Friday, August 28, 2026

If Beethoven was German, then why did he have the Dutch "van" Beethoven instead of the German "von" Beethoven?

 

 

“Beethoven” itself is not German either.

‘Beet‘ is Flemish and means “turnip.” And ‘hoven’ means “field.” So Beethoven should actually be called “Rübenacker” in high german.

Beethoven's family comes from Mechelen in Flanders. So the whole name is Flemish.

If you dig a little deeper, you'll find that the Beethovens themselves probably came from “Bettincourt,” which is the French name for a beet field or turnip field. “van Beethoven” thus means just “from Bettincourt”.
Beethoven's ancestors translated their name from French into Flemish, but then kept it when they moved to Germany.

And to be honest, I'm grateful for that, because “von Beethoven” sounds much better than “vom Rübenacker”.

Returning to the studio

  

Glenn Gould recording at the studio


When Gould re-recorded the Goldbergs in 1981, recording technology had advanced considerably (stereo and Dolby surround sound had been invented and digital recording/editing could be used for mainstream recordings). This gave the artist greater flexibility, with the possibility of multiple takes to create a recording with which he was entirely satisfied. Gould had been unhappy with the tempi in the first recording and felt there was no sense of cohesion or narrative flow between the individual variations. The 1981 recording is undoubtedly that of a mature artist: the tempi are thoughtful, almost autumnal, and there is much greater expression throughout the variations. There are elegance and nobility rather than swooning, nervous energy.  

Gould’s two recordings of the Goldberg Variations demonstrate something profound – that two different approaches to the same notes say a great deal about how one ages and how tastes change over time.

The weather changes. The admirable impetuousness of youth usually yields to a more considered view
– John Humphreys, concert pianist

A recording is a snapshot in time, yet preserved forever, unlike a live performance which is a one-off, never to be repeated. Many artists are dissatisfied with their recordings because they know that they never play the same thing in exactly the same way and no sooner has a recording come out, than they wish they had done things differently. As amply demonstrated by Gould’s Goldbergs, the passage of time allows one to reflect on one’s repertoire and how one plays it. One’s perception of the music changes with time and so it makes perfect sense to re-record from a different, more mature perspective.

Daniel Barenboim

Daniel Barenboim


Other notable “repeat” recordings include Daniel Barenboim’s Beethoven Piano Sonatas. Barenboim was a young man when he recorded his first cycle (between 1966 and 1969), and like Gould’s 1955 Goldbergs, there’s an excitement and spontaneity in these readings. He re-recorded the sonatas for Deustche Grammophon in 1981-84 and two decades later Decca released the audio soundtracks of DB’s live performances of the sonatas (performed and filmed in Berlin’s Staatsoper unter den Linden and issued by EMI on DVD). Like Gould’s Goldbergs, these make for fascinating listening, offering one the opportunity to chart the performer’s artistic and interpretative development and maturity, resulting in new or renewed approaches to the music.


That artists choose to re-record works is a mark of how one develops as an artist: one does not and should not stand still artistically. Our responses to our music change with time, experience, growing maturity, and when we return to music we should always find something new within it. For some musicians, capturing the artistic changes that happen across their careers is an important goal and re-recording certain works is a way of marking these changes. In other instances, musicians respond to pressures from a record label: when an artist moves to a new label, they may be encouraged to re-record works to match the success of a previous label.

The best re-recordings don’t recreate, they reinvent. And while listening to them, we try to discover what motivations and inspirations stand behind them.

Making Fun of the Master Richard Wagner in Caricature

 by Maureen Buja  June 24th, 2023


The French caricaturist André Gill (1840–1865) had a style that depicted enlarged heads on tiny bodies. He drew Wagner determinedly breaking a listener’s ear by hammering a note into place.

Gill: Wagner, 1868

Gill: Wagner, 1868

8 years later, Gill took on “The tetralogist” Wagner by showing him relentlessly banging a pot and being served apple cider by a monkey. Wagner, in the caption, dismisses the French “The French are a people of monkeys” and the cartoonist saying that the ape people now have the art of the scream, which will easily compete with Wagner. Wagner was quoting Voltaire, who called the French a mix of monkeys and tigers (Wagner: Art and Politics, 1868), but the French quickly took the quote out of context.

Gill: Le Tétralogue Wagner, 1876 (L’Eclipse, September)

Gill: Le Tétralogue Wagner, 1876 (L’Eclipse, September)

Another caricature helpfully shows how to create a shadow image of Wagner, although it does require holding your hands in seemingly impossible positions (and the note that the beard should be made with a piece of folded paper).

Trewey: Silhouette of Wagner, 1877

Trewey: Silhouette of Wagner, 1877


Kreutzburger: Silhouette de Wagner (after Trewey), ca. 1877

Kreutzburger: Silhouette de Wagner (after Trewey), ca. 1877

The overwhelming use of brass and percussion in Wagner’s scores led to several caricatures including this one showing Wagner beating his own drum for Tannhäuser.

Blass: Wagner, inventor of the bass drum with musical grapeshot, indulging in his favorite exercise

Blass: Wagner, inventor of the bass drum with musical grapeshot, indulging in his favorite exercise

Honoré Daumier (1808–1879) depicts an audience that has been forced ‘par ordre’ to listen to an hour of Wagner. They slouch, they fall asleep, they endure, battered by a hail of notes, wielded by an authoritative hand.

Daumier: A Munich. Après une heure de Wagner par ordre!!, 1868 (Le Charivari, July 8, 1868)

Daumier: A Munich. Après une heure de Wagner par ordre!!, 1868 (Le Charivari, July 8, 1868)

The downside of this is a complaint that Sleep (Morpheus) brings to Zeus – carrying his sack of poppies on his back, he’s out of job, replaced by Wagner.

Cham: Morpheus is out of a job, 1861

Cham: Morpheus is out of a job, 1861

Another caricature, after the death of Wagner, shows him arriving in heaven and thanking the angels for the receptions but complaining that there aren’t enough trumpets and drums – you’ll never get a production without them!

Wagner in Heaven, 1883

Wagner in Heaven, 1883

In a caricature after the death of Wagner, the theatre director Pierre Gailhard (1848–1918), director of the Paris Opera, and the French conductor Charles Lamoureux (1834–1899) bombarded Paris in 1891 with Wagner. They are dressed in ‘the livery of Wagner’, with ‘W’ embroidered everywhere. Wagner is depicted between the two mighty horns as a ghostly shadow. Written under the cannon is ‘Ritt’, director of the Paris Opera, for whom Gailhard worked.

B. Moloch: The New Siege of Paris in 1891.

B. Moloch: The New Siege of Paris in 1891

In another depiction of the Opera, Pierre Gailhard and Eugène Ritt (1817–1898) are shown on the peak of the Paris Opera holding a drum and a trombone (more brass and percussion!). Between them, holding a two-handed saw is Wagner. This caricature followed the premiere of Lohengrin at the Opèra.

Gilbert-Martin: Le Nouveau Couronnment de l’Opéra, 1891 (Le Don Quichotte, vol. 18, no. 399)

Gilbert-Martin: Le Nouveau Couronnment de l’Opéra, 1891 (Le Don Quichotte, vol. 18, no. 399)

Another assault with brass, but this time depicting the field of battle as Bayreuth. Wagner is shown with the support of Hans Richter, in the foreground, the conductor at Bayreuth. Between Wagner and Liszt on the top left is Cosima Wagner. Below Wagner is Wilhelm Jahn, director of the Vienna State Opera, and the bass-baritone Emil Scaria, who sang in the premiere of Parsifal. We also have the dragon from Siegfried and Brunnhilde’s horse Grane just above Cosima. Other personalities down the left side include the German Emperor Louis II, the composer Johann von Herbeck, the Rhinemaiden Lili Lehman, actor Josef Lewinsky, and pianist Anton Rubinstein.

Klie: The Battle of Bayreuth, 1876

Klie: The Battle of Bayreuth, 1876

We’ll close with some of the greatest entry music of all time.

Leonard Bernstein’s Young People’s Concerts (Born on August 25, 1918) Making Classical Music Irresistible

 by Georg Predota  August 25th, 2026


The answer, of course, is “The Young People’s Concerts” with the New York Philharmonic. That particular series dates back to conductor Frank Damrosch, who directed a concert aimed at a younger audience in 1898. It developed steadily over the decades, but it was Leonard Bernstein who transformed this series into a cultural phenomenon.

Leonard Bernstein (photo by Jack Mitchell)

Leonard Bernstein (photo by Jack Mitchell)

As music director of the New York Philharmonic, Bernstein wrote, conducted, and narrated a total of 53 episodes from 1958 to 1972. Broadcast by CBS and syndicated in over 40 countries, the concerts brought classical music into the living rooms of the world. To celebrate Bernstein’s birthday on 25 August, let’s take a quick look at this extraordinary series that won five Emmy Awards and shared Bernstein’s excitement for music with generations of young people.   

When Bernstein Took the Stage

Leonard Bernstein, 1950s

Leonard Bernstein, 1950s

We all know that Leonard Bernstein was the first American-born conductor to lead a major American symphony orchestra. He served as music director and chief conductor of the New York Philharmonic from 1958 to 1969. During his tenure, he did much more than conduct an orchestra. He basically opened the doors of the concert hall to millions of listeners and viewers.

In 1993, when Bernstein was looking back on the concerts, he wrote, “These concerts are not just concerts, not even in terms of the millions who view them at home. They are, in some way, the quintessence of all I try to do as a conductor, as a performing musician.”

“There is a lurking didactic streak in me that turns every program I make into a discourse, whether I utter a word or not; my performing impulse has always been to share my feelings, or knowledge, or speculations about music – to provoke thought, suggest historical perspective, encourage the intersection of musical lines.”

Lorne Munroe and Leonard Bernstein

Lorne Munroe and Leonard Bernstein

“And from this point of view, the “Young People’s Concerts” are a dream come true, especially since the sharing is done with young people—that is, people who are eager, unprejudiced, curious, open, and enthusiastic. What more could an old incorrigible pedagogue ask for?” (Behind the Scenes, prelude, fugue & riffs, 1993)   

Music for Millions

Leonard Bernstein's Young People's Concerts

Leonard Bernstein’s Young People’s Concerts

One of the most popular events in the history of classical music, the Young People’s Concerts greatly benefited from the relatively new medium of television. This new technology greatly transformed the reach of classical music, and the series became so popular that CBS moved it to prime time.

Bernstein’s charisma and teaching method were central to the success of the series. He never talked down to his young audience. Instead, he introduced genuine musical ideas but slightly aimed above what he assumed they could already understand.

Essentially, his goal was to make young people listen and enjoy themselves. He certainly never talked down to them, but he always approached them as serious listeners. And to be sure, the subjects were intellectually serious, including titles such as “What Does Music Mean?” and “What is American Music?”  

Making them Curious

Leonard Bernstein with a television camera

Leonard Bernstein with a television camera

The primary reason Bernstein was so successful as a teacher and educator is that he did not make music easy for his listeners; he made them curious. Bernstein had a natural ability to remove all complexity and make it accessible through musical examples and direct engagement with the audience.

Instead of talking down to his audiences, he made them part of the process. Above all, Bernstein strongly believed that children were capable of understanding music on a variety of levels, and rather than watering down his introductions to classical music, he issued invitations to think about it.

Bernstein had a deceptively wonderful spontaneity in his appearances, but everything took an enormous amount of preparation. Regular evening subscription concerts of the Philharmonic frequently followed his Young People’s Concerts. Essentially, Bernstein would be in the hall in the early morning for television filming, demonstrations, and script revisions, and then conduct again in the evening.   

Music as Naturally as Food

Over 14 years and 53 performances, Bernstein’s celebrity, charisma, and zeal for learning transformed the series into a far-reaching phenomenon. Bernstein was certainly passionate about integrating music into children’s education from an early age.

He testified before the House Subcommittee on Select Education in 1977, saying, “I propose that the reading and understanding of music be taught to our children from the very beginning of their school life,” he said, “and that they learn to participate with enthusiasm in the study of music from kindergarten through high school.” Every child possesses a natural ability to understand music, he continued. Young people can and should engage with music “as naturally as food.”

Young People's Concerts

Young People’s Concerts

For several generations, people heard an orchestra for the first time at the Young People’s Concerts. And to be sure, it laid the groundwork for countless remarkable musical journeys. It also showed Bernstein at his absolute best as a passionate conductor and teacher.

He was a symbol of the merger between high art and pop culture, and Bernstein viewed Western music as a larger continuum, a tapestry between the academic and the everyday. To be sure, Bernstein was an eccentric who desperately pined for respect as a composer in both popular and concert idioms. He was a classical figure who behaved like a rock star, making the stuffy world of classical music approachable to all.

Claude Debussy and the Poetry of Sound Settings by Verlaine, Baudelaire, and Mallarmé

 by Georg Predota  August 22nd, 2026


Always guided by the particular requirements of the French language, Debussy abandoned the expressive conventions of the nineteenth century and attempted to capture ambiguity and fleeting emotional impressions.

As we celebrate Debussy’s birthday on 22 August, let us explore his remarkable mélodies through the poetry of three writers who profoundly shaped his imagination: Paul VerlaineCharles Baudelaire and Stéphane Mallarmé.   

Between Speech and Song

If you are listening to the Debussy melodies for the first time, it’s important to understand that the requirements of the French language always guided Debussy. Stressed syllables are never strongly accentuated, but treated with suitable discretion in order not to betray the spirit of the text.

The vocal lines are full of rhythmical innovations that free them from symmetrical regularity. Essentially, we hear melodic recitatives created in a flexible framework that generally avoids large intervals. This flexibility gives rise to the wonderful nuances so highly valued in French art.

His piano accompaniments, which probably shouldn’t be called accompaniments at all, are basically self-sufficient compositions. Actually, we can follow the harmonic development in Debussy’s musical language all the way to the most daring refinements in his last years.   

Music Melting into Air

Paul Verlaine

Paul Verlaine

Without doubt, Paul Verlaine was Debussy’s favourite poet. His statement that “music comes before all else, and for that chose the irregular, vague, and melting better into the air,” also became Debussy’s focal point.

Paul Verlaine published his Fêtes galantes in 1869, and it was immediately compared to the enchanted world of the divine master of amorous plays, the great and sublime painter Watteau.

Claude Debussy set “Mandoline” from the Fêtes galantes collection in 1882. It is one of the first Verlaine texts he set to music. It is a work of juvenilia, but Verlaine’s text is precisely what would have appealed to him at this time in his life. Debussy’s amorous ventures were well known, and the light-hearted text pokes fun at wild exchanges of vows and luxuriates in a good lifestyle.

The idea of using the piano as a mandolin substitute is not new, but Debussy introduces a new realism in the opening call to attention. The opening fifths allow for limitless possible continuations, and the initial vocal line sets out wonderfully floating chromatic phrases that won’t be repeated until the final verse. In this early mélodie, we get a sense of what Debussy’s piano part would later become.    

When Love Became Music

Claude Debussy, 1893

Claude Debussy, 1893

The aesthetic kinship between Verlaine and Debussy has been amply discussed, and Debussy took two stabs at Clair de Lune, with the first setting dating from 1882. It conjures up a magical moonlit world in which commedia dell’arte figures linger without a clear purpose.

It is a dream world in which sense is abandoned before the senses, and no story is told. However, there is a clear subtext to this particular setting. The 18-year-old Debussy was an accompanist for Mme Moreau-Sainti, a professional singer who operated a singing school for the ladies of Parisian high society.

And thus, Debussy’s gaze fell upon a red-haired beauty with green eyes, blessed with a beautiful high soprano voice. As his passion grew, he wrote songs that resembled an amorous diary of dreams and desires of infinite sweetness. In all, Debussy composed around forty songs for Madame Vasnier.

Before he left for Rome, he assembled thirteen in a bound album and added the following dedication. “To Mme Vasnier, these songs which have lived only through her, and whose enchanting grace would be lost if they no longer passed through her fairylike melodious lips.”   

A New Language of Song

Debussy composed his next set of mélodies to Verlaine’s texts in Rome and Paris between 1886 and 1887. These settings were re-published in 1903 under the official title Ariettes oubliées. Inspired by subtlety and nuance, Debussy began to move in a new direction, towards a recitative-like style that would become a trademark of his vocal writing.

His earlier lover and muse, Marie-Blanche Vasnier, was still in his mind, and it is certainly possible to see the entire set as a declaration of love. However, both Verlaine and Debussy sought to innovate song by using rhythm and tone colour as the basis for a new form of art.

For Debussy, this set established the tone for his future vocal compositions in terms of musical and attention to poetic detail. In Ariettes oubliées, he found a new and heightened level of understanding of Verlaine’s poetry. He composed in a highly chromatic, tonally ambiguous language, which he would make his own over the next couple of years.

Both artists essentially freed language and music from conventional restrictions. Verlaine employed uneven rhythm and rhymes, and Debussy was breaking away from traditional tonal concepts. Both were reaching out in new directions by seeking guidance from the other arts.   

The Poetry of Inner Exile

Claude Debussy, 1879

Claude Debussy, 1879

Paul Verlaine certainly lived an extremely troubled life. He lived as a closeted gay man and was suffering from wild swings of emotions and possibly bipolar disorder. Drug dependence and alcoholism took a horrific toll on his life, and he died in Paris at the age of 51.

Incarcerated for shooting his fellow poet and lover Arthur Rimbaud, Verlaine composed what many literary critics consider to be his finest poetry. He was aware that his time away from the Parisian cafes probably saved his life, and he converted to Roman Catholicism in the summer of 1874.

It was during this period in his life that Verlaine penned most of the poems in Sagesse, poetical expressions of simple Catholic Christianity as well as of his emotional odyssey. Debussy’s setting of three poems from this collection dates from 1891, but they were not published together until 1901.

Dedicated to Ernest Chausson, the “Trois mélodies” find Debussy moving away from the intimate and psychologically charged aspects of his earlier Verlaine settings towards something more purely atmospheric. The music dissolves the distinction between foreground and background, with the piano creating the environment in which the voice exists.   

Echoes of Lost Loves

In June 1904, Claude Debussy said goodbye to Verlaine by composing three additional songs from the Fêtes galantes. This set is dedicated to Emma Bardac, his future second wife, and he summons once more the familiar spirits of Verlaine from the commedia dell’arte.

Composed two years after he had completed Pelléas et Mélisande, Debussy reached a new height of daring and innovation in his musical language. “Les ingénus” presents an example of purely French atonality, expressing the poem’s veiled irony.

“Le faune” makes use of courante and saraband rhythms, yet the piano does not provide the customary rich background of colour. Instead, the right hand imitates the arabesques of a flute in free counterpoint with the voice. Meanwhile, the left hand, in the lowest register, beats out the accompaniment like a tambouring.

The cycle reaches its climax with “Colloque sentimental,” a rather nostalgic goodbye to his old loves. A searing sadness fills the conversation as Debussy gives “the poem the dimensions of an inner dialogue, remembrances of the kind one murmurs privately to oneself. It is a supreme example of the perfect freedom of recitative alternation with arioso.” 

Beauty in the Darkness

Étienne Carjat, Portrait of Charles Baudelaire, circa 1862

Étienne Carjat, Portrait of Charles Baudelaire, circa 1862

Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), according to TS Eliot, was the first modern poet, “the greatest exemplar in modern poetry in any language.” He produced unprecedented expressions of a complex sensibility and modern themes within the structures of classical rigour and technical artistry.

He wrote his best poetry against a backdrop of financial constraint, alienation, and legal strife. And let’s not forget exceedingly complicated personal and family relationships. He set himself apart from other writers by cultivating an eccentric image.

He lived an unconventional life by writing poetry in verse that used romantic topoi to upset them, and by launching a new form. While he did seek recognition, “Their distinct individuality defines Baudelaire and his poetry.”

His Les Fleurs du mal (The Flowers of Evil) was considered the most important and influential poetry collection published in all of Europe in the 19th century. As a critic wrote, “Into his poetry he poured all the dark pessimism of his own soul, all the bitterness and agony of his despair.” Composers loved Baudelaire’s poetry, as it so closely resembled music.   

The Shadow of Bayreuth

Claude Debussy, ca. 1908, photo by Félix Nadar

Claude Debussy, ca. 1908, photo by Félix Nadar

Composed between 1887 and 1889, Debussy’s Cinq poèmes de Charles Baudelaire hurls us into the sensual worlds of Baudelaire’s words and Richard Wagner’s harmonies. In fact, Debussy made two pilgrimages to Bayreuth, and he responded positively to Wagner’s sensuousness, mastery of form, and striking harmonies.

It has been suggested that while Debussy was no traditional heir to Wagner in Pelleas and Melisande, “his possession and transformation of Wagner give him substantiality, signification, and depth.”

These were Debussy’s only settings of Baudelaire, and despite his ambivalent view of Wagner, the shadow of Bayreuth is not far away. “Le Balcon” is conceived on an unusually large scale, and it is the longest of Debussy’s songs.

As Roger Nichols wrote, it “shows how sensitive Debussy was to the double need of recapitulation, confirmation, and forward movement.” “Harmonie du soir” is probably the most popular song in the set, as Debussy closely mirrors Baudelaire’s poetic structure. It opens with a brief prelude and then develops into an evolving structure. Maybe you also recognise it from his fourth Prélude for piano, which is titled “Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l’air du soir,” after a quote from “Harmonie du soir.”   

Music of the Unspoken

Portrait of Stéphane Mallarmé (Manet)

Portrait of Stéphane Mallarmé (Manet)

Debussy had set verse by the French Symbolist poet Stéphane Mallarmé in 1884. Still, when the first complete volume of his poetry was published in 1913, both Debussy and Ravel quickly began independently setting several verses.

Debussy was annoyed that Ravel had chosen two of the same poems, and Ravel was annoyed that the poet’s heir did not refuse Debussy’s request. In the event, to render the poet’s dense symbolism into a compelling musical language, Debussy created an unprecedented degree of boldness and refinement.

As Roger Nichols writes, “To be sure, the air one breathes here is dangerously rarefied, and, matching the world of the poetry, of all the songs Debussy wrote, these are the most difficult to approach.”

How does one musically convey a desire for longing, which cannot be fulfilled for lack of an object to focus on? Debussy forged an ingenious atonal language with an unreal weightlessness, all remaining suspended in mid-air. These three songs are a great achievement, but an exception among Debussy’s mélodies.

Debussy’s mélodies never attempted to illustrate poetry in music. Verlaine gave him atmosphere and ambiguity; Baudelaire opened the door to a darker, more sensual musical world; and Mallarmé pushed him towards an almost weightless language. Yet, Debussy’s greatest achievement is probably the fact that it hovers between what is said and what is suggested.