Prom 75: Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra -- Haydn & R. Strauss
Haydn - Symphony No. 104 in D major, 'London'
Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra
Bernard Haitink conductor
Showing posts with label Joseph Haydn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joseph Haydn. Show all posts
Sunday, September 24, 2023
Sunday, May 28, 2023
Why Listen to Haydn? His Life and Music
He composed 104 symphonies, as well as an oratorio which chronicles the creation of the entire world! This is the life and works of Franz Joseph Haydn, including his early, middle, and late symphonies as well as a dive into his Creation Oratorio.
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Script by Ricardo Santos
Narrated by Oscar Osicki
Sunday, February 26, 2023
Haydn Symphony No. 49 in F minor ' La Passione '
Orchestra of St. John's, Smith Square, London - John Lubbock, conductor
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Monday, November 21, 2022
Friday, October 28, 2022
Who Got It Right and Who Got It Wrong? Critics and Composers
by
Here, John Gregory, writing in 1766 in his A Comparative View of the State and Faculties of Man with Those of the Animal World, had this to say about what composer?
‘[The style of COMPOSER] sometimes pleases by its spirit and a wild luxuriancy … but possesses too little of the elegance and pathetic expression of music to remain long in the public taste.’
Hmmm. So we want a mid-18th century composer who had spirit and a sense of luxury but lacked elegance…. Mozart? Hummel? No, they’re too late. Gregory was referring to the style of the music of Haydn, who, of all composers of his era, has remained in the public taste where so many of his contemporaries have vanished.
Hardy: Joseph Haydn, 1791
We have two composers with two very different views of conductors. The first, a composer, suffered poor performances in the hands of bad conductors:
‘Conducting is a black art.’
The other, a conductor himself, downplayed the difficulties in a letter to his 10-year-old sister:
‘It’s easy. All you have to do is wiggle a stick.’
It was Tchaikovsky who held the first opinion, given in 1909, and Sir Thomas Beecham in the second quote.
Reutlinger: P.I. Tchaikovsky, c. 1888
Sir Thomas Beecham, 1948
Richard Strauss, on the other hand, felt that certain sections of the orchestra needed to be quelled at all times:
‘Never let the horns and woodwinds out of your sight. If you can hear them at all, they are too loud.’
Igor Stravinsky , himself a composer and a conductor, saw danger in the field of conducting:
‘”Great” conductors, like “great” actors, soon become unable to play anything but themselves.’
and
‘Conducting is semaphoring, after all.’
Richard Strauss conducting
Stravinsky conducting
He also viewed conductors as the ‘lapdogs’ of musical life…which poses an interesting question of which side of Stravinsky was making that statement!
Very few composers or performers had anything good to say about critics.
Richard Wagner thought that ‘the immoral profession of musical criticism must be abolished,’ whereas Beecham saw the problem as one of lack of musical feeling, saying ‘…so often they have the score in their hands and not in their heads.’
Aaron Copland thought that ‘if a literary many puts together two words about music, one of them will be wrong’.
And the critics strike back:
George Bernard Shaw, when accused of being too critical: ‘No doubt I was unjust; who am I that I should be just?’
Eduard Hanslick, who wielded great power as critic, took an uncritical view of himself: ‘When I wish to annihilate, then I do annihilate.’
Eduard Hanslick
Oscar Wilde found Chopin to be too emotional: ‘After playing Chopin, I feel as if I had been weeping over sins that I had never committed, and mourning over tragedies that were not my own.’
Sometimes composers are most caustic about their contemporaries. Wagner wondered this about the legacy of Rossini: ‘After Rossini dies, who will there be to promote his music?’
Stravinsky pondered about South American music: ‘Why is it that whenever I hear a piece of music I don’t like, it’s always by Villa-Lobos?’
Some composers write about what they are proudest of. Modest Mussorgsky, known for his songs as much as his symphonic music and opera, said in a letter in 1868 ‘my music must be an artistic reproduction of human speech in all its finest shades’.
Puccini, understating his talents simply said ‘God touched me with His little finger and said “Write for the theatre, only for the theatre.”’
Giacomo Puccini
Rossini, never one to understate his skill, remarked ‘Give me a laundry-list and I’ll set it to music.’
Stravinsky, who was often so far ahead of his contemporaries musically as to be in another world, said ‘Silence will save me from being wrong (and foolish), but it will also deprive me of the possibility of being right.’
Elisabeth Luytens, who parlayed her contemporary sound into really effective music for British horror films, called her own style ‘eerie weirdness’.
Elizabeth Lutyens
Opinions, opinions … everyone has opinions. Some of them can make us ponder (‘Wagner has lovely moments but awful quarters of an hour’ – Rossini), others make us laugh (‘Hell is full of musical amateurs’ – George Bernard Shaw), and others make us angry (‘There are two kinds of music: German music and bad music.’ – H.L. Mencken) – what’s your opinion?
Wednesday, June 1, 2022
Best Songs in D Minor
by Hermione Lai , Interlude
Bach’s Toccata in D minor 18th century copy by Johannes Ringk
Sometimes, I really don’t understand the descriptions assigned to particular keys. When it comes to D minor, we can read that it represents “dejected womanhood which broods on notions and illusions.” I guess it’s a pretty fancy and period description of a scorned woman in love? Others have said that D minor “expresses a subdued feeling of melancholy, grief, anxiety, and solemnity.” Whatever the case may be, some of the most famous and popular classical pieces ever are written in D minor. And here is my list of personal bests.
Bach: Toccata and Fugue in D minor
I can tell you that it was not a very easy choice because of all the gorgeous compositions in D minor that I have to leave out. However, for me it’s all starting with the Toccata and Fugue in D minor by Johann Sebastian Bach. Today that song is used in a variety of popular media, ranging from film, video games and ringtones. But the association today is not melancholy or a scorned woman in love, but sheer terror. This association with horror and Halloween first appeared in a 1962 film adaptation of “The Phantom of the Opera.” It just goes to show that specific associations are easily formed in connection with visual media, but the D minor Toccata and Fugue is still a most powerful composition, and certainly one of the best songs in D minor.
Mendelssohn: Piano Trio No. 1 in D minor
Portrait of Felix Mendelssohn by Wilhelm Hensel, 1847
Felix Mendelssohn learned a lot from the music of Bach. In fact, he was responsible that the music of Bach found its rightful place on the world’s concert stages. Mendelssohn looked at the styles and compositional techniques of the past and developed a highly personalized music style. Not everybody was enthusiastic for Mendelssohn to go back in time, and Berlioz once said, “Mendelssohn paid too much attention to the music of the dead.” And the always-punchy critic and playwright George Bernard Shaw compared Mendelssohn to a senile academy professor whose exercises in a dead musical language “are as trivial as they are tedious.” Then as now, it’s difficult to please the critics. Mendelssohn complete his piano trio in D minor in 1839, and Robert Schumann wrote in his review that “Mendelssohn is the Mozart of the 19th century, the most illuminating of musicians.” There is a good bit of melancholy yearning in the opening movement, and the slow “Andante” is actually a song without words that turns to passion. The scherzo is light and airy, and it all ends with a passionate rondo. For me personally, this is one of the most powerful and best songs in D minor ever.
Mozart: Requiem
Mozart’s Requiem
Since the key of D minor is supposed to express grief and solemnity, it’s not surprising to find a good number of Requiems in that category. Composers who have written Requiems include Bruckner, Reger, Fauré, and probably most famously, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. The passionate lover of music, Count Franz von Walsegg commissioned the work for his twenty-year old wife Anna, who had sadly passed away.
The Count was a fellow Freemason, but as we all know, Mozart himself died before he could complete the composition. Sorry to disappoint all fans of the movie Amadeus, but Salieri had nothing to do with the Requiem or with Mozart’s death. Mozart’s wife Constanze hired several composers to finish the piece and deliver it to the Count. Constanze did suggest that her husband actually believed that he was writing the requiem for his own funeral. Whatever the case may be, it is one of the most powerful classical compositions I know, and it certainly is one of the best songs in D minor.
Haydn: Symphony No. 80 in D minor
Portrait of Joseph Haydn by Thomas Hardy, 1791
D minor seemed to have been a highly popular key for composing large-scale symphonies. We have symphonies No. 1 by Dohnányi, Ives, Rachmaninoff and Richard Strauss. Prokofiev and Balakirev wrote their 2nd symphonies in D minor, the same key used by Bruckner in his symphonies No. 3 and No. 9. Dvořák composed his symphonies No. 4 and No. 7 in D minor, and there are also symphonies by Schumann, Shostakovich, Sibelius, Vaughan Williams, Glazunov, and of course the monumental symphony No. 9 by Beethoven. Which one is actually my favorite? To tell the truth, I really can’t decide. So I went back to the father of the symphony, Joseph Haydn, and I found a delightful storm and stress symphony in D minor. His 80th symphony probably dates from 1784, and for some reason it does not have a nickname. However, it is a symphonic gem and Haydn showed everybody coming after him what was actually possible in a symphony. And it is for that particular reason that Haydn’s 80th is my representative for symphonies in D minor.
Rachmaninoff: Piano Concerto No. 3 in D minor, Op. 30
Rachmaninoff proofing a manuscript
Some composers are actually rather difficult to read. Sergei Rachmaninoff was clearly one of the last great pianist-composers in a long tradition stretching back to Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt and Brahms. He proudly suggested that “a composer’s music should express the country of his birth, his love affairs, his religion, the books which have influenced him, and the pictures he loves… My music is the product of my temperament…” Rachmaninoff was fiercely egotistic in artistic matters, but also frequently depressed without any specific cause. Very few people ever heard him laugh, and only occasionally did he crack a rare smile. He was often grave in expression and mannerism, and seemed to have been stuck in prolonged periods of philosophical longing and melancholy. Almost sounds like Rachmaninoff could be considered the poster child for D minor. And wouldn’t you know it, he did write a great number of works in that particular key, including the fabulous 3rd piano concerto. It is without doubt one of the all-time best songs in D minor. As you can tell, the key of D minor was really popular with composers, and I have tried to find my favorite songs; what is yours? Next time, I will take a look at the best songs in the cheerful key of B-flat major.
Friday, April 8, 2022
The Dark Childhood of Joseph Haydn
by
Joseph Haydn has entered music history as a jovial, grandfatherly figure with a reputation for a quick wit. Generations later, we still chuckle at the stories behind the Surprise Symphony or the Farewell Symphony. His famous good humor is all the more striking considering his often difficult upbringing.
Joseph Haydn was born in the little town of Rohrau, Austria, on 31 March 1732, the second of twelve children. His father Mathias was a wheelwright by day and a folk musician by night. He was especially fond of accompanying himself on the harp singing folk tunes, and he would often encourage his family to sing along with him.
It’s no surprise that Joseph’s talent blossomed in this idyllic, naturally musical environment. That talent would soon change his life forever. When he was six, a distant relative named Johann Matthias Frankh visited Rohrau. Frankh was a schoolmaster and choirmaster in the town of Hainburg, and he thought that Joseph would do well to become his apprentice. Joseph’s parents hoped that such training would assist Joseph in becoming a clergyman, and so they agreed to send him away. Accordingly, Joseph Haydn left home at the age of six.
The Frankh family didn’t take very good care of their brilliant new charge. He frequently went hungry and he was beaten regularly. Later in life, he remembered being embarrassed at the dirty clothing the Frankhs forced him to wear. Nevertheless, he learned the basics of music: how to play the violin and harpsichord, and, more importantly for his immediate future, how to sing.
In 1739, not long after Joseph had arrived at the Frankh house, an important musician named Georg von Reutter came to town. Reutter was the director of music at St. Stephen’s Cathedral in Vienna, and he was on a tour of the smaller Austrian cities, scouting out new talent for his cathedral choirs. (A steady supply of boys was needed, since every year a certain percentage of their high voices fell victim to puberty.) During this scouting trip, Reutter heard Haydn and was deeply impressed, offering him a position as a chorister. In the spring of 1740, Joseph made his second big move, arriving in Vienna at the age of eight.
He worked for nearly a decade at the cathedral as a chorister. He was steeped in church music, but he didn’t receive the systematic training in theory and composition that he craved. He eventually resorted to asking his father for money to buy the famous textbook Gradus ad Parnassum so that he could start to teach himself. He also still struggled to get enough to eat. But if he sang well enough, he was invited to perform at aristocratic parties, where he was fed.
By 1749, Haydn’s voice was starting to break. Apparently the Empress herself referred to his singing as “crowing.” Joseph didn’t help matters when he jokingly snipped off the pigtail of a fellow chorister. Ruetter threatened to cane Haydn for his insubordination. Haydn replied that he’d rather leave the choir than be so humiliated. Ruetter replied, “Of course you will be expelled…after you have been caned.”
So it was that a teenaged Joseph Haydn found himself humiliated, fired, and homeless. Luckily an acquaintance named Johann Michael Spangler invited the young genius to share (cramped) quarters with him, his wife, and baby son. His lodging secured, Haydn started working as a freelance musician, finally gaining a certain level of control over his life after years of lonely nights, tiny meals, and hard teachers.
Haydn was clearly more than a great composer or a quick wit. He was a survivor.
Thursday, July 23, 2020
Who was George Bridgetower?
The violin virtuoso who fell out with Beethoven
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Have you heard of the Afro-European violin virtuoso, by whom Beethoven was so impressed that he composed a sonata just for him? Here’s the story of George Bridgetower.
George Augustus Polgreen Bridgetower was born in 1778 (or 1780, no one quite knows which) in Poland, to an Eastern European mother and West Indian father.
His father was a servant in Prince Esterházy’s Hungarian castle, a spectacular building which boasted an opera house, a puppet theatre and the established composer, , as Kappelmeister.
By the time young Bridgetower and his family moved to London, music was in his veins. Aged 10, George became a professional and gave performances with the Royal Philharmonic Society Orchestra. The young prodigy began composing and teaching, and later attended Trinity Hall, Cambridge where he earned a Bachelor of Music degree.
By 1789, Bridgetower was taking his music to Paris, London, Bristol and Bath.
After his Paris concert, French journal : “His talent is one of the best replies one can give to philosophers who wish to deprive people of his nation and colour of the opportunity to distinguish themselves in the arts.”
In April 1803, Bridgetower arrived in Vienna from England. He was already an established violinist, having being employed by the Prince of Wales (later George IV), and polyglot, being fluent in English, German, French, Italian and Polish.
During an episode of on Classic FM, Beethoven expert John Suchet said of the brilliant young violinist’s arrival in the musical capital: “With such credentials he was swiftly introduced into aristocratic circles in Vienna.
“And such was his skill on the violin, he was taken to meet Beethoven.”
Beethoven was deeply impressed by Bridgetower’s virtuosity and composed a sonata just for him – his Violin Sonata No. 9, of which Suchet says: “Violinists today regard it as the Mount Everest of violin sonatas. If you can play that, you can play anything.”
Bridgetower and Beethoven played the sonata together, on violin and . A glittering assembly gathered to watch the pair, and the performance was a triumph. Beethoven dedicated the sonata to the young violinist, calling it the ‘Sonata per un Mulattico Lunatico’.
“And then, Bridgetower made a mistake. A mistake he would regret for the rest of his life,” Suchet says. “He made an off-colour remark about a lady that Beethoven knew. And Beethoven was furious.”
The composer withdrew his dedication, and the sonata would come to be known as the ‘Kreutzer’ Sonata instead, after the French violinist Rodolphe Kreutzer.
After the fall-out, Suchet says, “Beethoven and Bridgetower never met again. Bridgetower left Vienna soon afterwards to visit relatives of his mother in Poland.
“There are two sad codas to this story. Many years later, at around the age of 80, Bridgetower was living in a home for the destitute in Peckham, in South London. His hands had long since succumbed to arthritis. He could no longer move his fingers in the way he once had. The residents and staff of the care home had no idea this resident had once been a famous violinist who played for royalty.”
The second tragedy, Suchet says, was that Kreutzer received the manuscript in Paris, took one look at it and declared it unplayable. Despite it bearing his name, he never once performed the sonata in public.
George Bridgetower died penniless on 29 February 1860, all but forgotten by the classical music world.
“There were no relatives to be with him,” Suchet says. “The woman who signed his death certificate was illiterate and signed her name with a cross.”
Today, he is buried in Kensel Green Cemetery in West London.
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