Gershwin Biography

Um... so, we've clearly all been in way over our heads the last week or so. I've been sick and barely had a lucid thought. So I won't be writing a recap or our wonderful evening listening to George Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue. Nor will I provide the detailed and fascinating biographical background that J dug up about the Rhapsody, and the concert wherein it premiered.

Nope. Instead I am going to cop out and share with you a link to a review of a fascinating new biography of Gershwin from the Washington Post:

It is a truth universally acknowledged that George Gershwin (1898-1937) wrote some irresistible melodies. After that, the debate begins.

Was Gershwin an inspired tunesmith, pure and simple, who nevertheless remained a rank amateur when he attempted to compose in larger forms, such as in his piano concertos or for the opera house? Or did his early death rob us of a distinctly American master, somebody who might have yoked all the strains that made up our wondrously polyglot musical culture of the mid-20th century - jazz, blues, popular song, European classical stylings, modernist experimentation - into a sustained and unified expression?

Larry Starr's valuable new book, titled simply George Gershwin, makes a strong case for the latter view. This is not a traditional biography (although Starr shares some potent biographical vignettes in a section called "Snapshots") but rather an insightful, technically intricate yet easy-to-follow study of Gershwin's music, particularly as it came out of the Broadway tradition.

The book can be found here. Read the whole review here.

Also, for fun: a rare video of Gershwin (playing his own "I Got Rhythym"):

On Mahler

Sometime in the past few months I finished Song of the Lark by Willa Cather. I say sometime because it took me so long to eek out the last 20 pages it seemed more like it evaporated than I completed it. However, the story has made a lovely and lasting impression on me. Interestingly SofL was written in 1915 and the Lied were composed in 1908--and as I listened to Mahler's Lied, I thought again and again of the similarities of the Lied and SofL both in theme and in subject, in tone and in the finale. In fact listening to the Lied helped me to finally understand the end of SofL, and helped me think through the Lied with some more coherence.

The subject matter immediately jumped to mind--with the German Mahler being influenced by the Eastern motifs and poetry--bringing it to bear on the rather tense Modernism with which he struggled, all within the somewhat florid context of the Art Nouveau style. Thea, also struggling with Modernism in a sense--what it means to be an artist in a time when most people are consumed by business and the newest fad--she heads to Germany to pursue serious voice training. The audiences in Europe and America sharply contrast--in Europe the masses are informed and trained listeners, in American the masses are swayed at the merest note from a critic and love singers for character rather than for excellence. Interestingly, Mahler first performed these Lied while at the Met in New York--where Thea eventually makes her break out debut.

In the Lied, Mahler starts with the troubadour's introduction--much like Cather's introduction--full of boisterous and somewhat jumbled first impressions--the earth's fiery sand cliffs, Thor bumping along in the wagon, the deep ruts of the old wagon trails, Spanish Johnny's mysterious disappearances when the mood strikes him, the low undertone of Thea's mother's understanding and Ray Kennedy's devotion and tragic death. All of the themes of exultation, sadness, striving, triumph, and loneliness are there, though it's unclear how the song hangs together (it was my least favorite), and it is not until the end that you see how the threads all do develop and lead to a coherent narrative. 

Mahler, and Cather move then to Autumn--as an aside, this is markedly odd--typically both in symphonies and in narrative--the conceit is to begin with Spring--with the bursting forth of youth. Neither artist does this however. We are plunged in Mahler's Lied into a drudging and sad song of decay. Thea escapes from Moonstone, we initially think in order to finally have the chance to meet her potential--instead she spends her time focussing on the wrong instrument (the piano, not her voice), has to return to Moonstone (again more frustration, since she is totally alienated from those who are there), and back to Chicago again, only to spend her time with a capricious and unhappy instructor, drearily changing from boarding house to boarding house (seemingly always in the rain), and making no real progress or connection. Yet there are glimpses of hope. Thea knows with certainty what her true gift is, and meets Fred Ottenburg. 

Onward to Youth, Beauty and Spring. Fred allows Thea the chance to spend time in Arizona, where she recaptures her vigor amongst the ancient spirits of the cliff people, the sparrows, and the sun--solidifying her identity and connection with human industry and striving, and lifting her to see the strength and delight she can communicate. She trains in Germany, and begins to sing in major productions in Europe. Conversely parallel to the Autumn, hints of sadness pervade the exultation--the cliff dwellers are absent--all of their industry is known only through remnants, Fred's tragic deception of Thea, and his being trapped, unable to fully enjoy or marry Thea, Thea's mother's death, and her inability to be there, the tragi-comic death of Dr. Archie's wife. 

In Mahler's stunning Farewell all of the elements hinted at and developed in the earlier songs come into vivid coherence. As Jack's post point's out his farewell is mournful and resigned, but hopeful. Cather finishes too with a Farewell of sorts. Thea's final direction as an artist is defined through the last conversation we overhear between her and Fred Ottenburg. There is a farewell, and Thea progresses on to what appears to be entirely musical being. There is very little humanity left in her, and I think, very little hope. It's a sad depiction of the Modern person I think, and one that even though Mahler shares, and perhaps perceives an even greater pathos involved in the human struggle of achievement and decline, his is more humane finally than Cather's. 

2/15/2011

Our next piece for exploration is George Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue.

Rhapsody in Blue was inspired in part by this painting, Nocturne in Black and Gold – The Falling Rocket, by James McNeill Whistler (which is in the Detroit Museum of Art). More precisely, the name was inspired by Whistler. Where Whistler used musical terms to describe his paintings, Gershwin used art (rather, color) to describe his rhapsody.

We'll be listening on Friday, but in the meantime, posting about the piece this week. (Full disclosure, this is my favorite orchestral piece...ever.)

2/12/2011

If we're to believe the story, and it seems generally accepted, Mahler was seriously concerned that people might "go home and blow their brains out" upon hearing Das Lied Von der Erde. Songs of the Earth. Songs that describe the life and gaiety and joy and love of the world, encapsulate the power of a horse and the self absorption of a drunkard and finally bid farewell to its impermanence and fleeting joys.

I've been putting off weighing in on this piece of music for one reason or another, but the overall umbrella of the problem is twofold. First, it's a complicated piece which has been subject to considerable scrutiny from unusually erudite people whose business it is to turn the lens of their erudition on music. I am not one of those people and gave up the notion of being too smart about this from the first. The other problem was fear.

Das Lied von der Erde was huge, and deeply affecting. It consists of six songs, great Chinese poems from important masters of Chinese poetry including Li Bai and Wang Wei (I actually translated a Li Bai poem in college once). The poems were first translated into French, from French to the Hans Heilman German version and thence to the Hans Berthge version. Finally someone not named Hans got their...hands...sorry...anyway, got their hands on the text and that was none other than Gustav Mahler who considerably personalized the poems as you can see here. One of the most important shifts he made is in the last poem, the only song I am going to get to in this post. That's because the songs are all leading up to it. Not to say they aren't important but they are all leading up to Der Abscheid, the farewell. The two most significant things, I think, that Mahler did to this poem was to make it in the first person and turn the last line into a refrain.

I'm nothing like an expert, but Mahler set's this final, massive piece in the first person to...brace yourself for the accumulated genius of my degree in English literature...personalize the poem. Simple enough I suppose, but hearing it sung in the first person somehow drove things to a more personal level.

Now the refrain. Wang Wei has his last line like this:

Endless the white clouds.

Mahler's looks like this:

Ewig...Ewig (endless, endless)

Not to over consider the change, I think that's the difference between Chinese poetry and music.

I really don't know what to say about the mysterious oboe and the occasional, far off whisper of a mandolin that runs through Der Abscheid. Margaret already described how we all sat in stunned silence while this song rolled over us like crashing waves. There are these deep orchestral blasts that punctuate the piece, and they come together in the end with terrible finality. I couldn't think how to get at the effect that had. I consider myself, after all, to be a writer of one kind or another and resent the thought that I might be left dangling like Claudius, with painted words that make a cheap thing of something vast deep. (act 3...scene something or other. it's just before the "to be or not to be" bit) wasn't one I liked.

I'll just say that the first time we listened I heard the C minor plinks of the Mandolin, the movement of this song of farewell, the mysterious oboe, I felt it all as emptiness, remembered the lines from Tristan and Isolde (which Wagner took from somewhere else...Goethe I think) "Oed and Leer ist das Meer" (Waste and empty is the sea). It struck me as terrible, a terrible meditation on the vast emptiness of the world and the unanswered longings we must live with and die by. The poet in Der Abscheid dismounts his horse and offers wine to his departing friend.

Where and why are you going?

You say you are returning to the southern mountains.

Let me go and do not ask me why, says the other,

there are endless white clouds there.

There is Mahler's refrain; Endless, endless.

R reminded me, and played for all of us the musical theme at the end of Mahler's second, the Resurrection Symphony. Sure enough it's there, a very similar rise, a shift to C Major (the relative major to the A Minor key that Lied Von der Erde begins in) and, I think, Mahler's essential, if meloncholic, certainty in the redemption of time. I can't help but wonder if it is listeners like me that Mahler was worried about walking away from Das Lied von der Erde really bummed out, listeners astute enough to get the pentatonic meanders and orchestral blasts and bold venturing into the "endless, endless" world of horizons but too dumb to see his overall allegiance in the process.

Because I'm situated here in the 21st century, what came to mind was that last scene from the movie SE7EN, you know the one. "Ernest Hemmingway once said 'the world is a fine place and worth fighting for' well I believe in that last part."

The Greatest Composers

The New York Times classical music critic Anthony Tommasini recently did a series exploring the question: Who are the greatest composers of all time?  He said, in his introduction to the project:

What makes great music great? There are lots of ways to answer. Here’s a playful approach: make a list of the Top 10 composers in history. A gimmick? Sure, but one worth using if you have to defend your choices. What goes into a decision to put certain composers on such a list or to keep them off? Should influence matter, or just the works themselves? What about popularity? Are there any objective criteria?

Anyway, if film institutes can issue lists of best movies, and rock magazines tally the greatest albums, why can’t a classical music critic give it a try, too?

He spent two weeks looking at the candidates, responding to readers questions, and finally came out with his list (Spoiler Alert: Bach wins!)--which is a fun little analysis of "not monumental idols but living, compelling presences."

On the list, Bach is the only one we've chosen for this little project.  And the final slot goes to Bartok (who, with Stravinsky and Wagner round out the Moderns)--but I can't really forgive that.  Bartok is nothing to Mahler.  It was a fascinating project, garnering over 1500 comments.  I highly recommend you check out the videos and articles dedicated to particular time periods:

+ The Romantics
+ The Female Factor
+ Verdi and Wagner
+ The 20th Century Masters
+ The Vienna Four Part One and Part Two

The Pentatonic Scale

We listened to Mahler's Songs of the Earth (conducted by Otto Klemperer) on Saturday.  We didn't really know what we were getting into, and the first couple of songs inspired lively discussion about the poetry, the musical themes, his inspiration (the songs are based on old Chinese poems, translated into the much more lyrical German).  But the final song, "Der Abshied" (The Farewell), a twenty-nine minute piece for mezzo-soprano, we were totally silent and enthralled.  It was a stunning piece of music--transcending all the pain and beauty and despair of the previous songs into grace and light and longing.

Because of the oriental influences, Mahler used elements of the pentatonic scale--which is a 5 note scale--the black keys on a piano, for reference.  Most oriental music is uses the Pentatonic scale, whereas Western music typically uses the Dorian.  However, the Pentatonic scale endures in folk music in almost all cultures.  I don't know much about it, and am always meaning to research more, but it seems the pentatonic scale is the most fundamental scale for music.

Here's an amazing video where Bobby McFerrin explains the pentatonic scale, as only he can:
 

Some Links for Mahler

I love this photo of Mahler with his wife Alma.

Many thanks to R and J for inviting me to join them on their February project.  I am super excited to be discussing Mahler, because I actually don't know much about him; I only know that I've loved everything of his that I have ever heard.

2010 and 2011 are good years for those who love Gustav Mahler.  2010 was the 150th anniversary of his birth, and 2011 the 100th anniversary of his death.  Needless to say: he's on just about every civic orchestra's concert list this season. And I've been collecting links about Mahler for ages now, so here's a nice start to my research:

+ Mahler's last concert was at Carnegie Hall:

A short, intense man, bundled in woolens, burst through the Carnegie Hall stage door 100 years ago for the last concert of his life. Gustav Mahler should not, by rights, have been there. The doctor had ordered him to bed with a head cold, and his relations with the New York Philharmonic had broken down at a hostile board meeting where, as tempers rose, a lawyer was whisked out from behind a curtain wielding a menacing contract. Any maestro today would have canceled the next concert, leaving the orchestra and his agent to concoct a face-saving statement. Mahler, though, was not a quitter.

(WSJ)  John Susanka responds.

+ I've never heard his poetic songs performed, but they brought my sister to tears once. Singer Thomas Hampson recently released an album of the lieder based on German folk poetry called Des Knaben Wunderhorn (CD, MP3).  The WSJ sat down to discuss Mahler's influence on Hampson's career.

+ Is there too much Mahler (WSJ...ironically, since they've written more about him this past year than about any other composer as far as I have read.)

+ Last fall Norman Liebrecht released  book Why Mahler: How One Man and Ten Symphonies Changed Our World. Here are reviews: WSJ; The Economist; New Republic.  While the reviews make me hesitate, if I had time for more reading, I'd pick up Liebrecht's other Mahler book Mahler Remembered which was recommended by Terry Teachout and is a compilation of personal papers, letters, etc of Mahler.

+ Alex Ross (the New Yorker music critic and my go to source for classical music criticism) published a review in the London Review of Books in 2000 of several books about Mahler.  Fascinating reading.

+ Also from Alex Ross: this is a great (little) story about Mahler.

This is the plaque commemorating the building in which Mahler lived and wrote.  Can I just say, that is an awesome font?  R, will you make sure that when I am dead and a memorial is raised for me and my life's work (haha...yeah right), it looks as cool as that?

(Cross posted on my personal blog Ten Thousand Places.)

January 31, 2011

J: 


Work, and I mean my paycheck labor out in the world, has been running me to ground this week. I have had to backfill all my posts about creative time and - to tear the fourth wall of bloggery down - I had to backfill the time itself. I stole moments Saturday to pay Friday, and so on.

I reckon this though as another moment of symmetry for the purpose of this blog and our experiment in deliberate living. I know I've spent the last year tracking down time to write and make music like an ungainly hunter. like wolves that just chase an elk until it falls over. It isnt beautiful, but it works enough of the time to get something done. Anyway, I last year I wrote stories, worked on a novel, poetry and music, but I did it with the unimpressive tactics of the wolf.

You may want to leap to the defense of wolves. They are fine animals and I am not really meaning to get hung up on them...and how much they are the bullies of the animal world, and kind of good looking cowards.

Right, but, this January was a time of deliberate time. I think it is an odd turn of phrase when people talk about "finding time" as though it were laying around somewhere (in which case I would steal it from those inattentive guppies in an instant and without regret...a man who finds time isnt likely to put it to any better use than one who finds money). I don't like the notion of "making time" any better, as though one's godlike hubris is going to rend the fabric of the universe asunder and allow you to sit, while water droplets hang in the air, and write at the moving point of a frozen world. Sure its a figure of speech, I get it...but don't like it. But this January, rather than being the layabout blowing his dollar at the arcade, the master of time and space, or just a bully wolf, we fought very deliberately for 30 minutes each day. Mostly we won.

It changes the way you think about finding making or hunting time, to have done a thing like that with forethought. We picked a ringer of a month though. It depressed me at first when I realized how hard it was for us to find just 30 minutes, and I wondered if I had even spent that much time per session of writing in the last year. But upon reflection, this was just a rough month. So, we did it anyway and I am very proud of the result.

I think the real challenge of this year is going to be to keep making certain, when faced with incoming months that could be as rough as this one, I find at least the same time to keep working.

If and when I finish my novel this year, I will be sure to mention it here, and see how well I kept that time in order.

Onward to February.


R:


I started on my next painting.

"Yorkshire, 1965"




I suppose it is also fitting that I reflect on our first month here. I absolutely loved having in mind that these 30 minutes must be fit in. It helped me to orient my days a little bit better: if we were having a guest  over for dinner, I knew I wouldn't be able to have my time in the evening, and so organized the kids to be busy while I could be as well. It was really nice to have Spoon up painting next to me while I painted. More than this however, it helped me to realize how many 30 minutes I wasted checking email and scrolling through my Google Reader. Now don't get me wrong, I am not going to stop checking either one of those things! But it's even more satisfying to check them in bulk than to briefly glance for a couple minutes here and there. And meanwhile I have larger chunks to devote to reading, actually sitting down with my kids, or being creative. Not only have I already painted more paintings than all of last year, but I have knitted, read, written letters and blog posts, and had guests over for dinner--all of which had been shunted aside by not consolidating my use of the internet (primarily) and watching movies (secondarily).


I have been listening to The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains by Nicholas Carr while I cook or clean up the kitchen this month. It's been oddly apt with the consideration of time this month. The brain is affected by what we choose to do or even what we think. Making choices in what you spend time thinking about actually affects the capacities of your brain. Carr writes about how deep reading (and I would add to this--any focussed creative activity), actually grows the capacity of your brain to engage the world when not reading.


"'The remarkable virtuosity displayed by new literary artists who managed to counterfeit taste, touch, smell, or sound in mere words required a heightened awareness and closer observation of sensory experience that was passed on in turn to the reader,' writes Eisenstein. Like painters and composers, writers were able to 'alter perception' in a way 'that enriched rather than stunted sensuous response to external  stimuli, expanded rather than contracted sympathetic response to the varieties of human experience.' The words in books didn't just strengthen people's ability to think abstractly; they enriched people's experience if the physical world, the world outside the book."


The brain wants to repeat patterns that it develops.


I have found that just like with working out--I feel more energetic having expended energy--the same to be true with leisure time. If I sit and watch a movie because I am just too tired to do anything else, I end up going to be feeling even more sluggish and restless. When I would actually just make myself sit down and paint or draw or read for 30 minutes or more, or then watch a movie, my enjoyment of the movie was increased, and I felt less tired and sluggish over all.


I hope to continue this good pattern of devoting more focussed attention to the small amounts of time during the day--perhaps alternating more between reading, writing, and being creative in other ways, rather than just limiting it to creativity. I will not try and make myself do this on the weekends though!


After devoting a month to re-focussing my attention, I am looking forward to developing the capacity of listening without images: February!