Yuja Wang magic

 

Many people play this as an encore but her performance was perfect. She walks onto the stage looking like she is unsure of where she is. But once she sits down, its pure Yuja Wang magic.

Prokofiev Piano Sonata No. 7 in B Flat Major, Op. 83, III https://www.ganjingworld.com/s/OJar21gOnZ

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The Best Waltzes by the Great Composers

by Emily E. Hogstad  March 2nd, 2026

Few musical forms have evolved as extensively as the waltz. It began as a rustic Austrian dance in triple meter, scandalous for bringing men and women together so physically close. By the 19th century, it had shaken off its early controversy and conquered Vienna’s glittering ballrooms. By the 20th, it had become ironic, decadent, grotesque – even apocalyptic.

Using just three beats per bar, the waltz can suggest intimacy, seduction, nostalgia, aristocratic splendour, demonic frenzy, or even civilizational collapse.

The following ten works trace the evolution of the waltz from Schubert’s salon to Ravel’s catastrophic whirl and beyond. Together, they show how composers transformed a simple dance into one of classical music’s most versatile and revealing genres.

Franz Schubert – Valses nobles, D. 969   

Schubert wrote hundreds of dances – waltzes, Ländler, etc. – for domestic music-making in Vienna. But the Valses nobles, D. 969, written in the final year of his life, are something finer.

These aren’t ballroom miniatures; they’re personal statements. Harmonies turn unexpectedly inward; phrases stretch and sigh. Each is fleeting.

Their interiority and small scale make them an intriguing early evolution of the genre. They mark one of the first moments when the waltz became something to listen to, rather than something to dance.

Frédéric Chopin – Waltz in C-sharp minor, Op. 64, No. 2   

Chopin rarely intended his waltzes for dancing; they’re more psychological studies disguised as salon music.

His Waltz in C-sharp minor, Op. 64 No. 2, alternates between elegant charm and darker introspection.

Its shifting moods and subtle rubato transform the triple meter into something fluid and conversational. At times, it gets sarcastic or even acerbic, due in part to its minor key and unstable middle section.

Franz Liszt – Mephisto Waltz No. 1   

Liszt’s Mephisto Waltz No. 1 was not a waltz written for polite society.

Inspired by a scene from Nikolaus Lenau’s verse drama Faust, the Devil interrupts a village wedding and seduces the dancers into frenzy. The music is dazzling, demonic, virtuosic beyond reason.

Here, the waltz becomes temptation itself: it’s seductive, theatrical, dangerous.

Johann Strauss II – The Blue Danube, Op. 314   

If one piece defines the Viennese waltz, it is The Blue Danube.

Over the course of his career, Strauss perfected the formula: a graceful introduction, a sequence of unforgettable melodies, and then a glowing coda.

The rhythmic lilt feels effortless, as though the orchestra itself is gliding. This is the traditional Viennese waltz at its most radiant: aristocratic, irresistible, and intoxicating.

Johannes Brahms – Waltz in A-flat major, Op. 39, No. 15   

Brahms was a huge admirer of Strauss’s work, but his own waltzes are more private.

The A-flat major Waltz, Op. 39, No. 15, is brief and tender. Its warm harmonies and gentle phrasing feel nostalgic, or even autumnal.

Brahms distills the Viennese dance into something intimate and reflective. It’s a waltz meant for a quiet room, not a grand ballroom like Strauss’s.   

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky – Waltz from Swan Lake    

In Tchaikovsky’s hands, the waltz became a theatrical spectacle.

The Act I Waltz from his ballet Swan Lake is sweeping and luminous, filled with expansive melodies and rich orchestration.

It evokes aristocratic celebration, but Tchaikovsky’s gift for bittersweet harmonies also lends it an undercurrent of melancholy longing.

Claude Debussy – La plus que lente    

By 1910, almost a century after the genre’s ascendance, some waltzes had become nostalgic, even ironic.

Debussy’s “La plus que lente” (“slower than slow”) is both affectionate and gently mocking. The harmonies drift, colours blur, and the musical gestures seem to sigh.

This is a waltz that is filtered through French aesthetics and weary Belle Epoque sophistication.

Maurice Ravel – La valse   

Ravel’s La valse begins in a murky haze. Gradually, fragments of rhythm emerge from darkness, eventually coalescing into a glittering Viennese dance.

But then the elegance grows distorted. The orchestration becomes violent, grotesque, even unhinged.

Ravel always claimed that La valse wasn’t meant to be a portrait of the collapse of Europe after World War I. But it still feels like an autopsy of the collapse: the waltz falling victim to its own sophistication and grandeur.

Sergei Prokofiev – Waltz from Cinderella        

After Ravel’s shattering waltz, Prokofiev restores glamour to it – but with a similar edge.

The grand waltz from his ballet Cinderella is lush yet harmonically angular. The melodies shimmer, but the harmonies and rhythms here carry a modern bite.

This is fairy-tale elegance viewed through the darker, more jaded lens of the turbulent 20th century.

Dmitri Shostakovich – Waltz No. 2 (Suite for Variety Orchestra)    

By mid-century, the waltz had become a vehicle for irony as much as elegance.

Shostakovich’s Waltz No. 2 sounds charming at first, almost kitschy. But the sweetness is slightly exaggerated, the orchestration a touch garish. There’s something theatrical and faintly tragic beneath the surface.

This waltz music is smiling through clenched teeth.

Conclusion

From Schubert’s Viennese miniatures to Shostakovich’s Soviet irony, the waltz has proved remarkably adaptable.

It can whisper or seduce. It can glitter. It can burn the ballroom to the ground…all in ¾ time.

If you had to choose a favourite, which waltz would it be?

Frédéric Chopin’s 10 “Easy” Piano Pieces

 by Hermione Lai  March 1st, 2026

Frédéric Chopin! The name alone conjures a sense of profound intimacy. His works for piano take us into a world of almost otherworldly beauty, with melodies that become as engaging as the human voice.

The music can be fragile, dance-like or fleeting, and infused with a sense of great nostalgia or melancholy. And then there is this emotional fragility, like emotions changing in mid-sentence. Chopin’s music feels so vulnerable, seemingly confiding in the listener. It’s emotion in its purest form.

Rudolf Schuster: Fryderyk Chopin in the salon of prince Antoni Radziwiłł

Yet we all know that his music is famously challenging to play. In the hands of experts, it sounds effortless, floating through the air with a passion that’s always under control. But if you have been studying the piano, you know that the technical challenges of playing Chopin are substantial.

For Chopin’s birthday on 1 March 1810, let’s do something special by presenting 10 of his easiest piano pieces. In their original scoring, there are none for complete beginners, sorry. But if you are an intermediate pianist, here are 10 pieces that are surprisingly approachable.

On the top of my list of approachable Chopin piano pieces is the Prelude in E minor, from the Op. 28 set. This piece even looks approachable on paper. No glittering runs or thundering octaves, and no crazy fast arpeggios.

To be sure, the slow tempo and simple left-hand accompaniment are immediately inviting. No violent leaps or intricate crossings, with chords unfolding regularly. Of course, it’s all about the weight of each chord and how one harmony resolves into the next.

The melody is pure simplicity, essentially an expressive sigh that hovers above the broken chords. You will be able to learn the notes of both hands relatively quickly, but can you make the piano sing? Technically, it is approachable, but to convey the emotions is much more difficult. 

The set of 24 Preludes in Op. 28 contains some wonderful pieces for intermediate pianists. Take the A Major Prelude, Op. 28, No. 7, as an example. It’s one of the shortest piano pieces Chopin ever wrote, and it feels like a fleeting smile.

While the left hand keeps a steady and lilting accompaniment, the right hand sings a folk-like melody. No wild leaps or complicated passagework in the left hand, and a very pianistically unfolding melody in the right hand. No acrobatics here at all.

The notes should come to you rather easily, but can you find the elegance demanded from this small dance? It should never sound mechanical, with the left hand breathing softly. But don’t slip into sentimentality, as it is naturally beautiful.     A number of Chopin waltzes are glittering showpieces, but Op. 34, No. 2 is different. This one is a far gentler affair. And it’s difficult not to be swept up in the flowing rhythm of the dance.

What makes waltzes difficult to play on occasion are extreme jumps and brutal stretches. In Op. 34, No. 2, the familiar waltz pattern is, of course, present, but the technical demands here are not punishing. There are some ornaments in the right hand, but like much of Chopin, the entire melody lies comfortably under the fingers.

Did you notice that this waltz is scored in the minor key? There is a celebration for sure, but it feels more like a memory than an actual celebration. Passion is everywhere, but it is all viewed through a veil.

Mazurka in A minor, Op. 17, No. 4   

Let’s stay with the dance idiom for a bit, although the Mazurka in A Minor, Op. 17, No. 4 is slightly more challenging. Still, it isn’t a showpiece that glitters and sparkles, but another deep personal recollection.

There are some broken patterns in the left hand, but with the unhurried tempo, an intermediate pianist can learn the notes. Chopin opens up a sparse texture, with the left hand always supporting the melody, not battling it. And what a fantastic piece to learn all about rubato.

Technically, it gets a bit more challenging in the middle section. However, it all feels rather introspective. The gently swaying rhythm carries you away to the Polish homeland Chopin missed so much. Whatever you do, don’t try to overpower this emotionally very fragile music.

Prelude in B minor, Op. 28, No. 6   

Technically speaking, we should count the Prelude in B minor, Op. 28, No. 6 among the 10 easiest Chopin pieces. And on the surface, that is certainly true. It all seems rather simple, with the left hand playing marching chords while the right hand quietly presents a fragile melody.

What might be technically simple is frequently emotionally challenging. This particular prelude is pure melancholy. The weight of each chord should never destroy the sense of fragility, and it’s easy to get carried away with the rubato.

A great pianist once said that by listening to Chopin, audiences should feel as if the composer is confiding in them. And that’s the melody in this prelude. Every single note is a secret, whispered to you in great confidence. And it is never ashamed to do so.

Frédéric Chopin: Waltz in B minor, Op. 69, No. 2   

For another approachable piece in B minor, let’s turn to the Waltz Op. 69, No. 2. It is approachable for an intermediate pianist as the technical challenges are manageable, but the music just sounds deceptively easy.

We do find the gentle waltz pattern in the accompaniment, and the melody offers flowing phrases and lyrical lines. Yet, there are plenty of subtle shifts in dynamic, in delicate accents, and the rubato simply has to sound like natural breathing.

If you play this mechanically, it will immediately lose all charm. There is so much restraint and intimate tenderness that is incredibly difficult to express. While the notes might be suitable for young fingers, the emotional content certainly isn’t.

Mazurka in G minor, Op. 67, No. 2    

The Chopin Mazurkas are never really that easy to play, but technically, some are accessible to intermediate pianists. These Polish dances are at the heart of Chopin’s piano music, and they always carry a sense of melancholy and longing.

The mazurka rhythm flows gently and steadily throughout, with the lyrical melody clearly written by an expert pianist. There are no uncomfortable leaps and jumps, and no blazing runs from the top to the bottom of the keyboard. The notes can be learned.

The most challenging part of this piece is that the pianist has to shape the mood. The phrases must breathe, and the off-beat accents gently navigate you between a memory of joy and a sigh of sorrow. You won’t be successful if you only think of virtuosity and speed.   

Every aspiring pianist wants to play a Chopin Nocturne, and the C-sharp minor is probably one of his most approachable. Steady arpeggios won’t kill your hands if you know how to rotate your wrist, and the melody is one of the most natural creations ever written by Chopin.

The melody is delicately emerging over the accompaniment, and it needs very careful attention. The real difficulty comes from shaping that melody. Everything relies on expressive timing and gentle dynamic nuance. And don’t let that rubato run away with you.

There is plenty of passion in the opening section, and some real drama in the central part. Each change of harmony and turn of melody becomes a reflection or unspoken emotion that can be felt immediately.   

Since Chopin died at such an early age, a number of pieces were never prepared for publication by himself. They were discovered among his manuscripts and shared with publishers later.

One such treasure is a gentle waltz in A minor, featuring a steady accompaniment and a naturally flowing lyrical melody. This gem is entirely approachable for intermediate pianists, and it carries all the expected emotional intensity.

There is nothing dazzling in this dance. Rather, Chopin almost shyly immerses us in a melancholic quality that feels entirely personal. Since it was discovered only after Chopin’s death, it carries an extra sense of quiet mystery.

Prelude in C minor, Op. 28, No. 20    

Sometimes, the Prelude in C minor, Op. 28, No. 20 is nicknamed “Chordal Prelude.” And that pretty much describes the technical aspects. Thick chords carry the melody, and it is very manageable for intermediate pianists.

Yet, this quietly powerful miniature carries immense emotional depth. It feels like a march, maybe even a procession of memory. Emotion is contained in every single chord, and also in the silences between them.

You need more than technical proficiency to play this one. You need great sensitivity, a sense of patience, and empathy. It’s like a moment of reflection that has been suspended in time.

Bonus Time

Portrait of Frédéric Chopin by Eugène Delacroix, 1838

Here then is a little bonus selection, the famous “Raindrop” prelude. Every aspiring pianist is eager to play this little gem. And you already know about that hypnotic A-flat in the left hand.

It gets a bit stormier in the middle section, but the raindrops need to be soft and consistent. As soon as you start to force this repetition, the entire mood will be lost. Everything must sound as natural as possible.

I am sure you have already noticed the Chopin paradox in 10 of his easiest piano pieces. They are technically approachable and relatively simple, yet deeply emotional and profound. These might be playable by young fingers, but it will take an entire lifetime to probe their emotional depth.

Tschaikowsky, Mozart and more: My passion of music

 

Yes, this first piano concerto by Tschaikowsky still brings tears into my eyes. 

Tchaikovsky (or Tschaikowsky) was the second of six surviving children of Ilya Tchaikovsky, a manager of the Kamsko-Votkinsk metal works, and Alexandra Assier, a descendant of French émigrés. He manifested a clear interest in music from childhood, and his earliest musical impressions came from an orchestra in the family home.

He had a few close friends that he held onto for his entire life, including his brother Modest. This shows a fiercely loyal and devoted side of his personality. Tchaikovsky was also a bit of a perfectionist, and was known to literally tear apart his own compositions if he found them unsatisfactory.

Peter Iljitsch Tschaikowsky was born on May 7, 1840 in Wotkinsk and passed away in Saint Petersburg / Russia. His father was technical director in Saint Petersburg. Tschaikowsky ignored his musical talent for a long time and got shattered when his beloved mother died so early because of cholera.

Tschaikowsky studied law and was employed in different public offices. But all those tasks had been unsuitable for him. At the age of 23, he started to study music. The overture "Romeo and Juliet" from 1869 made him popular. But the continuing popularity didn't ease his melancholy and depression. Tschaikowsky lived mostly in the province of Saint Petersburg as well as in France and Italy.

Tschaikowsky was terribly shy and afraid of his popularity. Main works have been his six symphonies as well as his incredible and unique "Piano Concerto in b-flat major" from 1875 and the "Violin Concerto in d-major" from 1878. Wonderful music treasures are also his "1812 Overture" (1880), the "Italian Capriccio" (1880) and the "String Serenade in c-major".

Tschaikowsky has been a fantastic ballet maestro - unbelievable and seldom reachable by other composers during that period. Up to now "Swan Lake", "Nutcracker" or "The Sleeping Beauty" have been unforgettable.

Tschaikowsky also composed nine operas, but only two are still known: "Eugene Onegin" (1877) and "Pique Dame" (1890).

It was a long time ago. November 1986. I have been invited by Radio Moscow, German Language Department to join a radio program. It was really difficult taking photos during that time as a tourist in Moscow. But, I did it.

Tschaikowsky was part of the then radio program. I was somehow honored to join that broadcasting then.

Back from Moscow. I tried to reshape my life. After Russian classics,  I found myself back in Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. 

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (27 January 1756 – 5 December 1791), baptised as Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart, was a prolific and influential composer of the Classical period.

Born in Salzburg, in the Holy Roman Empire, Mozart showed prodigious ability from his earliest childhood. Already competent on keyboard and violin, he composed from the age of five and performed before European royalty, embarking on a grand tour. At 17, Mozart was engaged as a musician at the Salzburg court but grew restless and travelled in search of a better position.

While visiting Vienna in 1781, he was dismissed from his Salzburg position. He chose to stay in Vienna, where he achieved fame but little financial security. During his final years in Vienna, he composed many of his best-known symphonies, concertos, and operas, and portions of the Requiem, which was largely unfinished at the time of his early death at the age of 35. The circumstances of his death are largely uncertain, and have thus been much mythologized.

Despite his short life, his rapid pace of composition resulted in more than 600 works of virtually every genre of his time. Many of these compositions are acknowledged as pinnacles of the symphonic, concertante, chamber, operatic, and choral repertoire. He is considered among the greatest classical composers of all time,[ and his influence on Western music is profound, particularly on Ludwig van Beethoven. His elder colleague Joseph Haydn wrote: "posterity will not see such a talent again in 100 years".

Mozart and his simple classical music yet deafening music fascinated me then. Simple? Well. Can you compare Mozart with Beethoven, Wagner, Chopin and other classical composers?

Why is Mozart music good for the brain?

The study found the subjects who listened to Mozart showed significantly increased spatial reasoning skills for at least 10-15 minutes. The finding led crèches in the United States to start playing classical music to children.

While studying during my high school time, I really found out that listening to Mozart was indeed a great help.

The Mozart effect is the theory that listening to Mozart's music can induce a short-term improvement on the performance of certain kinds of cognitive tasks and processes. ... The researchers found that listening to Mozart's music did enhance word memory across positive, negative and neutral words.

One of the most tenacious myths in parenting is the so-called Mozart effect, which says that listening to music by the Austrian composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart can increase a child's intelligence.

Claudia Hammond wrote about it in 2013: "It is said that classical music could make children more intelligent, but when you look at the scientific evidence, the picture is more mixed.

You have probably heard of the Mozart effect. It’s the idea that if children or even babies listen to music composed by Mozart they will become more intelligent. A quick internet search reveals plenty of products to assist you in the task. Whatever your age there are CDs and books to help you to harness the power of Mozart’s music, but when it comes to scientific evidence that it can make you more clever, the picture is more mixed".

Well, after a short period of time, I really looked "for more". And suddenly "Master" Ludwig van Beethoven stepped into my musical life". "Dadadadaan..."

I strongly agree with François Mai, who wrote: "Beethoven was the first of the romantic period composers who dominated classical music during the 19th century. He himself was a passionate man who carried his feelings on his sleeve. He had episodes of depression accompanied by suicidal ideas, and rarer episodes of elation with flights of ideas. The latter are reflected in some of his letters. He had a low frustration tolerance and at times would become so angry that he would come to blows with others such as his brother Carl, or he would throw objects at his servants. Although he never married, he had several affairs, including one with a married woman who has come to be known to posterity as ‘the Unknown Beloved’. To her he wrote three love letters that are filled with affection and feeling. He much enjoyed wine and this resulted in hepatic cirrhosis that caused his premature death at the age of 56.

This moodiness is reflected in his music. The ‘Marches Funébres’ of his Third Symphony (Eroica) and the Piano Sonata, op. 26, no. 12, are poignant and powerful portrayals of grief and bereavement. The final movement of the String Quartet, no. 6, op. 18 (La Malinconia) has sudden and alternating changes of tempo and rhythm that depict, in musical terms, the mood changes that occur in bipolar disorder. The pace and fortissimo dynamics of both his Rondo a Capriccio for piano, op. 129 and the storm movement of his Sixth Symphony (Pastoral Symphony) beautifully (or perhaps one should also say fearfully) display anger and agitation.

Beethoven's and my moodiness remain the same until today.

Well, during the last 60 years, I met most of my classical masters. This could be a never- ending story. My passion for music is a part of my life's part. Maybe, the main part. 

How Mozart Was Inspired by His Pet Starling

 by Emily E. Hogstad  October 23rd, 2017

On 27 May 1784, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart bought a pet starling bird at a Viennese pet shop.

Normally historians and musicologists don’t pay much attention to composers’ pets, but this starling wasn’t your average pet. Because when Mozart recorded the thirty-four kreutzer expense in his diary, he also transcribed a melody purportedly sung by his new bird. He included two versions: one that the bird sang (which included an out-of-place G-sharp), and another that was “cleaned up” for insertion into a piece of concert music.

Eagle-eyed (or -eared!) listeners will immediately recognize this as the theme of the finale to Mozart’s seventeenth piano concerto, K453.

Mozart: Piano Concerto No. 17   

Believe it or not, this pet store purchase actually raises some serious musicological questions. Mozart wrote on the score that he completed the work April 12, and he wrote in his expense diary that he bought the concerto-singing bird on May 27. The earliest public performance of the concerto (that we know of, anyway) was by a Mozart student on June 13.

So what came first: the concerto or the birdsong? Historians have offered a number of potential explanations. Perhaps the concerto was actually premiered in late April, when Mozart gave a concert at the prestigious Kärntnertortheater, and the shopkeeper or another customer then taught the theme to the bird. (To a certain extent, starlings can reproduce melodies that they hear.) Maybe Mozart himself hummed and whistled at the bird during the piece’s composition, teaching it the theme for a period of time before he actually bought it. Or maybe Mozart had visited the bird earlier in the spring, been inspired by its song, wrote the concerto, and later came back to buy it. As of today, there is no universal consensus among scholars.

It seems likely that Mozart enjoyed life with his new starling. Despite their modern reputation as invasive pests, starlings are sociable creatures, as well as clever and hardy. Their numbers prove it: a mere 200 released in New York’s Central Park in the 1890s eventually turned into 200 million by the 1980s. It’s easy to imagine the great composer bonding with such a persistent, vivacious, musical pet.

Tragedy struck Mozart’s life three years later. On 28 May 1787, after an illness that had lasted for several months, Wolfgang’s father Leopold died. Their relationship had always been fraught, but Wolfgang was still deeply saddened by his father’s passing. He wrote to a friend, “You can imagine the state I am in.”

Then, a week later his pet starling died. Due to distance, Mozart had been unable to attend his father’s funeral. Perhaps in compensation, he planned an elaborate ceremony for his dead pet. Veiled mourners sang hymns, and Mozart himself recited a poem he wrote. It begins: “A little fool lies here / Whom I held dear – / A starling in the prime / Of his brief time.”

Scholars are divided as to what exactly the starling actually meant to Mozart. Unfortunately, much of Mozart’s correspondence from this era has been lost, so we’re left to guess. Was the bird funeral meant as a genuinely heartfelt tribute to a beloved companion and pet? Was Mozart re-directing feelings he had about his father’s death onto his bird? Or was the whole funeral ritual merely a sarcastic “serio-comic” observance?

Mozart’s next project might offer us a clue. After his father and the starling’s deaths, the first composition that Mozart finished was A Musical Joke, K522. Many elements of this divertimento for two horns and string quartet are odd, including its strange harmonies and clumsy orchestration. Some historians believe that Mozart was parodying poor composers, but one credible theory is that he was actually paying tribute to the “illogical” awkwardness of starling song!  

You can read more about Mozart and his starling in American Scientist’s March-April 1990 issue, available here.

In addition, a book was released by naturalist and author Lyanda Lynn Haupt called Mozart’s Starling. She actually adopted a starling of her own in an attempt to understand Mozart’s relationship with his!

The Great Women Artists Who Shaped Music IX- Marian Anderson

 by Janet Horvath  August 2nd, 2015

Marian Anderson
(1897-1993)
© philipcaruso-story.com/

With regal bearing and a voice of rich intrinsic beauty, contralto Marian Anderson was one of the most celebrated singers of the twentieth century but she had to struggle to overcome racial prejudice that was rampant during the time she was establishing her career. “I had become, whether I like it or not, a symbol, representing my people.” Singing for an audience of 75 thousand in front of the Lincoln Memorial in 1939 and millions more via radio, as she had been denied an appearance in Washington’s Constitution Hall, she said, “Music chose me,” and with that she broke down some of the barriers that had plagued African American performers.  

Marian Anderson’s performance
© www.firstladies.org

Anderson was born in 1887 in Philadelphia. Her father sold ice and coal. When Anderson’s father died suddenly, Marian’s mother, although trained as a schoolteacher, became a house cleaner to support her family of three daughters. The United Baptist Church of Philadelphia was their refuge. Marian’s aunt who was very active in the church choir recognized Marian’s extraordinary gift, and urged her to join the junior choir of the church which offered the six-year-old opportunities to sing. Her aunt arranged for appearances at local events and took her to concerts. Within a few years, Marian’s earnings rose from 25 cents to five dollars per appearance. Still the family had no money for music lessons. The community believing in her outstanding abilities raised the funds for Marian to study.

After attending high school, Anderson naively applied to the Philadelphia Music Academy, (University of the Arts) which was at the time an all-white music school. “We don’t take colored,” said the woman admissions officer. Anderson persevered.

She continued to perform and study privately, winning competitions and even appearing in Carnegie Hall in 1928, but the struggle with racial prejudice was such that it led her to try her luck in Europe. It was a gamble that paid off. Paris had an impartiality that Marian hadn’t encountered before and Scandinavians were very open-minded too. Maestro Arturo Toscanini when he heard her sing remarked, “a voice heard once in a hundred years.” This endorsement opened many doors for the young artist.   

Marian Anderson broke the color barrier at the Metropolitan Opera in 1955 when she starred in Verdi’s Un Ballo in Maschera.
© Sony Classical Archives

By the 1930’s she was touring extensively welcomed in the grandest salons, restaurants, cafés and concert halls of Europe. In fact, she so mesmerized the audience in Leningrad that the audience stormed the stage, and pounded the stage floor with their fists to express their zeal. Composer Jean Sibelius feeling that Anderson had ‘penetrated the Nordic soul’ rewrote and composed songs for Anderson to perform. Fans were overcome with “Marian fever.”


Anderson’s dignity and sincerity as an artist brought tears to the eyes of her devotees. After a recital in Paris the great American manager Sol Hurok witnessed the effect. He invited Anderson to the U.S. for seven concerts beginning with New York’s Town Hall. Anderson’s rave reviews had preceded her. Everyone flocked to the concert curious to hear what the fuss was about.

Out she came onto the stage with a stunning, elegant presence. Then she opened her mouth.

Her extraordinary voice impressed the critics who called her “one of the great singers of our time.” But many “didn’t want to hear that kind of singing from a Negro,” said Todd Duncan, (George Gershwin’s preferred baritone for Porgy in the first performance of Gershwin’s opera Porgy and Bess, a role he did 1800 times.) African Americans should stick to vaudeville and spirituals not art song, or lieder in foreign tongues!     

American opera singer Marian Anderson performs
on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in
Washington, DC on April 9, 1939.
© Hulton Archive/Getty Images

By this time the political situation in Europe had degenerated. Marian Anderson was not welcome anymore as the Third Reich regime came into power. She was non-Aryan. Anderson continued to pursue her career in the United States performing many concerts and recitals.

But Anderson’s contracts posed issues. Some concert halls didn’t allow black performers. And of those that did, many had segregated seating. Some allowed African American audience members to sit only in the back row; a barrier vertically divided other halls and some halls wouldn’t allow African Americans inside at all. Anderson refused to perform in segregated theaters.

Laws regarding housing and transportation for people of color plagued her wherever she appeared. Every hotel and bus was a problem. Where could she stay? Where could she eat? (Sometimes she’d munch on a sandwich outside.) How could she do laundry? Where could she practice? —All privileges we take for granted today. Due to this appalling discrimination none other than Albert Einstein, who was a great champion of tolerance, hosted Anderson many times. And she? Marian always maintained her dignity making many recordings of diverse repertoire often including American songs and spirituals.People clamored to hear her. Todd Duncan, almost in jest, suggested a large place— Constitution Hall in Washington. After Hurok’s request for a date was turned down repeatedly, news got out. The public was scandalized. The Daughters of the American Revolution who owned the hall had a “white artists only” clause in their contracts. First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt came to the rescue. The 1939 Easter Sunday performance would take place at the Lincoln Memorial in front of countless thousands of people. A self-possessed Anderson appeared launching into My Country, ‘Tis of Thee. There was not a dry eye in sight.

Marian Anderson with President John F. Kennedy and Franz Rupp, Marian’s accompanist
© phyllissimsphotography.com

Finally, in 1952 she performed at Constitution Hall and in 1955 she broke the last barrier— the first black performer, American or otherwise to appear at the Metropolitan Opera.


She became the idol and mentor of other greats who followed including Shirley Verett, Leontyne Price and Jesseye Norman, who said, “’This can’t be just a voice, so rich and beautiful.” ‘It was a revelation. And I wept.’”

Anderson was the recipient of numerous awards including the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the Kennedy Center Honors, National Medal of Arts and a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award. President Eisenhower selected her as a delegate to the United Nations. But her proudest moment was when she called the department store where her mother furiously scrubbed floors to say, “ My mother won’t be in for work today, or anymore.”

Marian Anderson is truly an inspiring icon whose music transcended all boundaries. For more read her autobiography My Lord What A Morning, and view the documentary below full of mesmerizing interviews and amazing performances— time well spent.