It's all about the classical music composers and their works from the last 400 years and much more about music. Hier erfahren Sie alles über die klassischen Komponisten und ihre Meisterwerke der letzten vierhundert Jahre und vieles mehr über Klassische Musik.
,Johannes Brahmswas displaying some typical jaundice symptoms. The whites of his eyes and the mucous membranes had started to turn yellow. His doctors continued to observe Brahms for several months before they diagnosed him as having cancer of the liver at the beginning of 1897. Brahms was last publically seen at a performance of his 4th Symphony on 7 March 1897, and shortly thereafter he quietly attended the premier of theStraussoperetta “The Goddess of Reason.” His condition worsened gradually, and Brahms died on 3 April 1897 at the age of 63 in Vienna. Eugen von Miller took a photograph, Ludwig Michalek drew a pencil sketch, and Karl Kundmann molded the death mask. Brahms was sealed into his casket on April 4, and the funeral procession announced for 6 April 1897. Vienna’s time-honored ritual of “a beautiful corpse,” is essentially a majestic send-off to reap eternal reward, as promised by the Catholic faith. And in the case of Brahms, we do have knowledge of the music performed at Brahms’ Funeral.
Death mask of Johannes Brahms
The funeral procession was organized by the Society of the Friends of Music. Brahms had served this association in various capacities for decades, and the Brahms casket was picked up from his residence adjacent to the church of St. Charles. Dignitaries from all walks of life and from all over Europe had gathered, including the composers Antonin Dvořák and Ferruccio Busoni, the pianist Emil Sauer and members of the “Female String Quartet of Vienna,” amongst numerous others. The procession stopped in front of the famous building of the Society—the New Year’s Concert of the Vienna Philharmonic is performed there every year—and a choir sang “Farewell,” from Brahms’ Songs and Romanzes Op. 93a. The procession then passed by the opera house and continued to the protestant church in the Dorotheergasse. The church choir sang the Bach chorale setting of “Jesus my sure Defense,” and Max Kalbeck reports, “Since everybody attending was Catholic, nobody knew the text or the music.”
The church was clearly unable to accommodate the huge number of mourners, but the service got properly underway with the church choir singing an arrangement of Mendelssohn’s “It is certain in God’s wisdom,” from his 6 Songs Op. 47.
Felix Mendelssohn: 6 Gesänge, Op. 47, No. 4 “Es ist bestimmt in Gottes Rath”
Funeral Procession for Johannes Brahms
In his Eulogy, the pastor honored “a high priest in the truly beautiful art, and a powerful ruler in the kingdom of tones. A soul full of wonderful melodies has breathed its last sigh, and a noble man has completed his earthly troubles. Master Johannes Brahms did not die as his spirit has overcome death and ascended into the bright, blissful world of pure harmony and peace.” Schubert’s “Wanderers Nachtlied I,” setting the famed poem by Goethe, musically reinforced the message of the eulogy.
Grave of Johannes Brahms, Central Cemetery, Vienna
Brahms had no special wishes regarding the music to be performed at his funeral, but apparently he had quietly mentioned to a friend that he wanted to be buried close to Beethoven and Schubert at the Vienna Central Cemetery. His casket arrived there in the evening of April 6, accompanied by close friends and colleagues. In both the eulogy and the short address at the open gravesite, the speakers made reference to the 4 Serious Song, which Brahms, already sensing the end, had completed shortly before his death. For many listeners then and now, these songs represent “sounds from a higher realm, where love and peace reign forever.” Given the current struggles with Corona around the world, that’s certainly a message to keep in mind.
Music serves as a deeply personal emotional anchor, providing comfort, motivation, and nostalgia by acting as a soundtrack to life's key moments. It bridges generations, reduces stress, and fosters connection, acting as a form of therapy that captures memories and expresses feelings beyond words.
Music is one of the most important and powerful things in my life. My life without melodies and harmonies would be totally empty. Listening to and playing different tunes helps me to de-stress, relax and it can also help to motivate me in trying times. I love listening to music while on my way to school, as I feel it helps me to prepare for the day that waits. I think it is like the memoirs to my life as it has been there throughout everything with me.
When I was younger, I didn’t have the great love for musical as I do now. I mainly listened to whatever was playing in the background or what my parents were listening to. I didn’t have much of a care for musical compositions. There was sometimes a little bit of pop music thrown in to the mix here and there, but that’s really all I liked back then. Whether I was in the car, the house, or anywhere else there was sure to be some Beatles, Buddy Holly, or the Dubliners constantly playing somewhere in the background. At the time I didn’t care for that genre of music much, but now as I’m older, I enjoy it as it allows me to reminisce on memories from times of my childhood. Once I hit my teenage years music became my life and gradually started to inhibit my soul.
Music is a moral law. It gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything.
I believe music has the ability to convey all sorts of emotion. The song “A little bit longer” by Nick Jonas is such an emotional and inspiring song that when I hear it, I always come close to tears, especially when I watch it being played live. The effect that music can have on our emotions is tremendous, as it can bring people to floods of tears or bursts of laughter.
The musical images that music and song are able to create are amazing. Music has the ability to transport me back in time just like a time machine. It lets me revisit lost and forgotten moments in life. Songs can paint a picture, for example in classical and country music where a story is being told. The music in classical music tells a story without lyrics which is an immensely powerful thing. I feel that this applies to the saying “music imitates life and life imitates music”.
Born in Tokyo on 18 March 1943, Nobuko Imai initially studied the violin but, after hearing Joseph de Pasquale at the Tanglewood Festival, she decided to take up the viola. Graduate studies brought her to Yale and Juilliard, and she made her US recital début at Carnegie Hall in 1968.
Imai was a member of the Vermeer String Quartet from 1974 to 1979, which she still considers one of her greatest triumphs. “Every single day taught me so much… as chamber music has always been closest to my heart.” (Stewart, Nobuko Imai, The Strad)
Her playing is known for its technical precision and expressive depth. In addition, she is a dedicated advocate of 20th-century music, and this includes the works of Paul Hindemith. Her two Hindemith recordings for BIS from the early 1990s have been highly praised, and on the occasion of her birthday, let’s compare her interpretations with other notable recordings.
The Perfect Balance
Paul Hindemith, 1923
Paul Hindemith, himself a virtuoso violist, composed several sonatas for the instrument. These include three viola sonatas with piano accompaniment and four solo sonatas. These works exploit the rich and dark timbre of the instrument while placing considerable technical demands on the performers.
Critics and listeners alike praise Imai’s interpretations for their clarity and intellectual approach. Yet, despite Hindemith’s severe contrapuntal style and edgy corners, Imai is able to navigate the music with considerable warmth.
Her performance is perfectly controlled, while the sound quality stands up well, even compared to Hindemith’s own historical performances. These recordings strike the perfect balance between intellectual insight and tonal beauty.
One of the most important and influential modern account of the Hindemith viola sonatas was recorded by Kim Kashkashian on ECM between 1985-86. Described as one of only a few violists with an international solo career, she won a 2013 Grammy Award for Best Classical Instrumental Solo.
Her approach to the Hindemith sonatas is essentially introspective, as she consistently produces an exceptionally mellow and rich sound. Emotionally layered and atmospheric, Kashkashian makes the complex contrapuntal passages sound spontaneous.
The contrast to Nobuko Imai is striking, as they come from two entirely different aesthetic ideals. The almost painted sound world of Kashkashian is contrasted by Imai’s brighter tone. Kashkashian is particularly interested in the philosophical and emotional core of Hindemith’s music, while Imai focuses on structural clarity and raw energy.
Ranked among the all-time greats, Yuri Bashmet’s collaboration with Sviatoslav Richter is frequently described as iconic in viola circles. Critics have praised it for its authority and partnership chemistry with Richter. Bashmet did not record the complete Hindemith sonatas, yet this commanding performance is legendary.
Bashmet’s interpretation is richly resonant, as he delivers a highly dramatic reading that focuses on structural power and dynamic extremes. Overtly expressive and forceful, Bashmet’s darker and more intense edge is capable of thunderous force and lyrical tenderness.
Compared with Imai’s rhythmic precision and forward drive, Bashmet adds greater emotional weight and theatricality. If Imai feels a bit more mechanical, it is because her approach is essentially aligned with Hindemith’s own no-nonsense approach.
Within the context of Hindemith’s viola sonatas, we need to mention Tabea Zimmermann. She has recorded the complete works with pianist Thomas Hoppe for the Myrios Classics label. These recordings approach the works in chronological order, tracing Hindemith’s development as a violist and composer.
These interpretations are hailed as modern benchmarks, with critics praising the “quality of rightness.” Zimmermann’s full tone is projected with impeccable execution, and her playing is said to rival historical accounts.
Nobuko Imai’s early 1990s BIS recordings of Hindemith’s viola sonatas are a valued contribution to the repertoire. There is a clear balance between energy and tonal beauty, attributes that have significantly influenced modern performers. Her composer-aligned approach resonates with the search for authenticity that is so highly valued in the 21st century.
WhenYunchan Limbecame the youngest person ever to win a gold medal at the Van Cliburn International Piano Competition at the age of 18, he instantly gained superstar status. HisRachmaninoffperformance at the Cliburn received millions of views on social media, and huge crowds of fans travel internationally to see his performances.
He is frequently described as a phenomenon, and Marin Alsop, who chaired the Cliburn jury and conducted his winning performance, described him as “a musician way beyond his years.” Certainly, Yunchan is shy and soft-spoken, and his monk-like devotion lends him a sense of wisdom and spiritual purity.
Yunchan Lim
As we celebrate Yunchan Lim’s 22nd birthday on 20 March 2026, we might well ask a deeper question. Could these extraordinary qualities of a young man be the result of growing up in the intensely success-driven culture of his native South Korea?
Candid Revelation
Yunchan Lim has recently drawn public attention not only for his playing, but also for the comments he made to an Italian newspaper. In an interview published in La Repubblica he disclosed that his teenage years in South Korea had been painful and suffocating.
Yunchan Lim
As he explained, “South Korea is small and densely populated, so competition is fierce. Everyone wants to get ahead, and sometimes that means hurting others.” This intensely competitive culture caused deep distress during his youth.
He also recalled that when his talent began to attract attention at 17, “even politicians and business figures pressured me unnecessarily, which caused great sadness.” As such, he doesn’t miss living in his home country at all, but only returns when he has concerts there. (Jang, The Korea Biz Wire, 2025).
Gwageo 2.0
For South Korea, the intense pressure to succeed is often called education fever. It’s not a new trend but originated in the 14th century in response to the Civil Service examination (gwageo) for which students had to compete.
“Through the forceful behaviours of their parents, siblings, teachers, and professors, the education system in South Korea has led students to cram in tons of information, and endure hours and hours of practising and tutoring.” (Bradfield, Stand, 2025)
Lim’s comments reflect the relentless academic and social pressures that young people are subjected to in the South Korean educational system. And while many excel in their studies, the vast majority are dealing with significant mental health problems like anxiety and record levels of depression.
Rejecting the Noise
Yunchan Lim
Lim started playing the piano at age seven, and he quickly became immersed in his musical studies. At the age of 13, at the Korean National Institute for the Gifted in Arts, Minsoo Sohn, a prize-winning pianist in his own right, became his teacher and mentor.
The guiding influence of Sohn was instrumental in turning the piano into a sanctuary amid the pressures of the hyper-competitive culture and the overwhelming media landscape of the internet age.
Sohn’s philosophy of teaching is based on introspection and authenticity, and when asked about his process with Lim, he explained that most lessons start with the question, “Is this what you really want?” Sohn merely “tries to listen carefully to what their hearts wish to speak, and filter all unnecessary expressions out, letting the students find their own voice.”
Time Traveller
Growing up in the internet age, where everything is everywhere all at once, Lim severely limits his use of social media, because he “believes it is corrosive to creativity, ” and he “wants to live as much as possible as his favourite composers did.” (NYT, 9 May, 2023)
It’s hardly surprising that Sohn calls his student a “time traveller,” because his immersion in music reminds him of someone living in the 18th or 19th century. In fact, Lim has often expressed his wish to live in the mountains and just play the piano.
“I can learn so much from composers of the past,” Lim said. “Back then, they didn’t have smartphones, YouTube or access to the internet. All they had were the scores. It would’ve given them a lot of time, time to contemplate music and find new things from the music. I think that’s why their music is so creative and so original.”
Beyond Rankings and Likes
Yunchan Lim has spent most of his life practising the piano and exploring music, which more recently includes jazz. He admires Art Tatum and Oscar Peterson, “I love to explore the way those two pianists played, their freedom of expression.” (Tilden, The Guardian, 2024)
In a press conference after the Cliburn competition, he said, “I made up my mind that I will live my life only for the sake of music, and I decided that I will give up everything for music.”
Lim has found in the piano an uncompromised space for inner peace. Imagining an ascetic lifestyle modelled after his favourite composers ultimately presents a deliberate refuge from the idea that self-worth is exclusively tied to achievement, status, and online followers.
Most famous for his iconic – and polarising – composition 4’33”, John Cage was a composer, artist, and thinker whose explorations and experiments changed the course of classical composition. His compendium of lectures and writings, Silence, will be of interest to anyone who likes to think about musical organisation and value at a meta level, and those who are fascinated by people who live and think eccentrically, which is, I suspect, most of us with any investment or interest in the arts.
John Cage
From the onset, this compendium paints a picture of a man who liked ambiguity, the frustration of expectations, and absurdity – a kind of contrariness of spirit reminiscent of Erik Satie. In the foreword he recounts an incident during his Lecture on Nothing delivered at the Artists’ Club on Eighth Street in New York, which involved the giving of the same six, randomly-selected, pre-prepared answers in response to whatever question was asked, where good friend and attendee Jeanne Reynal stood up and screamed, “John, I dearly love you, but I can’t bear another minute,” and promptly left. The anecdote is recounted not as a triumph at having irritated and frustrated another human being, but as a kind of soft acknowledgement that his way of thinking and making, his explanations of his own artistry, his music – all contain a challenging preoccupation with form, repetition, and meaning that are, in a myriad of ways, crazy-making. Later in the foreword, he acknowledges the influence that both Zen and Dadaism have had on his thinking, while also stating that he does not wish Zen to be “blamed” for his work, and that he wanted “to free Zen of any responsibility for [his] actions.” Instead of aligning himself fully with either school of thought, he gives two explicitly stated reasons or justifications for all of these lectures and writings. The first is that he sought above all else “poetry,” which he defines as “the allowing musical elements (time, sound) to be introduced into the world of words.” The other stated aim was to collapse content and message into form by communicating ideas via their embodiment rather than by abstract description or definition, such as delivering a lecture on repetition by the actual use of extensive repetition.By virtue of this latter aim, Cage’s Silence is a mixture of spatialised poetry, instructions for performance art, text scores, transcribed or written lectures, and everything evading definition in between – making for a varied and amusingly bumpy read.
First edition of John Cage’s Silence: Lectures and Writings
Of real interest from the 21st-century perspective are Cage’s predictions about the future and purpose of composition. In his lecture ‘Future of Music: Credo’ given in 1958, Cage correctly forecasted the extent to which technology, electronic instruments, and recorded sound would come to dominate music-making, and the ways in which this would blur the lines between music and the “noise” that constantly surrounds us. Some of the conclusions he reaches from the new technologies being discovered in his lifetime – high fidelity recording, and the ability to manipulate those recordings along a continuous spectra like amplitude or overtone structure – are quite extreme. He makes the analogy that writing music with simple rhythms and twelve tones alone is discrete and traditional, like walking, whereas utilising technology to make music of infinite rhythmic and pitch complexity is like flying. The other compositional alternative he seems to endorse is to turn to the sounds of nature, “to give up the desire to control sound, clear [the] mind of music, and set about discovering means to let sounds be themselves rather than vehicles for man-made theories or expressions of human sentiments.” Having presented these two options – making complex noise-music using the outermost limits of technology, or creating sound-art out of randomness and the natural world – Cage then somewhat paradoxically says that nothing need change in music-making at all, that “the more things there are, the merrier.” He goes so far as to say we should embrace a dominant seventh chord every now and then. While none of this hangs together as the most coherent or well-defended musical philosophy, it’s certainly food for thought for anyone interested in the history of modern composition.
Scattered throughout the book are strange anecdotes from Cage’s life and those of mentors and artist friends. In small italics, these surreal stories of submarines, travel, and mushroom-picking punctuate the ongoing conceptual wrestling, the never-ending tensions between noise and music, sound and silence, choice and non-choice. These serve as nice moments of levity from the dense, sometimes technical, and experimentally formatted meditations on process and musical form. On the whole, the earnestness of Cage’s desire to understand things deeply and well is always tempered with humour and a surrealist, interdisciplinary spirit. The spatialised poetry calls to mind André Breton, and Cage is as versed in theatre, philosophy, and the visual arts – with many mentions of Max Ernst and Gertrude Stein – as he is in music, perhaps more so.
Frustrating, enlightening, thought-provoking, and clever in equal measure, this is the kind of book anyone interested in music would do well to own and return to throughout their lifetime.
As March signals the shift in the weather, it was a hot morning heading towards the Samsung Performing Arts Theater in Circuit, Makati, for the media event of Theatre Group Asia’s (TGA) first production for 2026, “A Chorus Line.”
The musical—conceived by director and choreographer Michael Bennett with music by Marvin Hamlisch, lyrics by Edward Kleban, and based on the book by James Kirkwood Jr. and Nicholas Dante—has garnered nine Tony Awards out of its 12 nominations and the Pulitzer Prize for Drama. And currently, “A Chorus Line” is celebrating its 50th anniversary.
The musical is set in an audition. The dancers perform the opening number, and after the initial cut, only 17 dancers remain. The director, Frank, then tells them he only needs a strong eight-member dancing chorus: four women and four men. He calls them up one by one to share their stories as he wants to get to know them before making his final decision.
The lobby of the Samsung Performing Arts Theater was filled with dancers stretching and practicing their routines to help create the atmosphere and mood for the show. An extensive audition process was held to find the Filipino cast that went through Luzon, Visayas, and Mindanao, and as far as the United States and the UK.
As the program starts, associate director of the show, Jamie Wilson, plays host and introduces Frank—played by Tony and Grammy award nominee Conrad Ricamora—who then begins a special preview that includes a parade of the seventeen cast members. They do parts of the show and perform four song numbers to a keyboard played by the show’s musical director, Farley Asuncion.
Conrad Ricamora
A timeless classic
On a personal level, I have loved this musical since I was a child. I used to sing and dance to the CD of the original Broadway cast recording and had to stop myself from singing along during the song numbers at the previews. The voices were strong, the harmonies were tight, and the emotions ran true. It was an exciting taste of what promises to be an electric show.
TGA’s production of “A Chorus Line” is choreographed and directed by Emmy Award winner Karla Puno Garcia. After the event, I was able to talk to Puno Garcia and ask her about her vision. As someone quite familiar with the material, I asked whether she would keep the original choreography, if she updated it, or if she created her own.
“I did a little bit of everything you just said,” she answers with a laugh. “I had a conversation with Baayork Lee, the original Connie [of the original cast in 1975], and I wanted to know what was important to uphold with the original choreography. So we talked about a few things; it’s really more about ideas.”
She adds, “In the opening, it’s about competition, and in the finale, it’s about being one and cohesive. So I wanted to uphold these ideas in the work and bring myself to it.”
“I am so sensitive about how music makes me feel,” she adds when I ask her about the number “The Music and The Mirror.” This is one of the show’s highlights, as it is a song performed by a character named Cassie—to be played by Lissa de Guzman, who has played Princess Jasmine on “Aladdin” on Broadway in the national tour and is the first Filipina to play Elphaba on the national Broadway tour of “Wicked”—a dancer who was moved from the ensemble to a feature role but has since been unable to find work. She wants to return to the chorus, even though Frank thinks she’s too good for it.
Lissa de Guzman
It’s a gorgeous song that escalates and has an exquisite dance break. “What I love about the choreography is the idea that it is in her head,” Puno Garcia continues. She talks about Michael Bennet’s original choreography and the idea that the dance break is an imagined performance—married with how de Guzman moves and how she herself hears and feels about the music.
Puno Garcia goes on to add that: “When I take on any project, I don’t want to deny my own instincts, so I follow them. I am very proud of the fusion that I have created with the material. I don’t think you can do any timeless piece of art without honoring the original way it was built. So that’s where I began, and then I built something on top of it with what I know.”
Very close to home
De Guzman, who only sang “The Music and The Mirror” at the media event, is a triple threat—a seasoned singer, dancer, and actress—who infuses the song with so much longing. I asked her if she had any connection to the musical prior to getting cast. “I got to work with Donna McKechnie,” she answers. McKechnie was the original Cassie on Broadway in 1975 and won the Tony for Best Actress in a Musical for her performance.
She continues saying, “That was really special—I did “Wicked” with her; she was one of our Madame Morribles—and then growing up I listened to the music, and I know the show.”
“Honestly, the role of Cassie is very real for me,” she shares. “I started off in the ensemble. I was a swing. I was in the ensemble. I was an understudy. I did all of that. Like Cassie, she got plucked from the ensemble and then went off to stardom, and she’s now returning to the line. I went off to do principal [roles] on Broadway, and I am now, truly now, returning to the line. Returning to dance. It is very real for me. It’s very close to home.”
A love letter to the chorus
For many of the performers, during the Q&A session, they reveal that they relate to the characters and the dramatic situation of the musical. Many of them cite specific performers—from the original Broadway cast, to the Broadway revival, and even the West End productions. Not only is the material something all theater performers can connect with, but the cast seems so aware of the show, all the way down to its history.
When asked about the challenges of directing 17 actors, Puno Garcia responds, laughing, “In theory, it does sound very difficult, right? But this is our life. It is so natural and organic the way that this material resonates. And at the end of the day, you let the text speak for itself. You let the right people speak it, and it kinda stages itself. You just let it breathe.”
“What I want to honor is the show as a love letter to the ensemble,” she adds. “That’s what the show is about.”
Wilson then asked everyone to describe the show in three or less words. Each cast member gave their own take, but it was swing member Franco Ramos who said, “universal,” which made the most impact.
Because this isn’t just a show about theater performers. The audition in itself is a dramatic situation. The show is about everybody who has ever had to apply for anything they really wanted—something that they were truly passionate about.
