers embracing atonal music, with others, especially audiences, turning away. Berg finally accepted the commission, and despite his normal slow pace of composing, wrote the concerto in just a few months. The piece fulfilled Krasner's expectations, and more, and it has become almost a standard repertoire piece for violinists. It is in the twelve tone style, but it is also in many ways a fundamentally tonal piece, and the way that Berg passes through atonality to tonality and back again makes this concerto accessible in a way that many other atonal works are not at first hearing. Today on this Patreon and Fundraiser inspired show, we're going to go through this concerto, first by starting with a crash course in 12 tone music. Then we'll walk our way through this concerto, talking about tone rows, tonality within tone rows, Carinthian folk songs, life and death, Manon Gropius, Alma Mahler, Bach, and the memory of angels. All of this is contained inside of this remarkable piece, and we'll talk all about it, and more. Join us!

There is nothing like hearing a Late Beethoven String Quartet for the first time. Beethoven's late string quartets, Op. 127, Op. 130, Op. 131, Op. 132, and Op. 135, are among the 5 greatest pieces of music ever written for any combination of instruments. They reach a kind of cosmic understanding of the world that is unparalleled, and they remain the Mount Everest of every string quartet's repertoire. The quartet we're going to be talking about today, Op. 135, is slightly the outlier from the set, in that it is less expansive, slightly less complex, and as Misha Amory from the Brentano String Quartet says, "it is the work of a composer who seems to have suddenly attained some new, simple truth after miles of struggle." Op. 135 is Beethoven's last completed work, and as this year begins, I thought I would check off number 2 of 5 Late Beethoven Quartets with this work that seems to exist on another plane of existence entirely. It is a piece of great depth and sadness, and also of ecstasy and lightness. It is a piece of great seriousness that is also full of a sense of humor that is rare in Beethoven. It contains one of the greatest slow movements ever written, a movement that would inspire one of Mahler's greatest symphonic movements, and it also features a zany and wild scherzo movement that could have been written two weeks ago. In short, Beethoven's Op. 135 has it all. Join us as we go through this masterpiece together!

I'm so happy to share this live episode of Sticky Notes that I did with the Aalborg Symphony Orchestra in Denmark back in October! This episode covered Berlioz's remarkable Symphonie Fantastique - the ultimate symphonic thrill ride. Join the orchestra and I as we talk our way through this symphony, from it's opium fueled back story, to its innovative structure and style, to the dreams and reveries of the first movement and the sadistic glee of the final two movements, and a whole lot more. Thank you to the Aalborg Symphony for their participation in this project, and I hope all of you listening have had a wonderful holidays and a Happy New Year! See you in the New Year with all new episodes from Beethoven's Opus 135 String Quartet to Smetana's Ma Vlast and much much more!

Here are two statements by Dmitri Shostakovich about the same piece, the 8th symphony that we are talking about today:

Statement No. 1, Shostakovich's published comments about the symphony when it was first performed in 1943: The 8th Symphony reflects my…elevated creative mood, influenced by the joyful news of the Red Army's victories…. "The Eighth Symphony contains tragic and dramatic inner conflicts. But on the whole it is optimistic and life-asserting. The first movement is a long adagio, with a dramatically tense climax. The second movement is a march, with scherzo elements, and the third is a dynamic march. The fourth movement, in spite of its march form, is sad in mood. The fifth and final movement is bright and gay, like a pastoral, with dance elements and folk motifs. "The philosophical conception of my new work can be summed up in these words: life is beautiful. All that is dark and evil rots away, and beauty triumphs."

Statement No. 2, from the disputed book Testimony, published in the 1970s: 'And then the war came and the sorrow became a common one. We could talk about it, we could cry openly, cry for our lost ones. People stopped fearing tears. Before the war there probably wasn't a single family who hadn't lost someone, a father, a brother, or if not a relative, then a close friend. Everyone had someone to cry over, but you had to cry silently, under the blanket, so no one would see. Everyone feared everyone else, and the sorrow oppressed and suffocated us. It suffocated me too. I had to write about it. I had to write a Requiem for all those who died, who had suffered. I had to describe the horrible extermination machine and express protest against it. The Seventh and Eighth Symphonies are my Requiems.

I don't know of a more profound example of Shostakovich's doublespeak, or of his ability to make diametrically opposing statements about the meaning behind his music. Shostakovich's 8th symphony premiered at the height of World War II, and it was not a hit, unlike his 7th symphony which had swept the world with its seeming patriotic fervor and its devastating condemnation of the Nazis. Shostakovich's 8th is a very different piece, darker, edgier, less catchy, less simple, and certainly less optimistic. It was panned in the Soviet Union by the official critics and was effectively banned from performance in teh Soviet Union from 1948 until the late 1950s. It was also not particularly popular outside of the Soviet Union, as the 7th's popularity and accessibility dwarfed the 8th, though this equation has now flipped, with the 8th symphony now probably becoming slightly more often played than the 7th. As always with Shostakovich, he mixes tradition with his own Shostakovich-ian innovations. The symphony has a Sonata Form first movement, but that movement is longer than the following three movements combined. It has a darkness to light theme from C Minor to C Major, like in Beethoven's 5th and Mahler's 2nd, but whether the ending is optimistic is subject to furious debate. It has not 1 but 2 scherzos, but they are among the least funny scherzos ever written, and it has a slow movement that is surprisingly un-emotional. The requiem Shostakovich speaks of seems to happen slowly over the course of this 1 hour symphony. It is perhaps Shostakovich's most ambiguous mature symphony, and it is also thought of as one of his greatest masterpieces. Today on this Patreon Sponsored episode, we'll dive into this remarkable work, trying to create a framework to understand this huge and demanding symphony. Join us!

My Patreon sponsor for this episode, Adrian, set me a challenge: The influence of literary works on classical compositions, exploring pieces inspired by poetry, novels, or plays. He also asked me to do something else, and I'm going to quote him here:

Also, if I may add something regarding the episode: It is of course possible to make an episode about the influence of literature on music by simply doing an overview of different works that have some obvious attachment to a work of literature. However, it would be particularly interesting if you could say something more general or principled (or philosophical, if you will) about the relation between literature and music. Why do so many composers write pieces about or inspired by literary works? Does music based on literary works have any distinguishing features compared to other music? Does literature add something to music beyond simply being a subject matter among many possible subject matters?

To attempt an answer at Adrian's last question, I think the answer is yes, literature(or poetry or theatre) can add something to music beyond being simply a subject matter. I think this is the key reason why music based on literary works is so compelling to us as listeners and why these inspirations have been so fruitful for composers. Of course, I had dozens of masterpieces to choose from when deciding which pieces to talk about in a bit of detail. But in the end, I've chosen 5 pieces to discuss today, 3 works based on poetry, and 2 based on a novel. The ways the composers I'm going to talk about manipulated and molded these works of literature or poetry into their music is remarkable, and throughout the show today I'll try to show you the techniques they used to do this, whether it's explicitly trying to depict images, like in Strauss' Don Quixote, or whether the music tries to express some sort of deeper philosophy behind the poems, like in Mahler's Das Lied von Der Erde. I hope this episode is as fun to listen to as it was fun to research and write! Join us!

The muses were Ancient Greek goddesses of inspiration. Throughout history, the term muse has been used to describe any number of people, all of whom inspired works of great art and/or literature. In the popular imagination, muses are almost always women, inspiring brilliant men to their greatest artistic achievements. Why am I bringing this up? Because in the case of the piece we are going to talk about today, the Brahms Clarinet Quintet, the muse, and the source of inspiration, was very different. In 1890, Brahms retired from composing. In a way this was very rare. Composers very rarely retired, and most went on composing until their deaths, leaving unfinished works, but Brahms declared that he had nothing left to contribute, and that a younger generation should take over. He was only 57 years old, but he had become embittered both with the world of music and with the world as a whole. His 4th symphony had ended in a kind of apocalyptic destruction of the symphonic genre as a whole; a paroxysm of disillusionment with the direction music was going and with the direction of politics in Europe. But in March of 1891, Brahms heard a clarinetist named Richard Muhlfeld. Muhlfeld quickly became, for lack of a better word, Brahms' muse. His playing directly inspired Brahms to write 4 works for the clarinet, a trio, 2 sonatas, and a quintet, the topic for today's show. The clarinet quintet is practically the definition of the so-called autumnal Brahms. The clarinet quintet is one of Brahms' most expansive chamber works, and it is Brahms at his most wistful, nostalgic, and even tragic. Today on the show I'll take you through this magisterial work, exploring all of the things that make this piece so special, so touching, and so unforgettable. Join us!

Classical music and politics have never been easy bedfellows. Composers and performers throughout history have relied on patronage and support from wealthy sources in order to keep their dreams afloat, and so unlike many other forms of music, classical music often has the reputation of being a politics-free zone. But the truth is that there is a whole repertoire of classical music that is infused with politics, and not just music from the 20th and 21st centuries. Today, with the American election looming just around the corner, we'll explore a series of pieces that all had political messages, the stories behind them, the motivations of the composers who wrote these pieces, and of course, the music itself. We'll be covering music by Haydn, Smyth, Shostakovich, Verdi, Adams, and much more today - join us!

The original production of Westside Story ran for 732 performances, spawned a movie that won 11 Academy Awards, and is still a go to on every list of the greatest Broadway Musicals ever written. The collaboration between Leonard Bernstein, Stephen Sondheim, and Jerome Robbins was a revolution on par with the collaborations of Stravinsky, Diaghilev, and Nijinsky on the Rite of Spring. No Broadway show had ever been so gritty, so tragic, and so raw. The first performances of Westside Story were done against the backdrop of a rise in gang violence in New York City. The socio-economic aspects of the show were evident to everyone who watched it, and I always like to remind people that the location where Bernstein, Arthur Laurents, who adapted Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet for this show, and Sondheim imagined the story taking place is where Lincoln Center now sits, a seat of opulence and extravagance. Simply put, this was a musical, a comedy, a tragedy, a political statement, and most importantly, a stunningly revolutionary work of art by these collaborators. Today, I want to tell you about the music, and more specifically, the Symphonic Dances from Westside Story, an arrangement that Bernstein made with his colleague Sid Ramin 3 years after the show's premiere. The Symphonic Dances brought Bernstein's electric music from the theatre to the concert stage, and it's stayed there ever since. So today, we'll go through each number, talking about just what makes this music so great, and also about the show itself - its background, its production, and the issues that Bernstein, Laurents, Sondheim, and Robbins were trying to tackle, all through the eyes of a tale of woe about Juliet and her Romeo, or of course, Maria and Tony. Join us!

Caroline Shaw is one of the most fascinating, innovative, and brilliant composers of our time. Since winning the Pulitzer Prize in 2013, she rocketed onto the scene and has stayed there ever since, writing music that has captivated audiences around the world. In this conversation, which dates back to 2020(so there is a bit of pandemic talk at the beginning), we talked about her musical upbringing, the shock and surprise of her Pulitzer win, her compositional process, and much much more. This was a really fun and edifying conversation and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

In 1929, the conductor Nicolas Slonimsky contacted the American composer Charles Ives about performing one of his works. This was a bit of a surprise for Ives, since he had a checkered reputation among musicians and audience members, if they even were familiar with his name at all. In fact, he was much more famous during his lifetime as an extremely successful insurance executive! Ives mostly composed in his spare time, and his music was mostly ignored or ridiculed as that of a person suffering from a crisis of mental health. Most of his music was never performed during his lifetime, and even today, he is thought of as a great but extremely eccentric composer, and orchestras and chamber ensembles often struggle to sell tickets if his name appears on the program. But for those who love Ives, there is an almost evangelical desire to spread his music to the world. I'm one of those people who loves Ives, and it is one of my personal missions to bring his music to as many places as possible. The piece I chose to talk about today is Three Places in New England, or the New England Symphony, a piece that is a perfect amalgam of what makes Ives such a spectacular composer - his radical innovations, his ahead of his time experiments, his humor, his humanity, his warmth, and the staggering creativity that marked all of Ives' great works. We'll start with a little biography of Ives in case you're not familiar with him, and then we'll dive into Three Places in New England. By the end of the show, I hope, if you're not already, that I will have converted you into an Ives fan for life!

Fundraiser link here: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/1026719635067?aff=oddtdtcreator

On October 29th, 1931, The Rochester Philharmonic in New York State presented the world premiere of a new symphony by the composer William Grant Still. A symphonic premiere is always something to look out for in musical history, but this one had an even greater significance. The premiere of Wiliam Grant Still's First Symphony, subtitled "Afro American," was the first time a symphony written by a Black American composer was performed by a leading orchestra. William Grant Still was a man of many firsts, whether he was the first Black American conductor to conduct a major orchestra, the first to have an opera performed by a major company, the first Black American to conduct an orchestra in the South of the United States, and much more. Today we're going to focus in on Grant Still's first symphony, a symphony that Grant Still had long thought about, conceptualized, and dreamed of. It was also a symphony wrapped up in the roiling currents of Black America at the time, with the Harlem Renaissance in full swing and Alain Locke's tract The New Negro sparking discussion and debate all over the country. It was a symphony that attempted to do something no one had ever done before; that is, to marry together the genre of the Blues with that of symphonic music. Until 1950, it was THE most performed symphony written by an American composer. But until 10 or 15 years ago, it had all but disappeared from the stage, but due to the explosion of interest in Black American composers of the past and present, this brilliant symphony is making its way back onto stages all over the world. The way that Grant Still constructed this meeting of two genres of music was ingenious and innovative from start to finish, and so today on the show we'll explore all of the historical context of the symphony, what Grant Still was trying to do with his monumental new endeavor, and of course, all of the music itself. I want to thank John McWhorter for his brilliant contributions to this episode, as well as the Aalborg Symphony for embarking on a fantastic recording of the symphony, which you will hear throughout this episode.

"It was on the train, with its steely rhythms, its rattle-ty bang, that is so often so stimulating to a composer – I frequently hear music in the very heart of the noise.... And there I suddenly heard, and even saw on paper – the complete construction of the Rhapsody, from beginning to end. No new themes came to me, but I worked on the thematic material already in my mind and tried to conceive the composition as a whole. I heard it as a sort of musical kaleidoscope of America, of our vast melting pot, of our unduplicated national pep, of our metropolitan madness. By the time I reached Boston I had a definite plot of the piece." That was George Gershwin talking about writing Rhapsody in Blue, one of the most popular pieces of American Classical Music of the 20th century. But is the Rhapsody in Blue classical music? Or is it Jazz? Its certainly played on more classical concerts than it is on Jazz concerts, it uses a full orchestra (though that's not what it was originally written for), and the greatest soloists of the classical field regularly play the concerto on so called "serious" classical concerts. But on the other hand, the structure of the piece is anything but classical and there's ample room for improvisation though most classical pianists don't improvise when they play the piece. So which is it? Well, the answer is a bit of both, which probably is one of the main reasons for its enduring popularity. There are very few pieces that put a smile on your face like Rhapsody in Blue, and so today, we'll explore this most American of pieces, talking about the amazing story of its conception, Gershwin's quest to be accepted by the great classical composers of the day, and of course, the music itself. Join us!

Link to fundraiser episode on Appalachian Spring: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/1026719635067?aff=oddtdtcreator

During Bartok's life, the violin concerto we now know as Violin Concerto No. 2 was simply known as Bartok's only violin concerto. The reason? His first concerto, written when he was a much younger man, had never been performed or published. This was a deeply painful memory for Bartok, who had written the concerto for a woman he was in love with, Stefi Geyer, but Geyer refused both Bartok's advances and the concerto itself, and so it remained unperformed and unpublished until after Bartok's death. Bartok had written other works for violin and orchestra, including a rhapsody written for his friend and recital partner Zoltan Szekely. Szekely continuously asked Bartok to write him a full blown concerto, but Bartok refused again and again, until finally in 1936 Bartok agreed. But even then, Bartok wasn't so easy to pin down. Bartok resisted the idea of a full scale concerto, saying to Szekely that he wanted to write a theme and variations for violin and orchestra, but Szekely refused, and demanded a 3 movement standard concerto. Bartok finally agreed, but as you'll see later, he found a way to get his theme and variations in anyway! The concerto took two years to write, partly due to Bartok being busy with some of his greatest large scale works, but also because of Bartok's acute stress due to the rise of fascism across Europe. He was constantly thinking of emigrating from his native Hungary, and finally in 1938 he left. As he wrote to his friend: "What is most appalling is the imminent danger that Hungary too will surrender to this system of robbers and murderers..." All of these competing impulses - Bartok's bitter memories of his first concerto, the turbulent political siutation, and his seeming lack of confidence in writing a full scale concerto, contributed to the delay, but finally in 1938 the piece was finished and was triumphantly premiered on April 24, 1939 in Amsterdam. This concerto is one of the greatest 20th century violin concertos, and is full of a massive amount of brilliant detail as well as an urgently emotional and passionate character. It is a gigantic, nearly 40 minute long piece, and its difficulties for both the violinist and the orchestra are immense. Today we'll talk about all of the ins and outs of this remarkable concerto, including its challenges, its beauties, its emotional scope, and its brilliant combination of tonality and 12 tone music. Join us!

Recording: Danish Radio Symphony, Augustin Hadelich, Violin, Vasily Petrenko Cond.

In December of 1884, Dvorak wrote to a friend about the composition of a new symphony: "I am now busy with this symphony for London, and wherever I go I can think of nothing else. God grant that this Czech music will move the world!!" He was in the midst of working on what would become his 7th symphony, and even though it is nowhere near as popular as his 9th symphony(The New World Symphony) or even the sunny 8th symphony, it is often thought of as Dvorak's greatest symphony, and for the record, I agree. This symphony is Dvorak at his most serious, most passionate, and most intense. Throughout the symphony, a kind of darkness pervades the work that is very unusual for Dvorak, though it also is full of so many of the things that make Dvorak's music so beloved today: gorgeous melodies as far as the eye can see, glorious orchestral writing, and more. But what it lacks, unlike the 8th symphony for example, is the kind of simplicity and naivete that marks much of Dvorak's music, and this lack of "innocence" has led scholars, musicians, and audience members to try to find an extra musical "meaning" for this music. Is the music an expression of Czech nationalism? Is it an expression of grief after the loss of his mother and eldest daughter? Was Dvorak trying to impress Brahms with his seriousness? What could have caused Dvorak to suddenly embrace such darkness in his music? Well, as we'll find out, it could be a combination of all of those reasons, but also it could be none of them at all. In the end, what is most important is the remarkable music that Dvorak wrote for this 7th symphony, and so today on the show we'll go through the symphony, trying to illuminate just what makes this, perhaps, Dvorak's greatest symphony. Join us!

Shostakovich's 4th symphony is not for the faint of heart. It is a massive work, around an hour in length, and it calls for the second largest orchestra of any in Shostakovich's output. It is uncompromising, sometimes brutal, and it isn't nearly as lyrical that later Shostakovich has in spades. But with all that said, many people, including myself, consider this symphony Shostakovich's symphonic masterpiece. It has been described as the symphony containing the kernels of everything Shostakovich would ever write after. It also marks the final piece Shostakovich wrote before his 1936 denunciation that utterly changed the course of his life. Today, on this Patreon-sponsored episode, I'll take you through this monumental work, telling you the remarkable story of the conception and aborted first performance of the symphony. Then we'll dive into the music itself, talking about the large scope of the piece, it's unusual form, and of course the raw emotional core that is always so present in Shostakovich. Join us for a wild ride!

They are the most famous 8 notes in not only Western Music, but probably in all of music. If you walk down the street and ask someone to name a painting, they might say the Mona Lisa. A movie? Maybe Star Wars. A piece of classical music? Certainly, it would be Beethoven 5. But why? What makes those 8 notes so arrestingly powerful? Well, this week, we're going to take a deep look at this ubiquitous piece, exploring lots of different questions. What inspired Beethoven to write such a piece (a hint here, it probably wasn't fate knocking at the door)? How was this symphony different from everything that came before it? What influence did it have on composers of the future? What are the OTHER 3 movements of the symphony like, since many people only know the first movement? This symphony is monumentally important because in many ways it serves as the fulcrum between the classical and romantic eras. It is the most quoted piece of classical music there is, and it remains the most played symphony in the world. Today on this show from the archives, we're going to be exploring this symphony including new material that includes discoveries I've made about the symphony only in the last year or so, including the impact that the French Revolution had on the conception of this symphony. Join us!

This show is a bit different today. Last year I did a live video podcast on Mozart's Requiem for my Patreon subscribers. I've now edited that show into an audio-only version for everyone to be able to listen to, since this is such an essential piece and there's so much to talk about with it! The audio only version won't get into as much granular detail as the video podcast did, and it won't include quite as many clips from the movie Amadeus, but all the same, we take a deep dive into Mozart's Requiem today, talking all about one of the greatest unfinished works in the history of art. We'll discuss the myths and legends behind the piece, the movements that Mozart started but never finished, and the completions of the score by different composers, especially the heavily criticized but still regularly used completion of Franz Sussmayr. We'll also talk about each movement in detail, exploring just what Mozart brought to the Requiem text. This piece has the distinction of being one of the greatest pieces ever written, just as it is, but also one of the great what-if stories in musical history. Join us to learn all about the Mozart Requiem, and if you want to see the full video version of the show, please head over to patreon.com/stickynotespodcast to find out how you can support the show.

The history of classical music is littered with the stories of great composers who tragically died young. The composer I've been talking about for the last two episodes, Franz Schubert, died at 31. Mozart died at 36, Mendelssohn at 38, Bizet at 37, Gershwin at 38, Gideon Klein at 25, Purcell at 36. The composer I will tell you about today is part of this sad list. Lili Boulanger, one of the most talented and promising composers of her era, died at the age of just 24, and her entire life since the age of 2 was marked by illness and poor health. In her short life she wrote around 24 works, many of which show extraordinary prowess for such a young composer. Boulanger was the first woman to win the famous Prix de Rome, a French composition prize won by past luminairies such as Berlioz, Gounod, Debussy, Faure, Massenet, and many other greats of French composition. It was also won by Boulanger's father, a story we'll get to as we go through Boulanger's life. Her music was marked by the influences of impressionism, but also by the influence of her perhaps more well known sister, Nadia, who became a legendary composition teacher throughout the 20th century. Today I'll take you through some of the key moments in Boulanger's life, and we'll also take a look at 3 of her pieces: Les Sirenes, Faust Et Helene, the piece that won Boulanger the Prix de Rome, written when she was just 18, and we'll finish with an orchestral piece that might be the most frequent way you might encounter Boulanger's music in the concert hall these days entiled D'un Matin de Printemps. Boulanger, despite her short life, is one of hte most fascinating and underrated musical figures in classical music history, so if you aren't already familiar with her music, I can't wait to introduce you to her this week. Join us!

A big thank you to Thomas Goss for his research on Lili Boulanger - his fantastic article on her is available here: https://orchestrationonline.com/lili-boulanger-in-her-own-right/

Performances:

Les Sirenes: Chorus: Philharmonia Chor Stuttgart with Helene Schneiderman, mezzo-soprano and Émile Naoumoff, piano

Faust Et Helene: Ann Murray (mezzo-soprano), Bonaventura Bottone (tenor), Jason Howard (baritone), BBC Philharmonic, Yan Pascal Tortelier, Conductor

D'un Matin de Printemps: BBC Philharmonic, Yan Pascal Tortelier, Conductor

There are a few tropes when it comes to Schubert's late music. The pieces are very long. They have four movements. The first two movemnts are expansive, magisterial explorations of the human psyche, and the last two movements are much lighter, almost like two different pieces are at play. All of these tropes fit the Schubert B Flat Sonata we started talking about a couple of weeks ago. After the huge first movement, Schubert takes us into a world of the most remarkably simple and yet profoundly moving music in the second movement, followed by a scherzo and last movement that seem(and I emphasize the word seem) to wash all of that away. The last two movements of this sonata in particular have come in for criticism in some quarters, but this is nothing new for Schubert. You hear this criticism about his G Major Quartet, his cello quintet, and other large scale works. It's also been theorized that the final two movement "curse" Schubert seemed to struggle with is why he left his 8th symphony unfinished. But as you'll hear today, I don't think there's much, if anything, to criticize in these final two movements, and I'll try to argue that there's no drop off in quality in this music, just a different approach and outlook. But the bulk of today's show will be about this second movement. There is something beyond otherworldy in this character of Schubert's music. It doesn't belong to our world, but it doesn't belong to another world either. Instead it goes somewhere even deeper than we can possibly imagine. Schubert goes to a different place than any other composer when he is in this "mood," and in this movement, that bleak character is married to profound consolation, creating a movement of utter perfection. So let's explore the final three movements of this remarkable Sonata together. Join us!

For a long time I've received emails and messages from people asking, and sometimes demanding, that I explore the solo piano repertoire. Other than a look at the Goldberg Variations of Bach, I've basically neglected a huge amount music, including some of the greatest works ever written. Why have I been doing this? Well, if I'm totally honest, it's been slightly out of a sense of intimidation. I'm not a pianist, and I've always been somewhat in awe of the piano and pianists. Even after spending years with this music, I still felt that I just simply didn't know the solo piano repertoire well enough to do it justice. Well, now that I've gone through ALMOST all of the symphonic standard repertoire, and now that I've started exploring the string quartet repertoire, I think it's time to throw off this sense of awe and dive right in. You might think I might not reach too high to start off, maybe an early Beethoven sonata, or a Mozart or Haydn Sonata. Well, in my opinion you've got to go big or go home, so I've decided to explore one of the towering masterpieces not only of the solo piano genre, but of all music, Schubert's Sonata in B Flat Major. This is a piece that has been described as "well-nigh perfect," as "beyond analysis," as including "the most extraordinary trill in the history of music," and as "the climax and apotheosis of Schubert's instrumental lyricism and his simplicity of form." These are just a few of the superlatives I've found in researching this piece. It was written in the last weeks of Schubert's short life, and it truly does take the listener on an unforgettable journey. There is nothing quite like Schubert's final works, and so over the next two episodes, I will take you through this remarkable sonata, a piece that Alex Ross has described as "a premature communication from the beyond." This is a huge piece, with so much to talk about, so I've split this episode into two parts. This week we'll look at the first movement, and then in two weeks we'll cover the final three movements. Join us!

My first interaction with the musical term modes was Leonard Bernstein's brilliant Young People's Concert, also called What is a Mode? In that show, Bernstein showed how modes are an essential part of what makes modern music, meaning pop and rock music, tick. This was central to Bernstein's point during this amazing show, which is available on Youtube, and he punctuated his discussion with multiple examples of pop music from the time that used modes. Today, on this Patreon sponsored episode, I was asked to go through all of the modes and show how they have been used in classical music. Much of my show today is modeled on and takes its inspiration from that Bernstein Young People's Concert, and I'll be peppering clips from that show throughout my own exploration. As Bernstein says, the common practice period of classical music, starting with Haydn and ending sometime early in the 20th century, didn't feature a lot of modal music, though that doesn't mean it was completely absent. So today I'll explain what modes are, and we'll go through each of the so called church modes, explaining their characteristics, and then showing you examples throughout musical history of exactly how these modes were used by the great composers. This show might seem a bit technical, but I think there's a lot of really interesting and fascinating stuff here, so stick with me, and let's explore modes together. Join us!

In 1857, Brahms wrote to his friend Joseph Joachim about his first Piano Concerto, saying, " "I have no judgment about this piece anymore, nor any control over it." Brahms first began sketching his first piano concerto in 1853, but it would be five full years before Brahms finished the piece, and another year until its first performance. During that time, the piece became a Sonata, then a symphony, then a sonata for two pianos, and then finally a concerto for Piano and orchestra, or as the joke goes, a concerto for piano VERSUS orchestra. The piece, and Brahms' struggles with it, are completely understandable considering Brahms' youth, and the extraordinarily tumultuous circumstances of his private life during the years of 1853-1858. During this time period, he was anointed by no less than the kingmaker of classical music at the time, Robert Schumann, as the Chosen One that represented the future of music. He became friendly with both Robert and Clara Schumann, began achieving huge successes, then witnessed the slow mental breakdown of Robert, culminating in a suicide attempt and institutionalization, all while falling deeper and deeper in love with Clara Schumann, and she with him. The turbulence and emotional weight of all of this is reflected in one of Brahms' most impassioned works, the first piano concerto. We'll talk about the historical background for the piece, Brahms' working out process, and of course, the structure and insides of this massive, daunting piece.

Very often, when I tell people that I'm a classical musician, I am told, "wow, I love classical music! It's so relaxing!" I think almost all classical musicians have heard that before, and you know what? Sometimes, it's true! Classical music can be relaxing! But sometimes, and actually pretty often, classical music is NOT relaxing. It is exciting, emotional, passionate, and can make your heart race! Don't believe me? Today's show is all about proving that to you. I'm going to share with you some of the most thrilling, powerful, and well, some of hte loudest music in the history of classical music. I should say SOME OF, because what we are going to play for you today is absolutely not an exhautive list. If you like what you hear today, there is so much more where that came from. What we're going to do today is to take you through a kind of musical time machine of fast and furious symphonic music, trying to cover as many different styles and eras of classical music as possible.

NOTE: What will appear on the podcast feed is a shortened version of a full live concert I did with the Aalborg Symphony a few weeks ago. I highly recommend listening to that version as well, which features full length performances of many of the pieces I'm talking about on the show. You can find that here:

https://www.dr.dk/lyd/p2/p2-koncerten/p2-koncerten-2024/p2-koncerten-fuld-pedal-det-er-vildt-det-er-hoejt-det-er-weilersteins-stoerste-hits-12422443145

Enjoy!

There has always been a debate about "The Great American Symphony." By the time most prominent American composers got around to writing large scale symphonic works, the symphony had very nearly gone out of fashion. To many musicians and thinkers, the symphony had passed on with the death of Mahler. With the advent of atonality, which essentially destroyed the developmental structure that symphonies rested on, there seemed to be nowhere for the symphonic genre to go. The traditional udnerstanding is that composers like Shostakovich, Prokofiev, and Sibelius, among others, picked the symphony back up from its deathbed and resurrected it. But there was a generation of American composers also writing symphonies around this time, and many of them have never quite gotten the consideration they deserve. Ives wrote 4 brilliant symphonies, Bernstein wrote 3 ambitious symphonies, there are the symphonies by the first generation of Black American composers, namely William Dawson's Negro Folk Symphony, and then there are much less known symphonies by composers like Roy Harris, which were huge successes at the time of their premiers, but which have faded into obscurity. Despite many strong efforts, very few American symphonies have made their way into the standard "canon." That is, except for one: Copland's 3rd Symphony, which is almost certainly the most played American symphony. It was written as World War II was coming to an end, and it is one of Copland's most ardent and life-affirming works. Naturally, connections were made to the Allied triumph in World War II, but Copland insisted that the symphony wasn't a reflection of the era, writing: "if I forced myself, I could invent an ideological basis for the Third Symphony. But if I did, I'd be bluffing—or at any rate, adding something ex post facto, something that might or might not be true but that played no role at the moment of creation."

Klezmer music has always been very close to my heart, even as a classical violinist. During the pandemic I attempted to learn Klezmer clarinet, and soon I began collaborating with the great Klezmer(and classical!) violinist Abigale Reisman on her work for Klezmer band and orchestra called Gedanken. Abigale taught me so much about Klezmer music, including the fact that despite its reputation as a clarinet-centric genre, the violin is actually the original voice of the Klezmer sound. I've been wanting to do a show about Klezmer music for a while, and Abigale was the perfect person to talk to, as she has experience in both the classical and Klezmer worlds, and was able to talk about the differences between the two sounds, as well as all of the characteristics that make Klezmer music so instantly recognizable. We also talked about the similiarites between classical and Klezmer music, which classical violinists had the most Klezmer like sound, and how to tell the difference between a traditional Eastern European folk tune and a Jewish Klezmer folk tune. I so enjoyed this conversation and I hope you will too! You'll hear an excerpt of Abigale's band Ezekiel's Wheels at the end of the show, but check them out here:

https://www.youtube.com/@ewklezmer/videos

Link to the concert I mentioned at the top of the show:

https://www.br-klassik.de/audio/20240308-on-demand-so-joshua-weilerstein-vilde-frang-strawinsky-schostakowitsch-100.html

In 1850, Robert Schumann accepted a position as the new Music Director in Dusseldorf. This job had a lot of responsibilities, including conducting the city orchestra. Schumann, along with his wife, the legendary pianist Clara Schumann, and their 7 children moved to Dusseldorf. The city made a huge to do about the Schumann's arrival, welcoming him with balls, speeches, and parades. This was a new adventure for the Schumann family, and Robert, at least at first, was invigorated. He loved the less reserved personality of the residents of Dusseldorf, and he was deeply inspired by the Rhine river. Very quickly, Schumann had begun composing at his usual feverish pace. He wrote his cello concerto in just two weeks, and then he began a new symphony, what would turn out to be his last symphony. It would be a celebration of the Rhineland and all of its prosperity, beauty, and charm. Soon after the symphony was written however, the euphoria turned towards catasprophe. Schumann was not a good conductor, and the musicians of the orchestra soon turned bitterly against him. His compositions were still not well understood, and his mental health began sliding towards a crisis point again. So Schumann's 3rd symphony, the Rhenish, really represents a snapshot in time - a time of euphoria, of joy, of possibility. It is this boundless energy that comes up again and again in this remarkable symphony which we are going to talk about today. We'll discuss the wonderful varieties of joy Schumann includes in the piece, its unusual structure, it's transcendent fourth movement, and the unique challenges of performing Schumann's music, which often bedevil conductors to this day. Join us!

In 1806, the 36 year old Beethoven received a commission from the Russian ambassador in Vienna, Count Andreas Razumovsky. Razumovsky wanted a set of string quartets for what would soon be his house string quartet which included some of the finest players Vienna had to offer. As part of his commission, Razumovsky asked Beethoven to include a Russian theme in each one of the quartets. Beethoven obliged him in 2 of the quartets, and the Razumovsky quartets, Op. 59 1, 2, and 3, were born. 1806 was near the height of Beethoven's astonishing so called Middle Period, where the scale of his music drastically expanded from his earlier works and he began writing in a so called heroic style, with much more brash and adventurous music. This all started in 1803 with his Eroica Symphony, but Beethoven did not limit his adventures and his expanding palate to his symphonies. Everything with Beethoven's music was expanding, including his string quartets.

These middle quartets form part of the core of most string quartets repertoires. They are astonishing works in every regard, where Beethoven starts pushing limits we didn't even, or maybe he didn't even, know he had. From the expansive 59, 1, to the intensely felt and taut 59, 2, to the often fun loving 59, 3, Beethoven explores every facet of string quartet playing and brings that heroic and passionate new style to the genre of the string quartet. For today, we're going to go through Op. 59, 1, a remarkably expansive and brilliant piece that explores every facet of string quartet playing, pushing quartets to their technical and emotional limits in ways that were absolutely shocking at the time and still unbelievably challenging today. If you come to this show for symphonies, that's great, but for me and many other musicians, Beethoven's string quartets are the greatest collection of pieces by any composer in any genre. I hope that today's exploration will help convince you of that! Join us!

I've mentioned Ethel Smyth a few times in the past on this show. This is partly because of her music, and partly because she remains one of the most interesting people who ever lived. She was a composer of course, but she was also a conductor and an author, as well as a political activist. Specifically, she was a suffragette, fiercely advocating for the rights of women to vote in her home country of the UK. As a composer Smyth wrote dozens of works, all of which are starting to become better known as performers and administrators look to bring more music by female composers onto concert stages around the world. Smyth did not have it easy, constantly fighting for her place, battling conductors, other composers, and even her own father, all for the right to be a composer. Today, after I introduce you to a bit more of Smyth's amazing biography, we're going to focus on her first orchestral work, her Serenade in D Major. This is a piece that certainly doesn't sound like a first orchestral piece, and it is full of all of the qualities that make Smyth's music so enjoyable to listen to - lush warmth, humor, raucous intensity, and the quiet passion that runs through the music of so many great British composers. Smyth's Serenade in D is starting to be performed more, and I'm really proud to be using my own recording of the piece for the show today, which I made with the Lausanne Chamber Orchestra in 2021. It is only the second professional recording of the piece, and the recording has just been released on Claves Records. So today, we're going to go through this wonderful piece and also spend some more time in the wild and unpredictable world of Dame Ethel Smyth. Join us!

When you think of the genre of the concerto, you might be thinking of something like this: virtuoso fireworks, perhaps over romantic gestures designed simply to show the soloist off, and a rather pedestrian orchestral part, giving the soloist all of the spotlight while the conductor and orchestra are mere accompanists. Of course, this is a huge generalization and it isn't true about many concertos. But of all of the concertos that I conduct regularly, and hear regularly, there is one that always stands out as the exception to the rule: Dvorak's Cello Concerto. The Dvorak deserves every bit of popularity it has received over the years. In fact, you could argue that it is THE perfect concerto. It's enjoyable to play, perfectly written for the cello, enjoyable to listen to, and enjoyable to accompany for the orchestra. It has everything, which makes it all the more shocking to think that before Dvorak wrote the piece, he didn't even think of the cello as a suitable instrument for a solo piece! But once convinced of the cello's viability as a solo instrument, Dvorak gave everything to to the piece. We'll talk all about the sometimes tragic history behind the writing of the concerto, the specific difficulties it places on the cellist, the conductor, and the orchestra, and of course, go through the piece in detail, pointing out all the different facets that result in the Dvorak being perhaps the greatest of all concertos. Join us!

Cellist: Miklos Perenyi

We're back! Welcome to Season 10!

Leonard Bernstein to his wife: "These days have flown so -- I don't sleep much; I work every -- literally every -- second (since I'm doing four jobs on this show -- composing, lyric-writing, orchestrating and rehearsing the cast). It's murder, but I'm excited. It may be something extraordinary. We're having our first run thru for PEOPLE on Friday -- Please may they dig it!." Westside Story ran for 732 performances, spawned a movie that won 11 Academy Awards, and is still a go to on every list of the greatest Broadway Musicals ever written. The collaboration between Leonard Bernstein, Stephen Sondheim, and Jerome Robbins was a revolution on par with the collaborations of Stravinsky, Diaghilev, and Nijinsky with the Rite of Spring. Simply put, no Broadway show had ever been so gritty, so tragic, and so raw. This was a musical, a comedy, a tragedy, a political statement, and most importantly, a stunningly revolutionary work of art by these collaborators. And today, I want to tell you about the music, and more specifically, the Symphonic Dances from Westside Story; an arrangement that Bernstein made with his colleague Sid Ramin 3 years after the show's premiere. The Symphonic Dances brought Bernstein's electric music from the theatre to the concert stage, and it's stayed there ever since. So today, we'll go through each number, talking about just what makes this music so great, and also about the show itself - its background, its production, and the issues that Bernstein, Laurents, Sondheim, and Robbins were trying to tackle, all through the eyes of a tale of woe about Juliet and her Romeo, or of course, Maria and Tony. Join us!

I had the great joy to do my first ever live edition of Sticky Notes last month with the Aalborg Symphony in Denmark. For this concert, I chose a piece that is extremely close to my heart, Dvorak's New World Symphony. The story of the New World Symphony is a fascinating one. The symphony was the result of an extraordinary series of events, with Dvorak coming to America in 1892, meeting the great singer Harry Burleigh, and falling in love with a totally new, to him, genre of music: Black American and Native American folk music. Listening to Burleigh and other voices around America, Dvorak had discovered a new "American" sound for his music, and even though he would end up staying in the US for just three years, in that time he composed two of his most popular pieces, the American String Quartet, and the New World Symphony

Throughout the history of Western Classical Music, folk music has imprinted itself as an invaluable resource for composers from all over the world. In fact, it's easier to make a list of composers who never used folk music in their compositions than it is to make a list of the composers who did! This tradition began long before the 20th century, but the work of composers like Bartok and a resurgence in the influence of nationalist music sparked a massive increase in composers using folk music throughout the 20th century and into the 21st. Bartok is thought of as the king of using folk music, as he was essentially the worlds first ethnomusicologist. But Stravinsky, who used dozens of uncredited folk tunes in his Rite of Spring, as well as Bernstein, Copland, Gershwin, Grainger, Vaughan Williams, Szymanowski, Dvorak, and so many others embraced folk music as an integral source for their music. This was in stark contrast to the second Viennese school composers like Schoenberg, Berg and Webern, and post World War II composers like Stockhausen, Boulez, and others who deliberately turned their backs on folk music. One composer who straddled both worlds during their lifetime was the Polish composer Witold Lutoslawski, a brilliant composer whose career started out in the folk music realm, though not entirely by choice, and ended up in music of aleatory, a kind of controlled chaos! One of his first major works, the Concerto for Orchestra is the topic for today's show, and it is heavily influenced by folk music from start to finish. It is a piece also inspired and might even be a bit of an homage to the great Bela Bartok and his own Concerto for Orchestra, which was written just ten years earlier. Lutoslawski, if you're not familiar with him, is one of those composers that once you learn about him, you can't get enough of him. I'll take you through this brilliant and utterly unique piece today from start to finish. Join us!

In January of 1839, Clara Wieck, Robert's future wife, wrote to Robert, "Don't take it amiss if I tell you that I've been seized by the desire to encourage you to write for orchestra. Your imagination and your spirit are too great for the weak piano." Clara knew that she would have struck a nerve with Robert, whose history with the piano was full of trials and tribulations. Robert had trained as a pianist, but a 3 year period of reckless amounts of practicing as well as the exacerbating effects of experimental devices meant to strengthen his fingers had destroyed his ability to play professionally. But already from the age of 17, in 1827, Robert had considered writing a piano concerto, probably for himself to perform. He made 4 further attempts to write a concerto, but it seems, like so many things in Schumann's life, that his marriage to Clara was the final inspiration that he needed to get over the hump. It made sense, as Clara Schumann was possibly the greatest pianist of her age, and someone who was ceaselessly devoted to promoting her husband's works wherever she played. In 1841, one year after their marriage, Robert finished a one movement piano concerto in A minor, which he called a Phantasie. Clara reported adoring the piece, but no publisher was interested in the work of a still relatively unknown composer. They were especially uninterested in a on movement concerto, and so Robert knew he needed to "finish" the piece with two extra movements. It would take him 4 more years to finally tack on those extra movements, and the first performance would be given 4 years after that Phantasie had been written, of course with Clara as soloist. This concerto has remained popular practically ever since it was written, and there are so many reasons for it, from its arresting opening, to its abundant lyricism, to its constant interplay with the orchestra, something that Robert grappled with when writing this concerto. This piece is one that doesn't have a story behind it, or any sort of narrative - it lives in the world as a sort of fantasy, constantly evolving in its beauty throughout. We're going to talk about this piece in detail, from start to finish on this Patreon Sponsored Episode. Join us!

Brahms' violin concerto is one of the most difficult works for any violinist to tackle. It is as virtuosic as the hardest piece of Paganini as well as being as musically complex as a Brahms symphony. It takes most violinists years or even decades to feel comfortable with this piece, and many violinists consider it a kind of Mount Everest. Why? What makes this piece so complex, and yet so beautiful? What kind of choices do violinists make in their interpretations? For today, I'm not only going to tell you about this piece and how Brahms composed it, but I'm also going to compare 3 different recordings of the piece(Heifetz, Oistrakh, and Ferras) in order to show you the differences in interpretations between these 3 titanic violinists. We'll also talk about many of the topics we've covered before with Brahms; continuous development, gorgeous melodies, and that amazing Brahmsian quality of both respecting established forms while constantly subtly subverting them. Let's start the climb together and get to know this remarkable piece. Join us!

Today is a bit of an unusual episode. Last month I was invited by the British Society of Aesthetics to address their annual conference. My task was to give a lecture on whatever topic I wanted, having to do with music. So, considering it was an Academic Philosophy conference, I chose the easiest and most straightforward topic possible - What Does Music Mean?

Obviously, this is a topic that has been interrogated from just about every different angle, and I certainly would never claim to have all the answers. But for my lecture, I decided to focus on how to find meaning in these amazing works from a performer's perspective. How do I study and learn these pieces so that I can find the meaning that I think is inside of them? What does history teach us about these pieces and can we use history to find meaning in these works? To try to answer these questions I chose three pieces to explore - Beethoven's Eroica Symphony, Barber's Adagio for Strings, and Shostakovich's 5th Symphony. After the lecture I realized it could easily be a podcast episode, so I've slightly changed a few things to make the lecture a bit more podcast-friendly. I hope you enjoy this one, and thanks to the British Society of Aesthetics for their invitation and their warm welcome!

On October 29th, 1931, The Rochester Philharmonic presented the world premiere of a new symphony by the composer William Grant Still. A symphonic premiere is always something to look out for in musical history, but this one had an even greater significance. The premiere of Wiliam Grant Still's First Symphony, subtitled "Afro American," was the first time a symphony written by a Black American composer was performed by a leading orchestra. William Grant Still was a man of many firsts, whether he was the first Black American conductor to conduct a major orchestra, the first to have an opera performed by a major company, the first Black American to conduct an orchestra in the South of the United States, and much more. Today we're going to focus in on Grant Still's first symphony, a piece that Grant Still had long thought about, conceptualized, and dreamed of. It was also a symphony wrapped up in the roiling currents of Black America at the time, with the Harlem Renaissance in full swing and Alain Locke's tract The New Negro sparking discussion and debate all over the country. It was a symphony that attempted to do something no one had ever done before, that is, to marry together the genre of the Blues with that of symphonic music. At the time of its premiere and afterwards, it was quite a success, and until 1950, it was THE most performed symphony written by an American composer. After 1950, the symphony practically disappeared from concert stages, but due to the explosion of interest in Black American composers of the past and present, this brilliant symphony is making its way back into the repertoire of orchestras all over the world. The way that Grant Still constructed this meeting of two genres of music was ingenious and innovative from start to finish, and so today on the show we'll explore all of the historical context of the symphony, what Grant Still was trying to do with his monumental new endeavor, and of course, all of the music itself. I'm also joined today by the great writer and linguist John McWhorter, who discusses the 4 Paul Laurence Dunbar poems Grant Still added to each movement as epigraphs, as well as their cultural context. Join us!

This is another episode where I highly recommend listening to Part 1 from last week before listening to this episode! It was a great honor to speak with the critic and cultural historian Jeremy Eichler about his remarkable new book "Time's Echo." In today's episode, we speak about Richard Strauss' Metamorphosen, as well as the complicated and hotly debated questions about Strauss' activities during World War II. We also talk about Shostakovich and his 13th Symphony, entitled "Babi Yar," a piece of memorial for a place where no memorial had stood for decades. Finally, we speak about Benjamin Britten and his War Requiem. We talk about Britten's devout pacificism, about his visit to the Belsen Displaced Persons camp after World War II, and why his War Requiem seems to have more connection with World War I than with World War II. It was truly a joy to talk to Jeremy about all of these different great composers, as well as the memories they created with their works. Join us!

I had the great pleasure and honor this week(and next week) to speak with the author of the new book Time's Echo Jeremy Eichler. The book chronicles four composers and their varied reactions to World War II and the Holocaust, including Schoenberg, Strauss, Shostakovich, and Britten. This week we talked about the historical symbiosis between Germans and German Jews, the concept of Bildung, a central idea in German culture throughout the 19th and early 20th century, Mendelssohn's role in creating a sense of "German" music, Schoenberg's remarkable prescience about what lay in the future after the Nazis took power in Germany, his remarkable Survivor from Warsaw, the first major musical memorial to the Holocaust, and the almost hard to believe it's so wild story of the premiere of the piece. This is truly one of my favorite books about classical music that I've ever read, so I highly recommend picking it up. I hope you enjoy this interview as much as I did!

If you haven't listened to Part 1 of this episode about Mahler's 4th symphony, I highly recommend doing that, as every movement of this symphony builds to the "Heavenly Life" of the last movement. On Part 2, we'll be going through the 3rd and 4th movements. Mahler told his friend Natalie Bauer-Lechner that the 3rd movement of the symphony was created by "a vision of a tombstone on which was carved an image of the departed, with folded arms, in eternal sleep." As you can imagine based on that description, there is an unearthly beauty to the slow movement of Mahler's 4th. Much like the Heiliger Dankgesang movement from Beethoven's Op. 132 string quartet I talked about a couple of weeks ago, we often get the feeling in the slow movement of Mahler's 4th that we are listening to music that is coming to us from the other side. As the slow movement comes to its end, we are introduced to the last movement, a sublime and peaceful song Mahler entitled "The Heavenly Life." This is a symphony that leaves you in a state like no other in the musical world, and so today we'll go through that slow movement, investigating just how Mahler makes it so extraordinary, and then we'll talk about the last movement, a movement that has divided listeners from the beginning due to its unusual text. I can't promise we'll find all the answers, but along the way, we'll get to listen to some truly divine music. We'll also get to hear Mahler himself playing - that's right, Mahler himself! Join us!

After the truly heavenly slow movement of Mahler's 4th symphony, a soprano emerges and sings a song literally called "The Heavenly Life." It is a symphonic ending like no other, one that leaves the listener peaceful and contented after taking a long(but not as long as usual) and winding journey with Gustav Mahler and his 4th symphony. The 4th symphony is a symphony of moments, like the famous sleigh bells that begin the piece, and a symphony of long, massive, and momentous arcs, like in the timeless 3rd movement, which might be my single favorite movement of any Mahler symphony. But this symphony, so renowned for its contentedness and beauty also features complicated emotions, drama that clouds the blue skies, and a dark side that we never truly escape, perhaps not until the very end of the symphony. Mahler said that his symphony was "divinely serene, yet profoundly sad, it can only have you laughing and crying at the same time." What a perfect way to define Mahler's music, always full of dualisms, contradictions, ironies, and complexities, but that's what makes Mahler's music so irresistible; its ability to plumb the depths of not only the human spirit but also its psyche. Mahler's music is truly musical therapy, and if there's one of his symphonies that really exemplifies that, it's this fourth symphony. With all that said, this is also his simplest and most easily grasped symphony in terms of its purely musical content. I've gotten a lot of emails in the past from folks who are skeptical or confused about Mahler and his appeal, so if you're one of those people, than this symphony MIGHT just be the one that changes your mind. As always with Mahler, his symphonies get multi-part episodes, so this week I'll go through the first two movements of the symphony, from the sleigh bells and brilliant sunshine of the first movement, to the devilish and ironic second movement. We'll talk all about Mahler's brilliant orchestration, his use(and deliberate misuse) of form, the pure beauty of this music, and the oddly negative reception that this symphony got when it was first performed. Join us!

If you joined me last week, you heard about the severe intestinal illness that Beethoven suffered from during the year of 1825. Beethoven thought that he was near death; he was spitting up blood, in terrible pain, and regularly begged his doctor for help. Ensconced in Baden, a Viennese suburb known for its nature and calm, Beethoven slowly and miraculously recovered from the illness, giving him 2 more years to compose. These two years brought us the quartets Op. 130 Op. 131, Op. 135, a series of canons, sketches for a 10th symphony. and of course, Op. 132. Obviously, even as he suffered from this illness, Beethoven knew that he had much more in him left to compose. The 4 quartets he wrote upon recovery from this illness ALL rank in the top 10 of the greatest musical compositions ever written by anyone. During the slow movement of Op. 132, Beethoven takes the opportunity to thank the Deity, who or whatever that was to Beethoven, for his recovery. This 15-20 minute movement is, as I said last week, beyond superlatives, but I'll do my best to quell my enthusiasm and look at this movements structure, its fascinating harmonic language, and of course, its spiritual dimension. We'll then take apart the final two movements of the piece, two movements that teach us so much about Beethoven as a composer, as a person, and as a performer. No piece of Beethoven's struggles for so long before finally reaching a glorious conclusion, but don't worry, we'll get there in the end. Join us to explore part 2 of one of the greatest masterpieces of music ever written!

I had long hesitated to write a show about any of Beethoven's late string quartets. These are pieces that professional quartets spend the better part of their careers grappling with, struggling with, failing with, and much more rarely, succeeding with. They are some of the most extraordinary pieces of art ever conceived of. 5 quartets, Opus 127, Opus 130, Opus 131, Opus 132, and Opus 135, all written near or at the end of Beethoven's life, arguably representing the pinnacle of everything Beethoven achieved. They explore not only every conceivable emotion, but they dig down into the core of those emotions, defiantly refusing to skim the surface and daring to ask and then answer the fundamental questions of life and death. Everyone has a favorite Late Beethoven Quartet, but mine has always been Opus 132, and so this week I'm taking the opportunity to take the leap into Late Beethoven. We'll discuss Beethoven's situation as he recovered from a life-threatening illness which he was sure was going to be his end, the unusual 5 movement structure of the piece, and this week, the first two movements of the quartet, the first of which, to me, defines everything that Sonata Form can do to express emotion and a narrative in a piece of absolute music. Join us!

At the top of the score for the Danish composer Carl Nielsen's 4th symphony, he wrote: "Music is life, and like it, inextinguishable."

This could easily be the shortest podcast I've ever done. I could leave you with that quote and then play you the beginning of the symphony, and you would understand everything Nielsen wanted to portray in this remarkable music. But don't worry, I won't do that. Carl Nielsen's music has never quite made it into the standard standard repertoire, but if there is one piece of his that is played more often than any other, it is his 4th symphony, subtitled The Inextinguishable. But as a whole, Nielsen's 4th symphony is not easy to digest. It is a piece that is contradictory, in the sense that Nielsen uses an extremely small set of motives to write practically every note of music in the score, and yet sometimes the music can feel like a stream of consciousness. Nielsen himself wrote: "I have an idea for a new composition, which has no programme but will express what we understand by the spirit of life or manifestations of life, that is: everything that moves, that wants to live ... just life and motion, though varied – very varied – yet connected, and as if constantly on the move, in one big movement or stream. I must have a word or a short title to express this; that will be enough. I cannot quite explain what I want, but what I want is good."

There is a James Joyce-esque sense of jump-cutting between different ideas, as if that inextinguishable life force is unaffected by earthly things like form and recognizable structure. But if you peek under the hood of this piece, you find that it is really in 4 movements, and the first movement is even in a kind of a Sonata Form. It has an intermezzo, a slow movement, and a rambunctious finale. In many ways, this is a conventional symphony, but in terms of the musical material and the way Nielsen decided to manipulate that material, it is anything but conventional. We'll talk about all of this today, including the influence of World War 1 on the symphony and on Nielsen himself, and the remarkable music that throws us along like a relentless and boundless current of energy. Join us!

The stories, legends, and myths about the trials and travails of composers lives are legion, like Beethoven's battles against fate, Mozart and Schubert's struggles with finances, Brahms' failures with women, Mahler's troubles with just about everyone, and Shostakovich's near fatal interactions with the government. These stories tend to add to the general understanding of these composers, and in fact they tend to enhance their reputations. We see their struggles in their music, and it makes us admire them more for overcoming them. With Mendelssohn, and to some extent Haydn as well, we have the opposite case. Mendelssohn grew up in a happy, wealthy German family, and it was only late in his life when he underwent any major struggles at all. Whether this happy upbringing contributed to the character of his music is anyone's guess, but Mendelssohn seems to always get the short end of the stick when it comes to reputation, and I think that his generally cheerful music has a lot to do with this fact. But Mendelssohn is no second-rate composer. As I mentioned in April with my show about Mendelssohn's Octet, he was certainly THE greatest composer under 18 that we know of(and yes I'm including Mozart in that), and his best music ranks up there with the best composers in history. And today, our focus on both the overture to Midsummer Night's Dream, and the incidental music that Mendelssohn wrote 17 years later, allows us to enjoy the full breadth of Mendelssohn's staggering talent. This is not only clever and cheerful music. It is also fantastically orchestrated, perfectly structured, and in the case of the overture, it is full of invention and character that is simply mind-blowing from a composer who was just 17 years old at the time. So today we'll talk all about this, from the beauty and perfection of the overture to the incidental music that followed, meant to be performed alongside Shakespeare's play. We'll also talk about the role Shakespeare played in Germany at the time, and how Mendelssohn's upbringing did indeed have a lot to do with the music he chose to write. Join us!

Elgar's Cello Concerto was composed in the shadow of World War 1. It was a piece that marked a profound shift in Elgar's outlook on life and music, and was his last major work before a long silence caused by the death of his wife Alice. It is a piece of remarkable passion for a composer like Elgar, and never fails to move the audience with its combination of grief, melancholy, nostalgia, rage, but also tenderness. Elgar as a composer had been passed by with the invention of atonality and with composers like Stravinsky and Schoenberg pushing the boundaries of where music could go. Elgar stubbornly stayed true to his Romantic impulses, but the concerto also displays some of the inescapable influence of those composers. It is one of the most powerful pieces of the 20th century, but one of the reasons we know the piece so well is an unforgettable recording made in 1965 by Jacqueline Du Pre. It is very unusual for a piece to be so associated with a single performer, but Du Pre truly made the Elgar a standard concerto for the cello and it is now a piece that every cellist makes a part of their repertoire. We'll talk about all this and more during the show today - join us!

The "love theme" from Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet Fantasy-Overture is one of the most famous themes in the history of Western Classical Music. The story it accompanies might be the most famous Western play ever written. Just like Eine Kleine Nachtmusik seems to define the powdered wig era of classical music to the general public, the passionate theme from Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet seems to define romanticism in music because Tchaikovsky's Overture-Fantasy captures Shakespeare's masterpiece with a roiling and unstoppable intensity. But Tchaikovsky's setting of Romeo and Juliet, while probably the most famous, is by no means the only reimagining of the play by classical composers. There have been nearly a dozen adaptations of Romeo and Juliet by classical composers, including overtures, ballets, suites, and operas. Romeo and Juliet, just like it has been for actors, directors, and the audience, is an inexhaustible source for composers in a way that few pieces of literature or dramatic theatre have been in history. So today we'll compare just some of them for you - I'll be looking at Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet Fantasy Overture, Prokofiev's Ballet Romeo and Juliet, Berlioz's choral symphony Romeo et Juliette, a brief look at Gounod's opera Romeo and Juliet, and Leonard Bernstein's Westside Story. We'll take a look at how these 5 composers inserted their distinctive personalities onto the music, leaving no doubt that this was Shakespeare, and Romeo and Juliet, through their eyes. I'll do this by giving a general overview of each piece, and then I'll zero in on two ideas - the portrayal of Juliet, and the portrayal of Tybalt's Death(or fighting in general). This way we can see how these composers handled these pivotal characters and moments, all in markedly different ways. Join us!

Thank you to Nicole for sponsoring today's show on Patreon!

Have you ever heard of Jean-Louis Duport? I imagine that unless you are a professional cellist, or someone who studied cello as a child, you probably haven't. Even though my sister is a professional cellist, I had never heard of him before I was asked to make this show. Duport is a historical figure who has been almost completely forgotten, though he was part of a fascinating group of musicians who encountered Beethoven, Frederick the Great, and even Napoleon! He and his brother Jean-Pierre were two of the greatest cellists of their era, and Jean-Louis lives on for cellists as the writer of a set of etudes or studies that are still used by cellists all over the world to refine their techniques. But Jean-Louis Duport also wrote 6 cello concertos, pieces which show his profound connection with the instrument, as well as his mastery of the style of his time. Today on the show I'll take you through one of those concertos, his 4th, but I'm also going to do something a bit different. Since this will be my first time encountering the music of Duport, I want to show you how I might approach this piece as a conductor learning it for the first time. I've been conducting professionally now for almost 15 years, so there aren't a lot of pieces that are brand new to me anymore, but if I were to conduct this concerto, it would be totally new to me, which means that I approach this music in a totally different way than a piece I'd conducted a few times before. So today on the show we'll go through the piece, as well as my process for how I would learn a work like this, from start to finish. Join us!

When we listen to the music of Johannes Brahms, we often are reminded of the image of the portly bearded Brahms at the piano, eyes closed in a soulful pose. Brahms' works always, even in his youth, seemed to have a burnished maturity about them. As I've said many times on this show, Brahms' music is often described as autumnal, and there's a good reason for this, as its gentle melancholy is one of those things that never left Brahms even in his earlier works. But the piece we're talking about today isn't an early work, or a late work of Brahms. Actually, it's both! Brahms' B major trio is one of the rarest of rare pieces, in that it is published in two distinct versions, a version that Brahms wrote when he was just 20 years old, and a work that he heavily revised near the end of his career 35 years later, making changes that in some senses fundamentally recast the piece. At the same time, much of the original material is left in place, creating an unusual amalgam of the youthful and the mature. Brahms himself jokingly said that in the revisions of the piece, "I didn't provide it with a new wig, just combed and arranged its hair a little" Today on this Patreon sponsored episode I'll take you through this piece in both of its versions, exploring the original trio and then its far more performed revision, trying to see why Brahms made the changes that he made, and what we can learn about his compositional process. We'll also learn why Brahms' B major piano trio is the answer to a famous(in the classical music world) trivia question! Join us!

There's a joke among classical musicians that the only parts of a piece that matter are the beginning, the end, and one place in the middle. I don't think its something that anyone really believes in, but the value of the beginning of a piece in setting the scene cannot be ignored, and the absolutely stunning opening of the Sibelius violin concerto is no exception. A soft carpet of violins slowly oscillating between two notes sets up the entrance of the violinist, who over the course of the concerto will do just about everything a violin is capable of doing, all in a concerto of both eye-popping difficulty, but also heartwarming AND heartbreaking warmth, passion and character. There is often what is described as the "Big 5" of violin concerti, which includes the concerti of Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, Brahms, Mendelssohn. The Sibelius violin concerto is the only 20th century violin concerto that has found its way into the Big 5 and there's a reason for it. All of those concerti synthesized the need for virtuosity with the imperative of writing truly great music. But to me, and this might be a controversial opinion, no one did it quite like Sibelius. We'll hear all about the concerto, the circumstances that created its disastrous opening, and ask the question of what makes Sibelius such a distinctive composer, someone who sounds like no one else on earth.

Maurice Ravel the Magician, the Swiss Watchmaker, the aloof, the elegant, the precise, the soulful, the childlike, the naive, the warm, the radical, the progressive. These are all words that were used to describe a man of elegant contradictions throughout his life and into today. I talked a lot about Ravel's skill with orchestration last week when we discussed Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition, but Ravel's brilliance and creativity in terms of orchestral sound is absolutely unparalleled in musical history. But Ravel is somebody I've very rarely covered on the show, partly because he didn't write very many large scale works that would cover a whole hour long episode. Well, it took 6 years for me to figure it out, but I realized a little while ago that I could cover two of Ravel's shorter pieces and put them together on a double bill, so to speak. So today I'm going to tell you about Ravel's most beloved and most despised piece, Bolero, and about my favorite piece of Ravel's, La Valse. These are two pieces that could not be more different in their aims, in their constructions, and in their impacts on the audience. They are both thrillingly exciting, but in completely different ways. A good performance of Bolero should make you want to jump out of your seat with excitement, while a good performance of La Valse should terrify you to your core. Join us to learn all about it!