The 15 most famous tunes in classical music

The 15 most famous tunes in classical music

By Sofia Rizzi, ClassicFM London

 

Here are some of the world’s most famous classical music melodies and everything you need to know about them.

There’s nothing more annoying than humming a tune but not knowing what it’s called or where it’s from. Fear not – here are some of the most famous tunes from the history of music, complete with all the background information you need.

Read more: 30 of the greatest classical music composers of all time

1. Mozart – Eine kleine Nachtmusik

   The official name of this piece is the Serenade No. 13 for strings in G major, and it was composed by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart in 1787. Mozart himself gave the piece its nickname, when he jotted this name down in the log book he kept detailing all the music he wrote.

   The music has been used in Charlie's Angels – Full Throttle, Alien, Ace Ventura and There's Something About Mary, as well as in countless TV programmes and adverts. It also featured prominently in the film Amadeus about the composer himself.

   Read more: Musical terms: A glossary of useful terminology

2. Beethoven – Für Elise

   This piece was never published during Beethoven’s lifetime and it wasn't even discovered until forty years after his death.

   As a result, no one’s quite sure who the Elise of the title was… and some musicologists even think the title might have been copied incorrectly and it was originally called ‘Für Therese’.

   But whoever the lucky recipient of this piece was, we can all agree that it’s one of the most charming pieces for piano ever written.

   Due to the music’s simple yet catchy melody, there have been countless reinterpretations of the piece including a cubist rendition and a jazzy cover.

3. Puccini – 'O mio babbino caro' from Gianni Schicchi

   O mio babbino caro performed by Susanna Hurrell

   Susanna Hurrell and pianist Jonathan Santagada performs the famous aria from Puccini's Gianni Schicchi

   There might be uncontacted tribes in the Amazon who haven't heard this piece, but there can't be many other people in the world who wouldn't recognise this famous aria by Puccini.

   It comes from his opera Gianni Schicchi, a one-act opera all about the lengths one family will go to to make sure they inherit money from an elderly relative. An unlikely source for a melody that has become famous as one of the most romantic ever writtten…

   ‘O mio babbino caro’ is performed by young Lauretta, who is pleading with her father to allow her to marry Rinuccio, the man she loves. And it’s fame has far outstripped that of the opera.

   It features on the soundtracks for Downton Abbey, Captain Correlli’s Mandolin, A Room with a View, and the list goes on.

4. J.S. Bach – Toccata and Fugue in D minor

   Bach, Toccata and Fugue in D minor - Amy Turk

   This piece by Bach might not have the catchiest title, but we guarantee you'll know the famous opening.

   It has become associated with scary moments in horror films, perhaps because it famously made an appearance in the opening credits of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931).

5. Beethoven – Symphony No.5 in C minor

   Beethoven's 5th, conducted by a 3-year-old boy

   Jonathan Okseniuk, an adorable and insanely talented 3-year-old, conducts to the 4th movement of Beethoven's 5th symphony.

   This symphony by Beethoven opens with perhaps the four most famous chords of all time – the famous “da da da duuum”. Some critics have suggested that this opening represents the sound of Fate knocking at the door.

   Who knows if that's what Beethoven had in mind – but what's beyond a shadow of a doubt is that this piece has come so famous it's even featured in pop songs.

6. Vivaldi – The Four Seasons

   Vivaldi's 'Winter' from the Arctic Philharmonic Chamber Orchestra

   Henning Kraggerud and The Arctic Philharmonic Chamber Orchestra.

   The Four Seasons is actually a group of four violin concertos by Antonio Vivaldi. Each gives a musical expression to a season of the year – listen out for the chattering teeth in Winter, the dramatic storm in summer, and the arrival of the hunt in autumn.

   All four of the concertos have become world famous. In fact, you may well have even heard this piece being used as a ringtone!

7. Bizet – ‘Carmen’

   Melodica Men play Carmen

   Bizet's masterpiece as you've never heard it before…

   Bizet's opera Carmen from 1875 is jam-packed with catchy tunes – from the 'Toreador's Song' to the 'Habanera' and the aria 'L'amour est un oiseau rebelle' to the Overture itself.

   Bizet's music has appeared most recently in the Pixar film Up. Sesame Street also did a pretty epic cover, not to forget Tom and Jerry's homage.

   What many might not know is that Carmen was a pretty groundbreaking opera in the 19th century. Bizet was seen as quite the rebel for having set his music to such a risqué plot. But the opera has gone on to become one of the most successful ever written.

8. Johann Strauss II – The Blue Danube

   The Blue Danube is the commonly used name for Johann Strauss II's waltz By the Beautiful Blue Danube. The Viennese connections with this song has made it almost an unofficial national anthem for Austria. However, film lovers might recognise it from Stanley Kubrick’s epic film 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), where it's used in the stunning opening sequence.

9. Ravel – Boléro

   This tune was made famous when it was used by Torvill and Dean for their gold-medal-winning 1984 Olympic performance.

   Ravel’s music was actually originally composed as a ballet for the Russian dance Ida Rubinstein, so its rise to 20th-century fame through Torvill and Dean’s ice skating routine isn’t far from what the composer intended!

10. Delibes – ‘Flower Duet’ from Lakmé

    Belle Voci Perform 'Flower Duet' On The Voice UK 2018

    Credit: ITV / The Voice

    The ‘Flower Duet’ is from Léo Delibes’ opera Lakmé and the composer is a bit of a one-hit wonder. But that one hit has become a super hit – this duet is now one of the most famous ever written. It is traditionally sung by a soprano and mezzo-soprano but its rise to fame has resulted in many different interpretations of the song.

    This is by far the most famous section of the opera, and the duet might be best known as the soundtrack to a very memorable British Airways advert.

11. Grieg – ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King’ from Peer Gynt Suite

    Line Rider - In the Hall of the Mountain King

    Credit: Doodle Chaos.

    Grieg’s Peer Gynt Suite was originally written as incidental music for a production of Ibsen's play Peer Gynt. But he later turned his music into two suites, which have become some of his best known work.

    This movement is particularly famous because of its incredibly catchy main theme. Modern pop and rock bands including Electric Light Orchestra, The Who and Savatage have used the melody in their music, and it has also been used for many years by the British theme park Alton Towers as a sort of theme tune, appearing in their adverts and on their YouTube videos.

12. Mozart – Overture from The Marriage of Figaro

    The melodies in this opera overture have been used time and time again in films, TV shows, adverts and even pop music. In the 1971 film Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory you’ll hear Willy Wonka opening the doors to his chocolate factory by playing the music from this overture on a miniature piano.

    The Marriage of Figaro tells the story of Figaro and Susanna, who work for the Count and Countess Almaviva, and whose plans to get married hit one or two obstacles along the way… It is one of the most frequently performed operas of all time.

13. Puccini – 'Nessun Dorma' from Turandot

    Pavarotti sings 'Nessun Dorma', with English translation

    We translated the lyrics to Puccini's Nessun Dorma.

    Puccini's opera aria Nessun Dorma was brought to a global audience when it was used as the anthem for the 1990 World Cup in Italy, in a recording by the legendary tenor Luciano Pavarotti.

    It actually comes from Puccini's final opera Turandot, which was left unfinished when he died. It tells the story of the brutal princess Turandot and her murderous reign.

    Today, the piece has become a classic in the world of TV talent shows. Paul Potts, who won the first series of Britain's Got Talent, made this his calling-card aria

14. Prokofiev – 'Dance of the Knights' from Romeo and Juliet

    You may well recognise this if you're a fan of The Apprentice… The television series chose this section from Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet as its theme music.

    The ballet tells the tragic story of Shakespeare's star-crossed lovers and the war waged between the rival families, the Montagues and the Capulets. So it's no surprise that this centrepiece of the ballet is one of the most dramatic pieces of music ever written. Nor that the producers of The Apprentice wanted some of that drama for their theme music.

15. Rossini – Overture from 'William Tell'

    The finale of this overture is instantly recognisable for its galloping rhythm and trumpet solos. It reached an international audience when it was used as the theme music for The Lone Ranger films and television and radio shows.

    But the music has since become almost a cliché as the soundtrack for car chases and zany antics. And it's also featured in countless ads

    Rossini's opera doesn't actually have any other well-known melodies. And this section of the overture, called The March of the Swiss Soldiers, doesn't even make another appearance in the five-hour long opera.

16. 
    

Time of Day: Dawn

 Mussorgsky, Pigovat, Sviridov, Eller, Harris and Qin

by Maureen Buja  , Interlude

Mstislav Dobujisky: Act I design for Khovanshchina, 1950 (Met Opera Archives)

How do you take the morning, musically? Bright and brassy alarm bells, a gentle reminder from the buzzer, the shock of morning radio? We decided to survey music for the earliest time of day: Dawn.

We’ll start with Mussorgsky’s music to open Act I of his opera Khovanschchina. The prelude is Dawn on the Moscow River, which was orchestrated by Rimsky-Korsakov following the piano version. The opera opens in Moscow at dawn and is a highly romantic tone painting, with Russian folk song sounds, the gradual brightening of the sky, the bells sounding in the horns. In the opera house, it’s a wonderful way of waking up the stage and starting the opera.

Russian-Israeli composer Boris Pigovat (b. 1953) wrote his dawn piece in 2010 for violist Anna Serova. Pigovat was inspired by the description of sunrise in ancient Greece, as described by Nikolaj Kun in 1914:

The morning is near… There is a faint light in the East. Aeos and Pyrios, the morning stars and harbingers of Dawn, shine brightly in the East. There is a gentle breeze. The light in the East glows brighter and brighter… In vivid colours, on rosy wings, Dawn is soaring into the illuminated sky, drenched in rosy light. Dawn pours dew from her golden urn onto the Earth, and the dew sprinkles the grass and flowers with glistening, diamond-like drops. All is fragrant, all around. The waking Earth happily greets the sun god, Helios. (Kun: Legendy i Mify Drevnej Gretsii (Legends and Myths of Ancient Greece, 1914))

Percussion and harp are the twinkling stars and the breeze is in the woodwinds’ notes. The viola invokes the colours of the morning.

The Disappearance of Musical Forms

by Doug Thomas, Interlude

© Perennial Music and Arts

It is commonly believed that creating with no constraints is what is most fruitful; what the artist seeks; ultimate freedom in his creative choices. Contrary to this belief, what is often more productive — and tends to breed creativity and results — is to impose oneself some limits and constraints; rules and borders to define the parameters of creation. One way this takes place is through musical forms.

Musical forms are very useful tools in order for the composer to create and for the listener to find guidance and set the expectations of the music. A form can broadly be defined as the generic structure of a musical composition — or performance — and there are many different forms, which have been created and have evolved over the years.

Some works have benefited from the absence of form, such as the prelude, the impromptu or the fantasia, yet in their inner and microscopic structure one can often find some sort of coherent structure.

In other words, a form is a canvas for the musician, a structure or a blueprint in order for the composer to organise his musical ideas, find introduction, direction, development, and resolution.

Most musical forms were set during the baroque period and were the result of functional purposes; through dance suites — which were the main forms of entertainment in the 18th century — religious services —such as the oratorio, cantata or the mass — and later more musical centred forms such as the sonata or the partita. Vivaldi, Bach, Handel all used this format to develop their music.

During the classical period, additional forms emerged and took the centre of the stage — particularly the concerto, the symphony and the quartet — and provided a canvas for the works of Haydn and Mozart; it is through the romantic period that their development reached its pinnacle, eventually reaching its peak during the modern period after which it started its implosion; today they are merely a nostalgia.

© external-preview.redd.it

Today forms are still present, but well coated and hidden, and it is the listener’s role to find out which it is. When used in an obvious manner, it is a way for the composer to hint at something specific; a period, a reference, a composer or a musical intention – Adès’ Mazurkas spring to mind. Through the way classical music has evolved, it is no longer a case of function — the last music which really intends to carry a function is nowadays reserved to screen or daily life activity — but rather a form of entertainment, and therefore its necessity has somehow disappeared.

Interestingly enough, these forms seem to have been maintained in other genres of music; in pop for instance, it is quite observable — and at times critical — how these forms are used over and over, in a magic recipe on the quest of commercial success. It is quite understandable; whether with 18th century classical composers or current pop artists, one of the aims for the living musician, is for his music to be popular and successful, as well as fruitful. It is also under a strong business productive pressure, and forms in this instance are quite essential in order to reach success.

In any form of art, if the artist wishes to learn the rules, he undoubtedly rushes to break them and explore his creativity — and grow away from what seems to be at times, rigorous structures. One can only think of Picasso‘s career to illustrate this sentence. It is no surprise that progressively the forms which have been at the basis of all Western classical music would disappear. What remains to wonder is if the disappearance of these structures has in its turn created new forms of their own, which will eventually become their own standardised musical forms.

Six Types of Orchestral Musician

by Oliver Pashley, Interlude

Orchestral musicians are an odd bunch. It’s okay, I can say that – I speak as one of the oddest. Within any orchestra different personalities emerge, each with their own quirks and habits. Take this as a guide through the weird and wonderful world of orchestral musicians.

The foot shuffler

© violinist.com

Most musicians are foot shufflers at one point or another. For obvious reasons, musicians tend not to talk to each other while playing, so words transform into the foot shuffle, an inconspicuous gesture used to surreptitiously say ‘well done’ to other players after, for example, a big solo or exposed passage. However, foot shuffling can also signal a mistake. Context-dependent. Very confusing. Avoid if uncertain.

The last-minuter

For an orchestral musician, being ‘on time’ for a rehearsal means in effect being there half an hour early. Anything after that is considered by many to be cutting it fine. The last-minuter is that musician who drifts through the door five minutes before the rehearsal starts and is ready to go at the exact moment the tuning note sounds. Not at all worried by their last-minute approach to life. In fact, often much calmer and happier than most other musicians.

The question-asker

Every orchestra has that person, who can’t seem to hold back the irrepressible tide of questions bubbling up inside them. Bowings? Breath marks? Tempi? Articulation? There is no limit to the range of subjects the question-asker will address. Mostly harmless and good-intentioned.

The worrier

© houstonsymphony.org

Often but not exclusively confined to the world of reed instruments, the worrier frets about the state of their instrument, the state of their reed, the temperature and humidity in the room, what time of day it is, how illegible these old parts are, how long it took to get into work today, oh isn’t it awful with all this traffic and how do they expect us to see with this light and I think my chair is too low and don’t you think it’s really hard to hear in this room and I don’t like this piece very much how about you?

The tea break sprinter

That no-nonsense member of a section responsible for getting a round of refreshments in the break. Runs off as soon as the break is called in order to be at the front of the queue. Spends first half of rehearsal mentally planning quickest route to café with precision and detail of bank robber.

The warmer-upper

Ever had the calm background noise of orchestral musicians quietly warming up punctuated by the pyrotechnics of a Paganini caprice, or the brilliant passages of a virtuosic concerto? Then you might just be in the presence of a warmer-upper. Listen in amazement and contemplate how much harder their warm up sounds than yours. Sit in awe as they dazzle you with unnecessarily loud and fast playing. Roll your eyes when they can’t help but bring up that new concerto they’re learning. By some strange coincidence, often seated next to the tea break sprinter.

Looking Forward to 2022

by Maureen Buja, Interlude

© musement.com

After reviewing the less-than-brilliant 2021, we can now go to the optimism side for looking forward to 2022! Concert! Travel! So much to look forward to!

Opera seasons are opening! I think the first opera we would all like to see is Un ballo senza Maschera but it probably won’t happen. I’m going to Rigoletto en masque in January. And the Metrpolitan opera’s for January 1 are both Cinderella and Die Zauberflöte – both operas of transformation. Cinderella into a princess and Tamino into a follower of Sarastro.

Perhaps another opera that might be appealing would be The Flying Dutchman. To get back to travel, to go personally to help those poor needy tourist areas that have been longing for your return. That’s the 2022 spirit!

Other inspirational holiday music might include Charles Ives’ Holiday Symphony or even something like Copland’s Rodeo, for when you take that trip to the west to a dude ranch (do they still have those?). What about Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring to start the year off right? Shake off that snow and get Spring moving again! Avoid the dancing to your death part at the end, though.

Vaughan Williams’ Songs of Travel might be a better inspiration. The opening song, The Vagabond, with its marching tempo, gets us out of our chairs and out into the open again!

Tom Flaherty’s Time to Travel pushes us forward with a work for 2 pianos – also urging us to move and explore.

British-Australian composer Michael Easton took inspiration from Gershwin’s An American in Paris to write his version, An Australian in Paris. Unlike Gershwin’s confident city explorer, Easton’s traveler is a bit shyer. His third movement, Alone and Lonely, catches a feeling that happens to many a world traveller – you’ve done the obvious things and now it’s day 5 and all you want to do is talk with someone who understands you in your own language.

Perhaps the best music for walking around is Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition. Set by Mussorgsky as a representation of a stroll around an exhibition of his friend Victor Hartmann’s drawing and watercolours made as the artist travelled around Italy, France, Poland, Russia, and the Ukraine – remember when we could do that too? Plan for where you can go in 2022!

© timesofindia.indiatimes.com

In his song cycle Sea Pictures, Edward Elgar takes us down to the sea and under the sea and in the sea with In Haven (Capri), linking the storms that sweep the sea with the discovery that no matter what happens, ‘love alone will stand,’ ‘…will last.’ ‘…will stay.’ The orchestral evocation of the waves is a lovely underlay to the text.

Canadian Composer Andrew Staniland, however, writes about a Dreaded Sea Voyage, inspired by a line in a Mahler biography about his dread of an impending sea voyage. The idea might have been the mental inspiration, but the other spark came from the music included on the Voyager space craft, which, some 36 years after its launch, was leaving our solar system. The music, from Bach’s Brandenburg No. 2 to Javanese gamelan music, all has its place in his composition. The dreaded sea is that of the universe, which will eventually be our final voyage.

You may not be heading for space and the final frontiers in 2022, but we hope you’re headed outside your house, outside your neighbourhood, and into wonderful new experiences.

Serge Rachmaninoff - his music and his life

The Russian Serge Rachmaninoff was born in Onega, Nowgorod on April 1, 1873.

After studying at the Moscow Conservatory of Alexander Siloti (1863-1945), Sergey Tanejeff (1856-1915) and Anton Arenski (1861-1906), Rachmaninoff became piano virtuoso and composer.

In 1903, he left his home country but returned in 1910. Like Peter Tschaikowski, Rachmaninoff remained as very much Western orientied. In his piano compositions lives Slavonic melancholy with -critics described it as - touching drawing room Bolshevist's work.

His most known compositions are the "Prelude cis-moll" (c sharp minor) from 1893 (also known in an orchestral arrangement), as well as the "Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini". Piano summit compositions are his four piano concertos. Serge Rachmaninoff passed away in Beverly Hills on March 28, 1943 just a few weeks after getting his US-citizenship.

Sergei Rachmaninov (also spelled Rachmaninoff, 1873–1943) was a Russian composer, pianist, and conductor. Rachmaninov, it seemed, could do nothing right by most of his contemporary critics' and composers' standards. As a person, he appeared somewhat cold and aloof - Stravinsky once called him "a six-and-a-half foot tall scowl".

Life and Music

Rachmaninov's student years were nothing short of phenomenal. He consistently amazed his teachers with his jaw-dropping ability as a pianist and composer.

In 1891 at the age of just 18, he created a storm with his First Piano Concerto, an incredibly accomplished student work.

Music continued to flow from the young genius, including an apprentice opera, Aleko, in 1892.

Rachmaninov seemed unstoppable, composing a great run of pieces including the Cello Sonata and the Second Suite for Two Pianos, both in 1901.

However, his First Symphony from 1896 was roundly panned by critics, and caused the composer to enter a deep depression.

Rachmaninov's masterpiece was surely the Second Piano Concerto from 1901. It's subsequent use in the film Brief Encounter have made it a constant favourite.

With his phenomenal conducting skills, Rachmaninov was appointed Principal Conductor of the Bolshoi Theatre in 1904 and offered several major posts in America, most notably with the Boston Symphony Orchestra.

He left Russia for good after the 1917 Russian revolution, first heading to Helsinki and finally ending up in the US.

Rachmaninov died of melanoma on 28 March 1943, in Beverly Hills, four days before his 70th birthday.

Did you know?

In 1931 Rachmaninov's music was officially banned in the USSR as 'decadent' with the chilling warning: "This music [The Bells] is by a violent enemy of Soviet Russia: Rachmaninov".

Leningrad Does Varietee: Wooding, Shostakovich, Dunayesky and Prokofiev

by Georg Predota , Interlude

Sam Wooding and his Chocolate Kiddies

Just a couple of years after Western Europe fell under the spell of popular American musical styles, it also debuted in the Soviet Union. As a musical language increasingly placed at the service of social commentary, and with its strong connotations for freedom, jazz in the Soviet era led a somewhat tortured existence. Constantly in flux between prohibition, censorship and even state sponsorship, jazz developed into a popular form of music and it became an element of Soviet cultural life. The birth of Soviet jazz is celebrated on 1 October 1922 when Valentin Parnach and his band played their first concert in Moscow.

Chocolate Kiddies poster

Parnach came into contact with jazz at a concert of the American band Louis Mitchel Jazz Kings during his exile in Paris in 1921. He returned to Moscow a year later with a complete set of instruments. But what really got the jazz craze properly started were appearances of bandleader Sam Wooding and his “Chocolate Kiddies.” Essentially a Broadway-styled revue billed as a “negro operetta,” it toured the Soviet Union in 1926 for three months with appearances in Moscow and Leningrad. Joseph Stalin was in the Moscow audience, and criticism focused on the visual aspects of the performance. As a reviewer wrote, “it is not important how blacks play, how they dance, sing and think… What is important is that they are all black.”

Sam Wooding & his Chocolate Kiddies in Leningrad 

Dmitri Shostakovich

When the Chocolate Kiddies Company arrived in Leningrad, a highly interested Dmitri Shostakovich sat in the audience. According to musicologists, this “was, to Shostakovich a musical revelation of America.” Growing up in the young Leninist Soviet Union, Shostakovich had previously only gleaned jazz through selected friends and sparse historical information. The vitality and enthusiasm of the performers made an indelible impression, and jazz remained part of his compositional toolkit. Political circumstances beyond his control made it impossible to overtly practise his appreciation, but in 1934 he was commissioned by a Leningrad dance band to furnish some dancing music. The resulting Suite for Jazz Orchestra is a whimsical take on jazz, reflecting more of the composer’s interest in gypsy music and the music of the Yiddish theatre. As such, we expectedly find a waltz and a polka, but it also features a concluding foxtrot. Conforming to severe Soviet guidelines, this jazz suite leaves no room for improvisation but unfolds in strict time and rhythm.

May Day in Leningrad (1925)

The Soviet Union experienced massive political and economic upheavals in the early 1930s, and jazz was eyed as an undesirable import of Western culture. Joseph Stalin tightly controlled all manner of artistic expression, and he demanded that all forms of art convey the struggles and triumphs of the proletariat and present a realistic reflection of Soviet life and society. Searching for a musical style “in which the ideology of the emerging communist communal society could be expressed most effectively” also meant that jazz had to be politicized.

Isaak Dunayesky

Maxim Gorki, writing during his exile in Sorrento, equated jazz with homosexuality, drugs and eroticism. He describes jazz as “a dry knock of an idiotic hammer penetrates the utter stillness. One, two, three, ten, twenty strikes, and afterwards a wild whistling and squeaking as if a ball of mud was falling into clear water; then follows a rattling, howling and screaming like the clamor of a metal pig, the cry of a donkey or the amorous croaking of a monstrous frog. The offensive chaos of this insanity combines into a pulsing rhythm. Listen to this screaming for only a few minutes, and one involuntarily pictures an orchestra of sexually wound-up madmen, conducted by a Stallion-like creature who is swinging his giant genitals.” The alleged connection between jazz, modern dance and sexuality was officially classified as “sonic idiocy in the bourgeois-capitalist world.” Given such overt hostility, jazz idioms found refuge in motion pictures.

Sergei Prokofiev

With Soviet artists and performers increasingly falling under the microscope of uncompromising state machinery, Sergei Prokofiev—with permission from the government—packed his bags and settled in Paris in October 1923. In a city awash with artistic personalities, Prokofiev quickly became interested in jazz and rubbed shoulders with leading composers, including George Gershwin in 1928. Vernon Duke reports, “George came and played his head off; Prokofiev liked the tunes and the flavoursome embellishments, but thought little of the Concerto in F, which he said later, consisted of “32-bar choruses ineptly bridged together.” Prokofiev thought highly of Gershwin’s gifts, both as a composer and pianist, and he predicted “he’d go far should he leave dollars and dinners alone.” Duke also remembered Prokofiev saying, “Gershwin’s piano playing is full of amusing tricks, but the music is amateurish.” Prokofiev met Gershwin again in 1930 in New York, and noted in his journal afterward, “Gershwin also attempts to compose serious music, and sometimes he even does that with a certain flair, but not always successfully.” For all the criticism and posturing, it is clear that Prokofiev was highly receptive to jazz influences. One might actually describe the slow movement of his Third Piano Concerto, a work that had been started as far back as 1913, as greatly indebted to Gershwin.

Beethoven and Money

 by Georg Predota , Interlude

For much of his career and life, Beethoven was struggling financially. He would on occasion make a shedload of money, which he tended to invest in bank shares. However, the severe depreciation of the Austrian currency as a result of the extended Napoleonic war, slashed his wealth by over fifty percent, and it also significantly reduced the value of the annuity paid to him by Archduke Rudolph, and the Princes Lobkowitz and Kinsky. And even when Beethoven was relieved from any rational grounds for financial worry, he was constantly apprehensive about his financial situation.

Beethoven, 1803

To make a living as a freelance musician is no easy task and during his early days in Vienna Beethoven established a reputation as a piano virtuoso. But what is more, his ability to improvise was legendary. Most of his income during his early years in Vienna was earned by performing in salons. Only later was he able to charge admission to public concerts of his music, and in his 34 years in Vienna Beethoven was paid for performing in only fifteen public concerts. However, Vienna initially had attracted pianists and musicians from all parts of the Continent, and it took a bit of time to work through the intrigues and jealousies of his contemporaries and rivals. Cherubini, for example, described Beethoven’s piano style as “rough,” and the man himself as “an unlicked bear cub.” In the end, Beethoven became all the rage and was capable of commanding large sums for his performances. Sadly, as his hearing diminished, this particular revenue stream would close for good.

Giulietta Guicciardi

To supplement his income, Beethoven would give private lessons, an activity he absolutely hated. He clearly was not temperamentally suited for such pedagogical pursuits, and a colorful anecdote relates that be became so enraged by his student Karl Hirsch that he “bit him on the shoulder.” Apparently he also pinched the unfortunate child, and yelled at him incessantly in great rage. He would, however, accept charming young countesses as students, but in accordance with some outdated tradition and his desire to be viewed as part of the upper classes, often refused to accept money for his services. When the Countess Susanne Guicciardi sent him a gift for instructing her daughter Giulietta, Beethoven wrote, “I think you should know, dearest countess, that you would have received your present back yesterday morning almost on the spot if my brother hadn’t happened to be with me… But now for my warning. I accept this present, but should it ever occur to you to let yourself think up anything even remotely similar, I swear by everything that I hold sacred that you will never see me again in your house. Your greatly upset Beethoven.” Well, today we know all about Beethoven’s feelings for Giulietta, but with his loss of hearing, he was no longer able to provide teaching services as well.

Brief Beethoven an Breitkopf & Härtel, 9. Oktober 1811 (BG 523)

Once Beethoven had turned his attention to composition, he would of course receive payments for commissions. This generally involved some kind of cash advance for the composer, and upon completion, the patron was given exclusive performing right for six months. After that, the patron kept the music but Beethoven could sell it for publication. Recent scholarship has described Beethoven as an unscrupulous businessman, but in some respects he seems to have been simply incompetent, as the commissions for even his greatest works barely sufficed to make a living. Beethoven received the pittance of 500 florins from Count Franz Oppersdorf for his 4th Symphony. Oppersdorf was delighted and offered another 500 florins for an additional symphony. That put Beethoven in a bind, as he had previously promised the 4th Symphony to the publisher Breitkopf. He hastily wrote to Breitkopf explaining “a gentleman of quality has taken it from me.” He then sold the symphony he promised, and for which he had already received a cash advance from Oppersdorf, to Breitkopf. His Fifth Symphony went to Breitkopf for 100 ducats, about 450 florins, and Oppersdorf rightly refused to pay his balance. With dealings like that, it is not surprising that Beethoven was unable to maintain his own apartment, and for a time he had to move in with Countess von Erdödy. 

Anton Schindler

The business of music publishing changed rapidly during Beethoven’s lifetime, and he essentially “lived as a modern composer on earnings from his work in a free market.” Music publishers were opening businesses all across Germany and Austria, but they still lagged behind England, Italy and France. With the concepts of royalties and international copyrights essentially unknown, the composer could expect a one-time fee for the sale of a work. The publisher in turn had some kind of protection within his own country, but it could still be freely copied and pirated abroad. And pirates dominated the publishing business, as they stole music, “altered it, misattributed it, bribed copyists to steal it, and pasted their own name over copies bought from the original publishers.”

Within this seriously messy environment, Beethoven’s principle aim was to obtain the largest sum possible for each composition, and he compared offers from various publishers, and on occasion, played them against each other. Beethoven, in following the example set by Joseph Haydn, was clearly interested in publishing a work simultaneously in more than one country. That way, he would receive two or more fees and was able to make his works more attractive by charging lower fees from each publisher. Publishers predictably protested vigorously, and so did Beethoven. Beethoven was no pioneering businessman, but he did succeed in publishing a fair number of his compositions by two or more firms in different countries at about the same time. It is possible that the early Beethoven biographer Anton Schindler most aptly summarized Beethoven’s money and business dealings in a motto inscription on the autograph manuscript of the Op. 129 “Rondo alla ingharese quasi un capriccio.” He tellingly wrote “Rage over a lost Penny, vented in a Caprice.”

Where in the World?

by Maureen Buja , Interlude

2021 NEW YEAR'S CLASSICAL MUSIC CELEBRATION

Muses and Musings - Bettina Brentano: Everybody’s Muse!

 by Georg Predota , Interlude

Bettina Brentano
© Wikipedia

She aroused the curiosity of Napoleon Bonaparte and went for intimate walks with Karl Marx. She entertained a significant passion for Goethe, who deflected her craving into an extended correspondence and companionship, and she was Beethoven’s muse. Robert Schumann and Johannes Brahms dedicated songs to her, and the Grimm brothers devoted an edition of their fairy tales to her. Who was this incredible woman? Her name was Elisabeth Brentano, better known as Bettina. She was the sister of the famous poet Clemens Brentano, and the wife to another, Achim von Arnim, whom she bore 11 children. She never wrote poetry but her writings outraged and fascinated people, and she also composed music. Her first two songs appeared under the pseudonym “Beans Beor” (blessing, I am blessed). Approaching composition from a literary viewpoint, a number of her songs were published during her lifetime. Young virtuosos and composers like Franz Liszt, Joseph Joachim, Peter Cornelius and Johann Kinkel admired her as a friend of Goethe and Beethoven, and her influence on young musicians was of lasting importance. She was “a supreme muse, a one-woman literary movement, at once among the singular and most representative figures of the Romantic century.”

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
© travel-target.com

Bettina was born in Frankfurt in 1785, and her mother had been Goethe’s first love. When she died, Bettina was sent to the convent, and eventually her mad brother Clemens—at some point he had painted his entire room, floor to ceiling, including the carpet, curtains, furniture, and his own face blue—became her mentor. Clemens and his friend Achim von Arnim, with substantial help from Bettina, collected folk poems, which they eventually published as the seminal work of German Romanticism, Des Knaben Wunderhorn. Bettina had always been a rebel, and her first love was a girl five years her senior whom she met in the convent. When she was 21, she was introduced to Goethe, and when he asked what interested her, she replied “Nothing interests me but you.” Apparently, “she leapt into his lap, threw her arms around his neck and went to sleep.” She clearly wanted to be his muse, maybe more. She wrote in a letter, “I have been jealous and sometimes I have felt myself to be the subject of your poems – and why shouldn’t I dream myself into happiness? What higher reality is there than dream?” Goethe, over 30 years her senior, did not know how to handle her, so he turned her letters into the materials for his books and poem, “but he kept her at arm’s length.”

© sueyounghistories.com

By 1810, Bettina had made herself known to another great artist of her age, Ludwig van Beethoven. According to her own recollections, “one day as Beethoven was working at the piano, I placed my hands on his shoulders. He turned in anger to find an attractive young woman who spoke melodiously in his ear: My name is Brentano.” Seemingly, Beethoven was enchanted by her forthright manner, and they developed a close friendship but were never lovers. She certainly was determined to bring Goethe and Beethoven together, which eventually happened in a single rather uneasy meeting. In her letters she kept quoting Beethoven and Goethe, but all the words were her own invention! Admirers suggest that Bettina created her own literary genre, the “epistolary novel.”

Bettina’s influence was felt throughout central Europe, and that included support for Johanna Kinkel, the female composer, writer, pianist and music teacher who published about 70 songs for voice and piano. Escaping from an abusive husband, Johann lived with Bettina von Arnim for several months, and helped her with compositions and translation projects. Her first collection of six songs, published under the name “J. Mathieux” is dedicated to her mentor, and the critic Ludwig Rellstab suggested, “She would soon become respected and well known.” Bettina tirelessly campaigned against anti-Semitism, wrote some seriously dangerous political books demanding liberalization of Prussian rule, and was even branded a communist. Her last book, Conversations with Demons almost ruined her financially, and looking at a bust of Goethe she died in her bed at 74. Scholars and critics agree that Bettina von Arnim was unique in a century rich with extravagant characters. “She was everyone’s muse, she craved love from every quarter, but she was never other than her own person. Her greatest creation was herself!”