Warm, lively and regal!

We'll try to keep you warm and happy this Friday on Vivace.

Much of our first hour is music from nice, warm Spain, the Suite Espanola by Isaac Albeniz.

At 7 o'clock, we'll have a concerto from a popular composer, Josef Fiala, and a light-hearted work by Mozart.

After 8 o'clock, we will be putting on our very best outfits for some very regal music. We'll play a symphony written by a reigning European king, and then an overture conducted by another reigning European king! Music by Bach and Elgar will round out a warm, lively and regal edition of Vivace.

As ever, I look forward to the pleasure of your company, this Friday, 6-9 am, right here on WTJU-Charlottesville.

You can also replay the program anytime from the WTJU archives. This program will be available for replay through 2/7/14.

All Saints Day: A Vivace celebration

This Friday is All Saints Day and Vivace will celebrate the occasion with some special music.

We start at around 6:45 am with Four Little Prayers of St. Francis of Assisi by Francis Poulenc.

 

At 7 o'clock, we have the very familiar St. Anthony Chorale by Haydn, and the St. Anne Prelude and Fugue by Bach.  After 7:30, we have another real treat for you: music composed by St. Francis of Assisi himself.

In the 8 o'clock hour, we have a lovely - and surprising - variety of music connected with saints, including compositions by Arvo Part, Vaughan Williams and Mozart. 

As ever, I look forward to the pleasure of your company as we celebrate All Saints Day - Vivace style, Friday, 6 -9 am on WTJU.

Starobin Plays Giuliani -- an appealling program

Mauro Giuliani, Volume 2 
David Starobin, guitar
Amalia Hall , violin
Inon Barnatan, piano
Bridge Records

This recording has two things going for it. First, it's an album by David Starobin, one of the most talented classical guitarists performing today. Second, it's released on Starobin's record label, Bridge, which has been recording guitar music since 1981. In other words, a perfect match of artist and recorded sound.

Mauro Giuliani's compositions are part of the classical tradition of Mozart and Haydn. Starobin plays them with warmth and delicacy. Although written as showpieces, Starobin chooses to emphasize the musicality of the works, a decision that I think adds to their overall appeal.

And Starobin wisely varies the program, too. Included are the Op. 24a variations for violin and two rondos for violin and guitar. Violinist Amalia Hall plays with a simple purity of tone that perfectly suits the elegant variations. Inon Barnalan's style also meshes nicely with Starobin's, although I thought the recorded piano sound was a little muted.

All in all, though, an excellent recording of classical guitar works by Giulinai. Perhaps there will be a volume 3 someday...

Dussek Symphonies: Comfort Music

Dussek: Four Symphonies 
Helsinki Baroque Orchestra
Aapo Hakkinen, conductor
Naxos

Naxos' new release presents four smphonies of Franz Xaver Dussek, who was a close friend of Mozart. After hearing the works, that fact didn't surprise me. There's a distinct similarity in sound.

Dussek was one of several talented composers living and working in Bohemia in the 1760s-1770s,, and his music is very much of its time and place. Just like the early and middle symphonies of Haydn and Mozart, Dussek's are all in clearly delineated forms. And Dussek's melodies similarly drive steadily towards their cadence points, pause briefly, and start the process over again.

That's not to say these symphonies sound trite -- far from it. Dussek captures that same spirit of excitement one hears in Mozart's works of 1770's (when the symphonies on this release were written). Orchestration is light, and the music zips along, more concerned about elegant turns of phrase than expressing deep emotion. While Dussek follows the forms of the day, he does so with imagination. There's nothing cliche about these works, just a feeling of familiarity.

Three of the symphonies follow the three-movement fast-slow-fast structure of the early classical period. They're short, to the point, and entertaining. The last work on the disc, the Sinfonia in B-flat major (altner Bb3), is more substantial. It has four movements, and sounds more like Haydn than Mozart. The themes are a little more substantial, and more fully developed.

Aapo Hakkinen and the Helsinki Baroque Orchestra find just the right balance with this music. The ensemble is crisp, and plays with a lightness that keeps these works buoyant.

I found these symphonies thorough enjoyable. Comfort food isn't gourmet dining, but it makes you feel good when you eat it. Dussek isn't Mozart, but his music made me feel good when I heard it. So let's just call these symphonies comfort music -- and call this a positive review.

Kraus Viola Concertos are No Joke

Kraus: Viola Concertos
David Aaron Carpenter, viola
Tapiola Sinfonietta
Ondine

David Aaron Carpenter presents three standout viola concertos on his new Ondine release. These concertos by Joseph Martin Kraus, dating from the 1790s, were thought to be lost until fairly recently. Kraus, who spent most of his professional life in the Swedish court, was well-regarded by many musicians of his day, including Haydn (for whom Kraus wrote a symphony).

Kraus was also an outstanding violist, which makes these works doubly appealing. First, they’re in the clear, classical style of Mozart and Haydn. Second, they really test the limits of the instrument. Kraus knew what a viola was capable of, and he wrote his solo parts accordingly.

Kraus has been called the “Swedish Mozart,” and with good reason. He had the same ability to spin out perfectly balanced melodic phrases that sound simultaneously simple and original. Like Mozart and Haydn, Kraus kept with the standard orchestra of the time – a large string ensemble with flutes and clarinets for coloration.

Violist David Carpenter keeps things moving along, which is good. This is music that benefits for a lightness of touch, and the sprightly playing of the Tapiola Sinfonietta hits just the right emotional tone.

The most interesting work is the Concerto in G major for Viola, Cello, and Orchestra. Although it seems to be a double concerto, the soloists aren’t quite equal partners. The orchestra supports the cello which in turn supports the viola. Still, it’s an engaging work and definitely one worth hearing.

Joseph Martin Kraus is lamentably under-represented in classical recordings. This release should go a long way towards redressing that situation. Highly recommended.

Newly-Disovered Mozart Sonata Premiered 246 Years After Composition

It's always big news when a previously unknown work by a major composer is unearthed -- especially if that composer is Mozart. In this case, it was a short Allegro for piano, composed around 1766-1767 by a very young Mozart.

According to the Mozarteum Salzburg Foundation, the work was discovered in a 1780 notebook kept by a village music teacher. The book contained a variety of keyboard compositions, including some by Mozart's father, Leopold (the more prominent composer of the two at the time).

Once scholars verified the authenticity of the work, the Foundation began planning the world premiere. On March 23, 2012, Florian Birsak performed the Allegro in Mozart's Salzburg home, on a fortepiano owned by Mozart -- now that's authenticity!




Realistically, the work's a minor composition. The Allegro isn't a lost masterwork -- it's not likely to join or supplant any of the core repertoire of Mozart piano works. It doesn't foreshadow or provide insight into any of the composer's major compositions. It's simply a very pleasant and tuneful little piano piece. With the name Mozart attached to it.

And perhaps that's enough.

The Naming Game, Part 3 - Tilted Titles

"Wachut Auf" by Bach. At least
that's what we call it.

The nomenclature of classical music is seen by some as a barrier to entry into the field. Some believe (both inside and out of the field) that  if you're not quite sure what "Concerto for flatiron in H-flat, Op. 999a" means, then, perhaps you're not smart enough to listen to it.

Well, yes you are. In parts one and two I explained the basics behind the naming of instrumental works. Since they usually just have a generic name, some type of numbering is necessary to tell them apart.

But what about vocal music? After all, songs in popular music all have unique titles. That's true. And those titles usually come from one of two places: either a key word or phrase from the chorus of the song, or an evocative title assigned by the composer(s).

Begin at the beginning, so none may sleep
Classical music works a little differently. Like instrumental music, most vocal and choral works originally didn't have assigned titles. So the practice evolved of referring to them by the first line or phrase of the text.

That's why Puccini's popular aria from "Turandot" is called Nessun Dorma. The phrase ("None May Sleep") is a repeat of the decree Princess Turandot has issued, that none may sleep until the name of the Prince has been discovered. The Prince echoes the call, which then leads into his aria of love. But since the first words he sings are "Nessun dorma," that's what the aria's called.

The same holds true with arias from oratorios and cantatas. "Are We Like Sheep" is a famous chorus from Handel's "Messiah." Ditto the "Hallelujah" Chorus -- so called because that's the first word sung.

And the pattern holds for unnamed larger vocal and choral works as well. Bach's cantatas all take their titles from the first line of text. "Wachet Auf" is the first line of his Cantata No. 140. Want to sing the second aria from that work? Then you're talking about Mein Freund ist mein!.

A Sense of Entitlement
Works can have titles assigned, of course. Most operas take their titles from the lead character, or the plot. And if a poem is set to music, the title of the poem usually becomes the title of the musical work as well. Schubert's lieder mostly follow this pattern, as do Schumann's.


Missa No Understand, Obi-Wan
Reciting titles for medieval and renaissance masses can make one sound like Jar-Jar Binks, but there's a reason for that nomenclature as well. The Roman Catholic worship service is known as a mass, or missa in Latin.

From about 1100 to 1600, it was very important to have liturgical music tied to tradition. So much so that composers usually uses an existing Gregorian chant as the basis for their composition. As time went on, other types of music were incorporated, including some secular (and in some cases pretty dirty) songs.

Titles for these masses always referred to the root melody the composition was based on. So the Missa L'Homme Armee is a mass based on the popular song "The Armed Man." Actually, several renaissance composers have a Missa L'Homme Armee in their catalog.



It's like the French have a different word for everything! - Steve Martin
The important thing to remember is that classical music has been composed for over a millenia in virtually every country in Europe, as well as most of the Americas, (and a few other places besides). Titles almost always come from the language of the text. So that's why you have German, Italian, French, and even Latin titles for works.

So the titles of these works isn't meant to obscure, but to provide additional clarity. You might not know what Christ Lag in Todesbanden (Bach's Cantata No. 4) means, but you at least you know it's a German work.

What next?
There are many other ways classical works are named. If any are puzzling you, just leave me a note in the comments field. I'll be happy to research your question and supply an answer. Classical names shouldn't be a barrier to the enjoyment of the music. It doesn't really matter what a work is called, just how it calls to you.

The Naming Game, Part 1, Opus 1! 

The Naming Game, Part 2: Cataloging Chaos

The Naming Game, Part 2 - Cataloging Chaos

A keyboard sonata by Dominico Scarlatti.
But which one?

Classical music nomenclature can be a major obstacle for newcomers to the genre. In Part 1 of this series, I tried to demystify things a little by explaining why and how numbers were used. But what about all those letters? In some cases, they're referring to some type of catalog system, which is what this post is about.

A little disorder around the edges
Beginning around the start of the 19th Century, music publishing became a mature and organized industry. If you look at a list of published works by Beethoven, the opus numbers represent all of his approved compositions. The same is true for Mendelssohn, Schumann, and certainly Brahms.

All of these composers have works that were never published, though -- or were never assigned opus numbers. Usually you'll see something like WoO 3, which means "Without Opus, Number 3." So if a composer has, say twelve unpublished compositions, they may be labeled WoO 1, 2, 3, etc.

So where do these numbers come from?
Usually there's a biographer (sometimes a team of scholars) that pour through a composer's papers and create the initial catalog of unpublished works. They're the ones who establish which piece will be designated WoO 3 rather than WoO 4.

So where do those extra letters come from?
For the composers who published almost everything, cleaning up the leftovers with WoO is usually sufficient. But there are some composers -- like Schubert -- who wrote far more than they ever published. And when you go back to the Baroque period (and earlier), composers wrote prolifically, but published very rarely.

These are the bodies of work that need serious organization -- and this is where all of those extra letters come from. Several methods have been used to catalog works. Chronological is the most intuitive. This is how Ludwig von Köchel cataloged Mozart's works in the 1860's. These numbers usually have a K (Köchel) or KV (Kochel Verzeichnis) in front of them. Modern scholarship and the discovery of lost manuscripts have made some revisions to the list, which is why you'll see things like:

Mozart: Symphony in G, "Alte Lambach", K.45a (the "a" denotes an insertion between K. 45 and K. 46 of the original list)

Otto Erich Deutsch did the same thing with Schubert's music in the 1950's. Although Schubert has over 100 published compositions, he wrote almost 1,000, Most people just refer to his music using the Deutch numbers.

Schubert: String Quartet, No. 2 in C major, D. 32

OK, Köchel and Deutsch makes sense, but what's up with Haydn's numbers?
Anthony van Hoboken used a different type of his organization for Haydn's music in the late 1800's. He first arranged everything by type of composition, Type I: symphonies, Type II: divertimenti, Type III, string quartets, and so on.

Within each type, the works are arranged in chronological order. So Haydn's first symphony is Hob:I:1. While the symphonies work pretty well, it can get a bit messy for other works. His piano sonatas, for example, have a number system assigned to them by Haydn scholar Howard Chandler Robbins Landon that is at odds with the Hoboken numbers.

So Haydn's Piano Sonata in G, written in 1766, is L.13, Hob:XVI:6

Social numbering
Sometimes it's not a person but an organization -- or society -- that does the numbers. Johann Sebastian Bach only had a few works published during his lifetime. When the Bach-Werke-Verzeichnis (Bach Works Catalogue) undertook the task of publishing his complete works, they also assigned catalog numbers to them. Like Hoboken, they sort of organized the music along the lines of type.

So the first group of BWV numbers are all cantatas. Bach's Cantata No. 140 "Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme" is indeed BWV 140. As with other catalogs, the listing has been updated over time, so you'll sometimes see things like BWV 1006a and 1006b.

There also was a Händel-Werke-Verzeichnis, with a purpose similar to the Bach society. They assigned HWV numbers to Handel's works, although their usage isn't yet as widespread as the BWV numbers.

When catalogs collide
Sometimes not even the scholars agree -- which can make things ugly.  The first person to catalog the 555 keyboard sonatas of Dominico Scarlatti was Alessandro Longo in the early Twentieth Century. He grouped them together in suites according to keys, and assigned them L. numbers (for Longo -- not to be confused with the L. of Landon-Robbins fro Haydn's music).

Ralph Kirkpatrick, scholar and harpsichordist, did extensive research of these works in the 1940's. He came up with a revised chronological listing, and gave each sonata a K. number (for Kirkpatrick, not Köchel -- you can see things are already going south).

In the 1960's, Giorgio Pestelli offered up yet another revised listing, different from both Longo's and Kirckpatrick's catalogs. And yes, he assigned each work a new number with P. for Pestelli.

So Dominico Scarlatti's (and you have to specify Dominico -- his uncle Alessandro Scarlatti was also a famous composer) keyboard sonata in D minor, Andante moderato is simultaneously known as:

D. Scarlatti: Sonata in D minor, K. 52, L. 267, P. 41

So what's it all mean?
Catalog numbers are usually a good way to uniquely identify a work. Don't be intimidated by them, or particularly impressed by people who use them extensively, though. If you refer to Haydn's Symphony No. 45 as the "Farewell" symphony, most classical music lovers will know exactly which work you're referring to. Calling it Hob.I:45, not so much.

When catalog numbers clarify, use them. When they don't, don't. That's what I do, anyway.

Just be careful with Scarlatti (Dominico, that is).

The Naming Game, Part 1, Opus 1! 

The Naming Game, Part 3: Tilted Titles

The Classical Top 40 -- Set in stone, or sand?

Over the years I've talked to a lot of folks about classical music, and it seems like there's an unspoken rule that both the casual and hardcore listener share. There's an assumption that there's a single list of Great Music that has stood the test of time and that all pieces must be measured against (and usually found wanting).

I usually hear about this list when I air something a little too adventuresome (read: unfamiliar). Then I get the calls asking why I don't play GOOD music for a change! Well, the nature of my program, "Gamut," is to explore the full range of classical music, both familiar and obscure.

But there's something else: even though everyone has an idea of what makes up the accepted canon of classical music, each person has a slightly different list.

Case in point: Classic FM is a commercial classical station in the UK that recently put out a Top 40 list based on their listeners' requests. Commercial classical stations (a vanishing breed here in the US), like other commercial radio stations, are concerned about maximizing the audience (and therefore the ad rates they can charge) within their genre. So you can bet Classic FM has stayed with the tried-and-true. Plus, most people aren't classical music geeks. So when asked for names, they're most likely going to offer up the most familiar composers and compositions.

So Classic FM's list should be a pretty good indicator of what Great Music should be, right? Let's look at the top ten:

10. Beethoven: Symphony No. 9 "Choral"
9. Bruch: Violin Concerto No. 1
8. Elgar: Cello Concerto
7. Elgar: Enigma Variations
6. Beethoven: Symphony No. 6 "Pastorale"
5. Mozart: Clarinet Concerto
4. Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 5 "Emperor"
3. Vaughan Williams: Fantasia on a Theme of Thomas Tallis
2. Vaughan Williams: The Lark Ascending
1. Rachmaninoff: Piano Concerto No. 2

Wait, what!? Did this list cause you a double-take? Where's Bach? (No. 53) Where's Handel? (No. 144) Where's Vivaldi's The Four Seasons (No. 11), or Pachelbel's Canon?  (No. 13) Where's Mendelssohn (No. 211), or Schubert? (No. 264)

Two things jumped out at me about this list -- there are four works by English composers, and six of the ten were written in the 20th Century. There's a good chance that were we to poll an American audience, we'd get a substantially different Top 10. Which would be different from the results of a Japanese poll, or a French poll, or a German poll.

Where's Copland on this list? He's at number 165! And Barber's "Adagio for Strings" checks in at number 14.

The point is, while we may think there's a unified canon of Great Classical Works, the actual details are a little more fluid. And that will continue over time. There's a good chance that what an audience 50 years hence will consider masterworks will include some compositions that didn't make this list -- although they've already been written and performed.

The good in music is relative -- and that's the way I like it. Because it gives me the freedom to find those works (sometimes off the beaten path) that speak most deeply to me.

What Makes a Good Opera?

What makes a good opera? Most of my non-classical friends would dispute that there's any such thing, but we'll let that pass.

The question arose yesterday when I revisited a work I hadn't listened to in a while: Franz Joseph Haydn's opera Il Mondo della Luna. Most people don't think of Haydn as an opera composer, but he wrote thirteen of them -- most for private performance at the Esterhazy estate.



While most people aren't even aware of Haydn's operatic output, those that are tend to dismiss it. The general opinion is that, compared to those of his younger contemporary and friend, Mozart, Haydn's works simply don't measure up. Some might say they're not even on par with those of Gluck, who was writing similar type works for larger audiences in Vienna (some of which have entered the repertoire).



I thought about all of that as I listened to Il mondo della luna. The first time I played the recording, I dutifully followed along with the libretto, and I can see the validity of the criticism. Like most of Haydn's operas, Il mondo della luna is basically a series of set pieces. There's an aria, then a duo, then a chorus, then another aria, etc. What's missing is any kind of dramatic impetus that drives the story along. That lack of drama keeps the opera from feeling organic.

In an Mozart opera (or others considered first-rate), there's a dramatic reason why the heroine sings an aria here, and then a chorus responds there. The audience is pulled along, carried by not only the beauty of the music, but the motion of the story as it unfolds.

So am I wasting my time listening to Haydn's operas? Hardly. While it may not work as a dramatic piece, it's still music by Haydn. So it's witty, charming, sophisticated, and well-crafted (as I believe these YouTube videos illustrate).

Yesterday I had to spend a lot of time concentrating on a big project, and Il mondo della luna made a nice accompaniment to my work. I don't speak Italian, so I couldn't hear how absurd/lame the libretto actually was. All I heard was one lovely melody after another.

And really, is that so bad?

What's My (Melodic) Line?

Think of any game show currently on the air. Now picture the host and contestants for that show. Now picture the arrival of a prominent American composer -- say, John Adams -- onto the program. What do you think the reaction would be? Would the host even recognize Adams, much less have anything intelligent to say to him? What about the other contestants? How would they react?

It all sounds very surreal, doesn't it? But there was a time when this actually happened.

"What's My Line?" was a succesful, if somewhat sedate, game show that ran from 1950 to 1967. The show was basically a variant on 20 questions. A mystery guest would sign in, and a celebrity panel  would attempt to guess their occupation, or sometimes their identity. The panel consisted of some of the brightest and sophisticated wits of the New York scene, and it wasn't often they were stumped.

On September 30, 1962, composer William Schuman was the mystery guest -- a figure recognizable enough that the panel had to be blindfolded. Here's the clip from that show. What I find interesting is that it's clear the audience also knows who he is, and that the panel does, too. I wonder if John Adams would fair equally well on "Deal or No Deal."

How to Listen to Classical Music -- w/o baggage

Benjamin F. Carlson continues his excellent series of posts about appreciating classical music. Written in a no-nonsense manner, Carlson's goal is to introduce his fellow twentysomethings to the genre, in part by stripping away all of the perceptions about classical music that just get in the way.

How to Listen to Classical Music, and Enjoy It makes a number of good points, but there's one that really gets to the heart of what classical music on WTJU is all about (and something we think about all the time).

Carlson writes:

One of the first challenges is muzak. Stores play treacly strings as background music for shoppers. Many people have been led to associate the soft bowing of Mozart symphonies with soporific browsing. This is the antithesis of the intended effect. Audience members famously burst into violence at the premiere of Stravinsky's Rite of Spring, as they did, in a more deadly way, at Altamont. Indeed, Stravinsky and Mozart are no more background noise than the Rolling Stones—or Django Reinhardt, Lauryn Hill, Animal Collective, or Kanye West. To enjoy any of them, you have to be engaged. 

That's why here at WTJU we often break the unwritten rules of classical programming for the radio. We'll play solo vocal works, complete multi-movement works, contemporary compositions, choral works, medieval and renaissance music, complete operas, and more -- because this is what classical music's all about.

No, some if it won't be appropriate for the dentist's waiting room, but that's not the point. There's more to ice cream than vanilla (or even chocolate). And there's more to classical music than Easy Listening.

Rock on, Mr. Carlson!

What does it take to enjoy classical music? Just ears.

It's funny how consistent the comments are when folks discover I host a classical music program on WTJU. "Wow, you must be smart to listen to classical music." "I guess you have to know a lot about classical music to appreciate it." "I don't have a degree in music, so I just listen to [insert any other musical genre here]."

Well, none of that needs to be true. I've always said you just have to listen with open ears and an open mind. Embrace the works that move you, and pass on the ones that don't. Never mind about what you think you "should" like, or what the experts think are the non plus ultra. It's just between you and the music.

But you do have to listen, or you'll completely miss out on what could be a life-changing experience.

And that's part of the point Benjamin F. Carlson made in his Atlantic post aptly titled "The Secret to Classical Music: It's Just Music." He writes:

My thesis is that people aren't listening [to classical music] because they haven't had the right introduction, and because of the image. In today's world, the lovely words "opera" and "symphony" are redolent with snobbery. As I know too well, liking the music is seen as a bit eccentric, if not geriatric, pretentious, and politically reactionary: a bit like wearing furs or an ascot as a twentysomething.

I hope we can get past that. Classical music is old, but it isn't for old men. The music survived because it is some of the best work humans have done in four centuries. For the thrill of a late-Beethoven trill, it's worth getting past the admittedly stuffy, stagey conventions. Besides: the post-modern mind has a genius for stripping things—whether mutton-chops or sitars or kheffiyehs—from their context. It's time Bach, author of the most face-melting harpsichord riffs known to man, came in for his turn.

Carlson's post kicks off a series he's writing to introduce his fellow twentysomethings to the joys of classical music -- without the baggage. I'm looking forward to it, and so should you. Whether your a full-blown classical music nerd like myself or just a casual listener, there's a lot to gain by looking afresh at the assumptions underlying your listening habits.

And he's right -- classical music isn't just for old men. Heck, it's not even just for men.

Classical Controversy

Is classical music alive or dead? Growing or dying?

Those are the questions hotly debated right now through blogs and Twitter. A spate of recent articles and blog posts spurred the debate.

First came Anne Midgette's article in the Washington Post, "Classical Artists Chart Big on Billboard with Little Sales" In it, she outlines how classical albums can chart with sales of less than 1,000 units, suggesting that no one's buying classical music (so how much longer can it last?).

Then Alex Ross wrote a disquieting piece for the New Yorker. "The Fatal X" (with a now-famous graph) shows the audience for classical music is dying off, and it's not being replaced by aging Gen Xers.

As all of that was being discussed, up cropped a different view. The last word seems to be with the anonymous author of the Proper Discord blog. The author lists "Ten Cliches in Classical Music Journalism" and proceeds to take them apart. It's a fresh way of looking at information we've heard over and over, and that's what prompted the discussion.

What do you think?

Do you agree with Anne Midgette?
"The dirty secret of the Billboard classical charts is that album sales figures are so low, the charts are almost meaningless."

Or do you have the Proper Discord's point of view?
"Mercedes Benz has a 3% share of the US car market. They aren’t worried about extinction. Why should we be scared?"

Read the articles and discuss. Believe me, everyone else is!

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose

The more things change, the more they remain the same.

I had a conversation recently with a classical music lover. He had no use for modern music -- he only wanted to hear the great composers because, well, life was just too short. His underlying assumption was that the pantheon of great composers (and works) were handed down unchanged from time immemorial.

But the reality is quite different. My friend considers Mahler part of that pantheon -- but when he was alive, Mahler was considered a great conductor who composed, but not a great composer. Actually Wilhelm Furtwangler has the same reputation. Both wrote symphonies that contemporaries didn't think much of.

In Furtwangler's case, the assessment seems to be justified. His symphonies are big, portenous works that never seems to get off the ground (they kind of remind me of Bruckner on a bad day).

Mahler, on the other hand, when championed by Bernstein and other conductors in the 1950's found a place in the standard repertoire -- a combination I think of sympathetic conducting and the changing of audience tastes.

Had my friend lived in the latter part of the nineteenth century, he might have placed Joachim Raff in the circle of great composers. Although Raff was arguably more popular as a symphonist than Brahms during his lifetime, his works are now only heard on recordings.

In fact, Raff's symphonies vanished from the repertoire very soon after his death. Tastes changed, and they simply didn't bear up to repeated listening the way Brahms' works did. I personally find Raff's music quite nice -- but I'm hard pressed to hum a single motif after the work's over. No staying power.

In the late 1700's everyone agreed that Bach was an important composer -- and so was his brother. Johann Christian Bach was the toast of France and England, while Carl Phillip Emanual Bach had the Germanic nations in thrall. It would be much later that the general public rediscovered their father, Johann Sebastian and consigned them to relative obscurity.

In every age music lovers have felt that the list of greatest composers was immutable and unchanging -- which it never quite was.

And now that we're well into the 21st century, I wonder who will emerge as the unquestioned masters, and which will prove to be a passing fad. Unlike my friend, I don't believe I have a lock on the answer -- and life's never to short for me to hear a new musical work.

- Ralph

Scanning the Dial

I admit it. I'm a radio geek. So it's not surprising that I follow blogs and news sites that help me stay informed about all things radio.

If you're at all interested in the state of classical music on the radio, then I strongly recommend the "Scanning the Dial" blog. It's a nice blend of news, commentary and thoughtful editorials about the subject of classical music broadcasting.

The blog is maintained by Marty Ronish and Mike Jannsen, although there are occasionally other contributors. Ms. Ronish currently produces the Chicago Symphony broadcasts, and has an extensive background both in classical music and broadcasting. Mr. Jannsen is a professional writer and journalist, who has covered the public broadcasting beat (and worked in that medium).

Both bloggers are accomplished writers, and their posts are always informative and pleasurable to read.

So why should you check out "Scanning the Dial"?

I think it's important to understand what's happening in the broadcasting world, especially if you love classical music.

Personally, I think most of WTJU's listeners take our station for granted. Letting the announcers program their own shows is not common. Nor is airing classical music during morning and afternoon drive time. Nor are early music shows, or programs like "A Time For Singing," nor the Sunday opera, nor many of the other kinds of in-depth classical programming WTJU provides.

And it's becoming increasingly rare at other stations around the nation. Even if you don't subscribe to the blog, take a moment or two to scan some of the posts. I think you'll come away with a greater appreciation of how unique the programming that you receive every day from WTJU is, and how remarkable that we can contiue to provide it to you day in and day out.

The CATcerto - good fun, good music.

Everyone in the classical world has been talking about the CATcerto. And with good reason -- it's an interesting novelty that's a welcome break from "serious" music. Lithuanian composer Mindaugas Piečaitis took a forwarded video of Nora the cat playing the piano, and wrote an orchestral setting for it.

Most posts focus on the humorous aspects of this project that seemed a natural for YouTube. But do this: watch the video, and then play it again with the browser minimized (or your eyes closed).



As a video, it's amusing to be sure. But take away the video and you have a charming composition that's appealing in its own right.

I've received permission from Piečaitis to air the CATcerto on "Gamut," and I'll be doing so sometime in the near future. Funny, yes. But darned good music IMHO.

- Ralph

Where do you get your music?

Anne Midgette, classical music reviewer for the Washington Post has a survey going on her blog. How do you get your classical music?

UK reviewer Jessica Duchen has some interesting thoughts in reaction to the survey. She outlines (for her) when CDs are best, when the radio's the choice, and of course, live performances.

Personally, I pick up classical music everywhere. One of the things I like about WTJU is that no two announcers are alike -- so I hear a large variety of music over the course of the week as each DJ presents the compositions and recordings they prefer. I also read a lot of reviews, mostly Gramophone and BBC Music Magazine, which keeps me up on new releases and sometimes leads to the discovery of new composers and works.

As far as owning classical music goes, I prefer CDs. That's not to say I don't have a digital library. I do. But it's a digital library on my terms. Let me explain.

There are several things I like about classical CDs.

1) Liner notes -- especially important for vocal music. Its difficult to fully appreciate a vocal work in a foreign language without a libretto (and translation).

2) Backup -- hard drives fail. I've had three fail so far, and lost many files (I now do regular backups, but still). If all of my music only exists digitally, then a good portion of it will be gone forever (and there's some tunes that Iwon't miss). I like having hard copies of the important stuff.

3) Sound Quality -- Classical music, more than other genres, rely on very subtle harmonic and timbral shadings that tend to get lost with heavy file compression. OK, some classical music can be bought with sampling rates of 256kbps (about double the normal MP3 bitrate), but there's still a lot missing. Especially when you consider that file is only about a fifth of the size of the origianl from a CD.

By ripping my own discs, I get to decide on the sound quality (which for me is Apple Lossless).

4) Creative Control -- Downloads were designed for popular music, and all of the organizational tools are oriented in that direction. Try finding classical selections on most download sites -- it's a mess. Missing opus and catalog numbers render titles virtually meaningless. Performer fields may have the performer, or perhaps the composer. In some cases the composer's not even listed.

When I rip CDs, I can set the data fields to show what I want them to. My classical music files are always easy to find, and search.

5) Too Much Music -- Again, digital music programs were designed for 4-minute songs, not 2-hour operas. Purchase a symphony as a download, and you get four separate tracks (billed separately, too). Want to hear them in order? You'll need to create a folder for them, and you can only hear the movements in sequence if you select that folder.

In iTunes, I can join consecutive tracks on a CD before importing. So the movements of a symphony are always locked together and treated as a single work in my iTunes library -- even on shuffle play.

But there's a drawback. I can only join together tracks from a single disc. So the best I can do with a 2-disc opera is create two files. But I can't join them together once I import them.

So my solution is just to leave the operas out. I'll pull in the overtures, but if I want to hear a complete opera, I'll just to have to pull the CDs off the shelf, and open up the booklet to follow along.

But that's not necessarily a bad thing at all.

So you do you get your classical music? Take the survey and let us know!

- Ralph

What's Classical Music? Part 4 - Concerto concerns

Continuing the discussion of what makes classical music classical. My basic rule of thumb is that classical music is primarily the creation of a single creative voice. Brahms came up with the ideas for his first symphony. He wrote out the sketch score (didn't hire an arranger), he orchestrated it (didn't hire an orchestrator), he edited it -- the music is the product of a singl musical mind.

But there's lots of exceptions to that rule -- including one most people aren't aware of. Concertos.

These days you can expect to go hear a performance of a Mozart piano concerto and -- if you're really familiar with the work -- will know every note, even the cadenza. It's not to say that the performance can't be thrilling, but it will most likely run down the rails laid down by Mozart in his music.

Except that he wasn't that strict -- and neither were other classical and romantic era composers. When Mozart wrote his piano concerti, it was expected that the soloist would improvise the cadenza (that part near the end of the first movement when everybody stops playing).

In fact, if you pay attention, you can still hear a vestige of that tradition. In most concertos the soloists' cadenza ends on a single trilled note. Originally that was the signal for the orchestra to come back in. This improvised cadenza concept is one still used in jazz, but has mostly vanished in classical music.

By the mid 1800s' composers (and prominent performers) were supplying written-out cadenzas for soloists as an option. Eventually they became standard, and during the 20th Century it was rare that a cadenza was left to chance.

But there's still some remaining messiness. A particular cadenza may be the commonly used one for a concerto -- but if it's not by the composer does it matter? What about other versions? What about a performance where the cadenza is improvised?

This is another exception to my general rule that simply lands on the side of taste. If it sounds good, if the cadenza makes sense musically with the concerto, then I'll probably program it. But that's just me.

- Ralph

What's Classical Music? Part 2 - Medieval Mystery

In part one I outlined some of the guidelines I personally use to select music to air on "Gamut." And for the most part, that rule works pretty well. What is classical music? Primarily (IMHO) it's music conceived, composed, arranged, and notated by a single person.

OK, that's pretty straightforward if you're dealing with Beethoven, or Vaughan Williams, or Brahms, or Corelli. But what about music from an earlier time?

The importance of the composer is something that really didn't come about until the 13oo's -- and even then it was primarily in the field of sacred compositions. It would be another 200 years before composer names were regularly attached to the more popular forms of music.

And there's the question of notation. Scholars may debate how loud Mozart intended a passage to be played when he marked it double forte. But the notation makes it clear that he wanted a particular combination of instruments to play louder (to some degree) at that spot in the composition.

But musical notation hasn't always been that exact. Instrumental combinations (or in some cases even voices) weren't specified in many compositions from the renaissance and earlier. The earliest examples of notation are little more than lines above the text, indicating the general direction the melody should take. They served more as reminders for singers who (presumably) already knew the tune.

And up through the 1400's, secular music wasn't written down at all. Musicians were expected to just know all the top hits, in the same way that modern professional musicians can play the standards without referring to the music.

What makes music classical when we don't know who the composer was, or what forces he (and occasionally she) intended? My personal rule for early music is this: if the performance gets as close as possible to the original intent and/or sound of the composition -- and is an engaging performance in its own right -- then I'll air it.

There are many different versions of the anonymous "Greensleeves" that I'll air. Solo lute, lute and voice, renaissance instrumental ensemble -- all those are valid, and represent the music as it would have been heard at the time. An arrangement for brass quintet? Sorry, no.

Ditto for the loosey-goosey scores of the medieval and renaissance sacred composers. We may not know how many voices Machaut intended on each part, but we do know he intended it to be sung. So a small vocal quartet works, as does a large choir. A saxophone quintet? No.

So rule two: if the composer's exact intentions are unknown, then performances that come as close as possible to what scholarship indicates they might be qualifies as classical music for me.

But there's more to the messy world of classical music. I'll explain in part 3.