Just finished the first of two two-week music camp sessions on Friday, and this year's interactions with talented young students have inspired a few new creations. I'm still working on showcasing something else, but here's something unexpected. A couple of very sweet young pianists asked after a piano class one day if I would arrange Debussy's Clair de lune and Beethoven's Für Elise for them to play as a duet. It was only when I got home and started toying with the idea that I put two and two together: these two students are named Claire and Elise.
If you've been around this blog before, it should be obvious that I would find the challenge irresistible - but it was also just challenging. Unlike many other little mashups I've created this year, the Debussy and Beethoven don't pair very naturally, although I have paired Clair de lune with Beethoven before in an even more absurd context. Even when I had downshifted the Debussy from D-flat Major to C Major so that it would merge more gracefully with Beethoven's A Minor (the relative minor of C), it took some finagling to get the motives to play nicely and have a reasonably meaningful conversation. As so often, if this is successful, it is surely in part because both works are so iconic that the listener can enjoy both the recognition and the repurposing of these ideas.
In addition to transposing the Debussy from D-flat down a half-step to C, it also seemed logical to shift this moonlight music up an octave to make room for the more grounded and rhythmically regular Beethoven. There is a slight connection in that both works are in a compound meter (Beethoven's 3/8 vs. Debussy's 9/8), although Debussy's music is written in such a way as to make the meter seem elusive. You'll see that Elise has to wait a little longer than usual to finish a few phrases while waiting for the moonlight to settle into view.
I don't think I'd ever written anything for one piano, four hands before, and to add to the challenge, after finding my digital demos unsatisfying, I decided to record this as well - in spite of having only two hands. I didn't get access to the piano I wanted, so this one is a bit less resonant in the upper register than I'd have liked, but it was a fun process. Because two of the hands naturally inhabit a pretty tight space (one of the joys of piano duets!) and actually overlap in space since they were recorded separately, I faded the videos together which makes for an interesting effect.
Camp #2 starts tomorrow, but hopefully I'll be back soon with more show'n'tell.
In my last post exploring the connection between a Chopin nocturne and Richard Rodgers' Cinderella, I promised another Rodgers & Hammerstein tune connection. It looks like I first wrote about this on Twitter in August of 2013 (just a few months after the May '13 Cinderella-Chopin connection), although I think I'd felt this one for years before that. It should be pretty obvious how these two tunes are related.
One is a transition theme from Mendelssohn's transcendent Piano Trio in D Minor. The other is....well, hear it for yourself. You'll first have to listen to about 25 seconds of pure Mendelssohn as the wonderful opening cello tune is belted out fully, explored sequentially, and then leads right into that transitional theme. I would say it's one of my favorite things in this trio except just about every page has something exceptional.
Again, I can't help but wonder if this music had any influence on Richard Rodgers when he was thinking about frightening barks and bees. Although this melodic figure first drops by 7ths in the violin, when the piano takes it up next, the intervals are almost exactly the same as what Fräulein Maria sings to calm the children. With "My Favorite Things" transposed into the Mendelssohn key here, even the 7th scale degree which isn't immediately raised to G-sharp in Mendelssohn is by the end of its phrase. Here's a quick demo:
Otherwise, the distinctive rhythmic and melodic motives, treated sequentially in both cases (though with an extra sequential extension in Rodgers), are unmistakably similar.
I'll add two little extensions to this blog post. For one, if we're really emptying all the silliness from the "things I do on social media" desk drawer, might as well pull out this very silly mashup of the finale to Mendelssohn's 5th Symphony "Reformation" with the ABBA song "Mamma Mia." I don't even remember exactly why I made this, and you don't get any fun visuals this time. Just sit back and enjoy the short ride.
Finally, as a sort of penance for what I've just done, I'm also releasing into the wild my own family performance of the first two movements of Mendelssohn's trio (the very performance to which Maria was added above!). My psychiatrist-cellist wife, then 14-year old violinist daughter (now working on a Chemistry Ph.D.) and I were styling ourselves as Montrieau (which plays on my last name and my wife's French-Canadian last name), though sadly we haven't had that many more chances to perform this way since. We had performed the complete Dvořák "Dumky" trio the year before, but had much less prep time for my faculty recital in 2013, so we did something I've written about before: we closed the program with only half of the Mendelssohn trio, reversing the order of movements 1 & 2 to make a dramatically satisfying ending.
At the time, I was more concerned about notes that got away (there are a lot of notes), but with the passing of time, I actually find the performances pretty satisfying, if not perfect in balance or execution. So that's Mendelssohn, from the ridiculous to the absurd to the sublime.
Back in late 2024, I started a series of "Emptying the Desk Drawer" posts as a way of writing about smaller multimedia projects I've made over the years which haven't been archived here on the blog. My two recent Chopin-related posts (here) and (here) reminded me of something I'd created back about a dozen years ago. Like my fairly recent mashup of Bernstein and Bizet, I was prompted by hearing a student practicing in the next room. A Chopin nocturne, specifically the middle section starting around 2:00:
I wrote the following on Twitter, though I'm leaving out the link I put there because I have made an improved version below.
Student kept practicing part of a Chopin Nocturne next door - knew it reminded me of something - finally realized [link to solution removed here]
Of course, it is possible that my post title already tipped you off, but Chopin's wandering waltz-like tune led me to Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella: the second phrase of the Prince's "Ten Minutes Ago." You may hear that one-half step up in A Major here:
And you may hear them in concert here:
It's a combination of the lilting rhythm and the repeated, winding C-Db-C-Bb-Ab-Bb-C motive. If we accept my little transposition of the Prince down to A-flat, we have the Prince using this motive to glide across the dance floor while Chopin, starting in the relative F Minor, is in a more pensive and searching mood. Thus, the two contexts sound pretty different, but I still can't help wonder if Rodgers knew or even played this nocturne and had this figure floating around in his brain, though the connection could as easily be a coincidence. (Actually the Cinderella score has this song in G Major which is a half-step down from Chopin. It is also in 3/4 time, but I've converted it to 12/8 to make the connection easier to see.)
I have more mashup material related to Rodgers and Hammerstein, but I'll save that for another post in a day or two. Rather, I will end by noting something that always surprises me. Though I have nothing close to perfect pitch, and that might even have helped me connect these two melodies in different keys, when I listened to the opening of the Chopin, my mind was almost immediately brought to the opening of Chausson's perfect song Le colibri which I've played many times and recorded here as a piano solo. The two pieces each begin with an upwardly rolled chord in A-flat Major with the exact same notes except that Chausson's top note is an F (not part of the A-flat triad), but I'm sure my ear made the connection because they are in the same key. It's almost as if I have perfect pitch as long as I don't ever think consciously about it!
See more dust and lint from the back of the drawers below:
In this relatively fertile spring on the blog, once again we find one post leading to another. In our last episode, we considered the famous Roger Williams arrangement of the jazz standard Autumn Leaves, focusing on the seemingly unacknowledged debt Williams owes to Chopin.
That little project has led me down a few Roger Williams rabbit holes. I guess I'm fascinated by the success of these "popular pianists" who, though surely trained in the classical style, found big careers by playing "easy listening" arrangements of mostly well-known melodies, often with piano set against lush orchestra. The arrangements certainly borrow some flash from the techniques of more "serious" classical and jazz artists, but are contained in simple structures which don't demand so much from the listener. One imagines such records would work well for a certain kind of middle-aged, middlebrow party back in the 50s-70s. The kind of party Benjamin Braddock's parents might have hosted.
Roger Williams parlayed this into a very long and successful career, somewhat on the margins of the industry (not likely to be featured in Gramophone, Downbeat, or Rolling Stone), performing on TV shows and for the kinds of...um...mature audiences who apparently want to sit and hear their favorite records come comfortably to life with some fun banter along the way.
Speaking of which, on "May the Fourth" Day this year (also featured on this blog), the "Roger Williams Music" page on Facebook posted the following short video (and presumably have posted it for many years).
In the video, Williams purports to demonstrate that the famous theme of Star Wars (which came along at a time during which his own star was surely fading while the star of another Williams was rising) is simply the once famous theme of Born Free (one of "Mr. Piano's" biggest hits) turned upside down. Roger Williams claims to read the John Williams tune from a handwritten page, dramatically turns it 180 degrees, and then plays Born Free. Q.E.D. By this process, he is thus born free to play his big tune, and he has a fun little joke for those pesky Star Wars nerds right before he starts. (You'll have to watch it for yourself - I don't want to give EVERYTHING away.)
The problem is that - well, it isn't true. Although the two themes do share some notable features and could be considered distant cousins, he totally cheats! Actually, although what I intend to do here could certainly be considered buzzkilling for the Roger Williams Faithful (let me know if you see one coming after me in a scooter), I think exploring the connections shows something even more interesting about how melodic motifs work.
Remember that Williams turns the page in a way that should result in the notes being played both backwards and with the intervals inverted - what went up should go down and vice versa.
Here's the Star Wars tune as Roger W. plays it, adding in an extra note (the second "5") so that the rhythm also exactly matches that of the Born Free tune without anything being reversed or inverted.
In fact, the only thing that is actually upside down is the first interval which goes up from scale degree 1 to 5 in the former and down from 1 to 5 in the latter. (One is striving, reaching up to the stars! One is relaxed and free, ambling its way downhill.) In Star Wars, we next step down to a triplet while Born Free steps up to a similar triplet. Really, the biggest difference is how John Williams then heroically leaps up a seventh to the final two notes whereas Born Free follows the downward pull of gravity. But the endings are more similar than they may appear as each emphasizes the tonic triad (scale degrees 1-3-5) with solid triadic quarter notes descending from the downbeat. (And although John Williams does leap up a seventh, the motion is by step from scale degree 2 to 1.)
But I'll admit that when I first saw this demonstration, my ears were half-persuaded, even if I felt skeptical. First of all, the last two notes of Star Wars are the first two notes of Born Free, so even though that note pair is not reversed in order, it feels like we've flipped things backwards...maybe. Then we step up rather than down to the triplet, although the triplets are otherwise the same shape...they are neither backwards nor inverted. Then, whereas Star Wars leaps way up to the final note pair, Born Free steps down in a way that also feels like a kind of inversion...even though each final pair goes downward.
So, given that we naturally hear little parts of a tune (motives or motivic fragments) as chunks, there is a sense in which multiple little chunks go in opposite ways. There is no doubt that the tunes have a lot in common, although that leap of a seventh really does give John Williams' tune a charge that stands out. And yes, of course Roger Williams knew this. He's mostly using the power of suggestion and some charisma to make an audience feel smart while they are gently being hoodwinked, but it's all in good fun.
You may compare various versions of these ideas here. Note that inverting a melody is not as simple as it seems because one can decide to keep the notes in the same key (in this case, no accidentals) - and thus adjust some half-steps - or do a literal inversion which makes the music seem to move into a different key altogether. For simplicity, I chose the former.
And why did I take the time to do this? I guess it's just that - as mentioned in my "Music = Math" post which led me to mashup Chopin and Dr. Dre - I love the way these kinds of musical questions about iconic themes can be reduced pretty clearly to notes and numbers. And I love moving notes and numbers around on a page. And it is interesting that two such different themes have so much in common. (See Bernstein's lecture on The Infinite Variety of Music. And for another look at a relative of the Star Wars theme, see this blog post.)
If you're writing a melody, it's a reminder that maybe instead of going down 2-1, a leap up a seventh from 2-1 can blend resolution (2 wants to go to 1) with drama and intrigue. This actually came up in a brief post-postscript to this post when I looked at how Fauré' uses this technique in his own musical postscript to a lovely song. (By complete coincidence, that post also began with a reference to the Star Wars franchise!)
Finally, once I'd mostly finished this post, I did a little search and see that someone on a Star Wars music blog beat me to most of this more than ten years ago. But he didn't have a video demonstration or nearly as many painful puns.... (And speaking of puns, note that if John Williams had indeed stolen his tune, then it would not have been born free; he would owe royalties to the true father, James Bond composer John Barry.)
P.S. If you like thinking about inversions and retrogrades and other ways musical ideas can be transformed mathematically, you might also enjoy this post.
"Autumn Leaves in the Winter Wind" is surely an odd title for a mid-spring blog post, but this is what the wind has blown my way. I recently had the opportunity to accompany a young saxophonist playing the jazz standard Autumn Leaves. Though jazz is not standard fare for me, I was vaguely aware of this very French, wistful tune. I think I mostly knew it by name, and also had remembered that there was a famous recording of this song by "popular pianist" Roger Williams back in the 1950s. This recording is still listed as the "best-selling piano recording of all time," harkening back to a time when easygoing "piano plus orchestra" recordings were a thing in the popular sphere. (Maybe Chariots of Fire was the last such tune to really hit.)
Perhaps that phenomenon would be an interesting topic for another day. There are some notable historical precedents from the classical canon which contrast a simple, clear piano melody against sumptuous strings-plus going back to Mozart, Chopin and Mendelssohn, continuing through Rachmaninoff's legendary 18th Variation and even Shostakovich - all of which seem to lead naturally to the likes of Liberace and Richard Clayderman...and Roger Williams.
If you don't know Autumn Leaves, here's a lovely, straightforward version:
Williams is best known for his arrangement and performances of this song(and the super-cheesy Born Free, I suppose)which famously decorates the melancholy tune with roulades of twinkling chromatic sextuplets. The figuration is certainly intended to be suggestive of falling leaves, although these leaves seem more like they're coming from a machine gun than gently giving in to gravity.
Even more notably, they sound A LOT like the right hand passagework from Chopin's famous 'Winter Wind' Etude.
There can really be no mistaking the connection, although I've mostly only found passing references to it online. It's not clear if Williams spoke openly about this* or not (how could he not?), but I figure I can help document the similarity for anyone who's curious. I did this partly out of my own curiosity to confirm that the Chopin could easily slide into place. (A friend has also pointed out that at 0:48 above, Williams plays figuration quite similar to the oceanic waves of Chopin's Op. 25, No. 12.)
It is mostly a coincidence that my last blog post also had to do with a Chopin mashup. But as I listened to Williams' famous recording, I was struck by the thought that he was doing something very similar to what I had just done with Chopin and Dr. Dre. He changes the figuration enough that it's not a straight-up steal of Chopin, but the influence is very clear, and the result is not much different than if someone had said, "Hey, Roger, can you combine Autumn Leaves and the Winter Wind etude?"
This short, four-part video takes you on a quick tour of: 1) Chopin's original etude in A Minor, 2) Chopin's right-hand figuration paired with the Autumn Leaves tune, 3) Chopin + Leaves again, but in D Minor, 4) Williams' arrangement in D Minor.
I decided not to change anything in the Chopin right hand other than to leave out some notes at phrase endings (notes which conveniently didn't fit in well anyway) - thus, we hear some rising leaves as well as falling ones. And I'll just leave it at that.
* UPDATE (5/11): Just ran across this "Chopin Medley" from Williams which includes the "Winter Wind" Etude - which just confirms the obvious, although there's no mention here or in his introductory remarks of its influence on Autumn Leaves. If you begin at 3:22, there's a dramatic intro (quoting the famous A-flat Polonaise) leading into Williams' somewhat labored and very abbreviated rendition of Chopin's original. Although it's not the most stunning playing (I think his playing was probably most impressive in jazzierstyles), I do think it's admirable that he included this kind of repertoire in his shows when he seemingly could have subsisted on big tunes and light flash. And hopefully this might have been a gateway to audience members seeking out more Chopin.
Also notable is that Williams tells a formative story of being disappointed that the great Chopin pianist Paderewski did not stay to greet him and other fans after a concert. This was to explain how important it was to Williams that his fans be treated properly, but it also suggests more exposure to Paderewski's Polish predecessor. Williams also majored in piano at Drake University - where he was apparently expelled, not for smoking, but for playing "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes" in a practice room! This, of course, led to him joining the Navy and winning the middleweight boxing championship at his base because...of course it did.
Consider these numbers I found myself writing on the whiteboard a couple of days ago:
While it might look like something from math class or some kind of scoring tally, these numbers actually represent notes students were to play on their 64-pad MIDI controllers. The controllers look like what you see below, and the "Bb Aeolian" written at the top reminds students that these very flexible controllers are meant to be programmed for this exercise in rows of B-flat Aeolian, meaning the first and last note of each row is a B-flat (the tonic) and the notes are in the Aeolian Mode, which is basically the same thing as natural minor. [Restricting the pitches to the notes in a given mode simplifies playback for students, although this setup does not allow the use of pitches not in the key - so, in the key of A Minor, this would be like giving students only the white keys of a piano.]
The goal for the students in this Digital Music Production class was to play the very popular right-hand piano hook from Still D.R.E., a 1999 song by the rapper Dr. Dre. I honestly didn't even really know this music (at least by name) until the past few years when it became apparent that a lot of students enjoy learning to play it on the piano - perhaps a modern addition to the "I can sort of play piano" canon of "The Knuckle Song," "Chopsticks," and "Heart and Soul."
For reasons I don't really understand, this intro music has become very meme-able. I remember a few years ago when a student in my high school choir got up and played it spontaneously, and it was clear the whole room of students was more impressed with that than anything I'd ever done. You can find lots of videos where performers get a big reaction by transitioning into this. (A common trick seems to be to take the slow-moving arpeggios from Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata and then speed them up until they become the quickly rolled chords in Dr. Dre's song. Note that the sheet music below does not show the chords as rolled, but that's the way it's played.)
It's not that difficult to play on the piano, though the accidentals required for B-flat Minor make it a little trickier to teach/learn. (Lots of "easy" online versions put it in A Minor in which everything can be played on white keys.) But since our class mostly uses these pad-controllers, this was a nice way to give them something to play that requires some coordination and helps learn about modes and even voice-leading. I don't actually use the term "voice-leading," but the fact the chords change one note at a time with notes changing by step is part of what makes things sound smooth - and fairly easy to memorize. Anyway, here's a demo video I made that shows students how to play it. (My chords are a little out of sync because I tried to use my fingers in a way that makes it easy for students to see which pads to play.)
The next video shows how these chords sync with the simpler bass line - which was recorded separately into a different track. I just put the two videos side by side. You'll notice I did not start the bass line on the upbeat, as happens in the original song, because once the two-bar loop is recorded into MIDI, one can easily loop these two bars while also pulling out an upbeat to start if desired. If you're curious and don't know much about MIDI, the 64-pad controller doesn't make any sounds on its own. It is sending information to software (in this case, the educational platform Soundtrap) which routes the data through virtual instruments. Unfortunately, here my right-hand knuckles do block the camera view a bit.
A Facebook friend (and former student) made the insightful guess that the series of numbers I posted might be related to Chopin's famous Prelude in E Minor, for which the left hand has a series of slowly repeating three-note chords that are not unlike what's shown above. In this case as well, the pitches in the chords almost always change by step, though sometimes two at a time, and also using lots of chromatic notes. Although the controllers we use can be set to show the non-scale pitches, it wouldn't look as cool as the videos above because the chords would not all sit neatly on a single row.
DRE
CHOPIN
In this case, the first eight chords would still be 3-5-8 (first inversion triads), with a switch to 2-4-8 in the next bar. In both the Chopin and Still D.R.E., the chord changes feature lots of suspensions - notes which lag behind changing harmonies, creating extra tension before the suspensions resolve. For example, the downbeat of the second complete bar of Still D.R.E. would be F Minor if the top note (Bb) would just go ahead and move straight to the Ab it's headed towards. But the delay in resolution adds drama and interest. A lot of the emotional power in Chopin's famous one-pager (in which the "melody" often stubbornly sticks to one note) comes from these suspensions and the eerily twisting harmonies they navigate.
And here's where...well, this is really what always seems to happen. I was writing this post (having prepared everything above), meaning simply to include a passing reference to the Chopin...but then I thought about how to show the connection...and...well...here you...go:
Honestly, I think it's pretty sweet. It's true that Chopin's music dominates, with the high, plunky arpeggios of Still D.R.E. brought into the same middle register as Chopin's chords. I shifted the timing of most of Chopin's mid-measure chord changes to reflect more of the Dr. Dre feel, and of course the octaves in the bass pay tribute there as well.
But to return to the series of numbers with which I started, I always marvel to realize musical sounds which seem so expressive and which can arouse such a strong emotional reaction, can so easily be reduced to numbers. And in this case, distancing a little from each work by viewing them as number patterns helped make the connection between two very different musical worlds clear. I think I may have thought of this Dr. Dre/Chopin connection before, but I love that it was a student's incorrect but insightful guess which led me down this unexpected path.
I would add that working with MIDI and the "Piano Roll" style way in which one interacts with notes and rhythms has also been reinforcing this math-music connection. Obviously, musical notation can easily be interpreted as representing numeral relationships once you know how to read it, but the numberiness gets a little lost in the mix with all the mysterious symbols. I could even compress the information above to make it more elegant: [{3-5-8} x 4 ] + [ {2-5-8} x 3 ] + [ {2-5-7} x 5 ]. But I don't suppose anyone is going to bop their head along to that....
UPDATE: In a blog which is obsessed with the principle of interconnected hyperlinks, I can't believe I forgot to mention my previousmashups of Still D.R.E. with music by Vivaldi. I do think there's a touch of the "classic" in this modern hip-hop beat which adds to its old-school appeal among the young. And note that the idea of interconnected thoughts/concepts (in a blog in which just about every post can be linked backwards or forwards to some other post) also played out in how my new Chopin/D.R.E. creation evolved from the interconnected back and forth that happens on Facebook. My former student's guess about Chopin functioned as a sort of hyperlink which led to new ideas which I can now connect back to even older ideas. It's the circle of links.
UPDATE #2 (5/8): I realized I was a little disappointed at how little the opening of this mashup sounds like the original Still D.R.E. - for two* likely reasons. 1) The key is transposed by a tritone (6 half-steps), so even someone without perfect pitch will likely notice a different feeling. 2) The distance between the Still D.R.E. left hand and right hand registers is compressed by two octaves. This a good reminder about how much register spacing can change the music's character. The wide expanse between treble and bass elements in the original Still D.R.E. sets up a particular kind of texture which allows the listener easily to hear each part as distinct. Because I decided I still wanted Chopin's melody on top, I dropped the triads an octave after the short intro, but the bass notes are still an octave lower (relationally) than in the first version I posted. I also began the intro by rolling the triads a bit before they settle into something more like Chopin's version.
* A third factor not addressed here is that the slower tempo also made it less Dre-like.
UPDATE #3 (5/8): And...just like that, a third option which is closer to the original Still D.R.E. tempo.
This should be pretty self-explanatory. I did have a nice, natural time limit to keep me from losing too much time investing in this. (I only thought to do it on May 4 and wanted it posted by May 4.) The other limit I put on myself is to create this almost purely by cutting and pasting the original audio, although I did add some timpani highlights as well to help clarify the 5/4 time. In retrospect, the opening title theme is probably a better choice for putting into 5/4 time. Curiously enough, I used to think that theme was notated at least partly in 5/4 time - although I was definitely mistaken!
Also, note that this is not my first post about "May the Fourth" and 5/4 time. See HERE.
There have been multiple times in the past where I've intentionally scheduled a yet-to-be-written composition for a church service, generally with the idea that this will make me write it. This explains better than anything else how I've managed to churn out more than twenty hymn fugues over the years.
Well, the week before Easter I needed to go ahead and submit music choices for the Sunday (today) following Easter since there was so much going on with Holy Week services. As today was both Easter 2 and a celebration of Earth Sunday in the Episcopal Church, I chose a new-to-us hymn written by Richard Wayne Dirksen, a distinguished composer and former choirmaster and organist of the National Cathedral. It's a catchy setting of a 17th setting Easter text and speaks of how God's creation rejoices ("The whole bright world rejoices now"), with interjections of the latin word hilariter which translates as "joyfully" or "cheerfully." The word also, of course, evokes the word "hilarious," and HILARITER is the name Dirksen gave to the tune. As it was to be our recessional hymn, I decided I'd write a toccata to follow. I knew I'd be on school vacation this week, so figured I'd have plenty of time to come up with something.
Although I've never written a toccata before, and there are certainly some famously intimidating ones, I had in mind the kind of very patterned thing Pachelbel wrote bunches of - something which sort of generates itself with more flash than substance. Mostly I wanted something festive and cheerful which would take some inspiration from Dirksen's festive melody. Actually, come to think of it, I did write one very toccata-like "improvisation" postlude which you may hear at the 4:00 mark here. In general, I had in mind the same kind of thing when I submitted that I'd be playing a "Toccata on Hilariter" as this morning's postlude.
Of course, in spite of vacation, I somehow managed completely to forget about this until about 9pm last night when I was reviewing what I'd be playing this morning - and realized the postlude did not yet exist. So, I set to work and eventually notes did emerge. The structure is actually closer to a chaconne with an 8-bar phrase which is then repeated, embellished, etc. (Pachelbel wrote lots of chaconnes as well.) In addition to devising the opening riff from Dirksen's tune, I had in mind the hymn's references to birdsong and the general idea of good-natured hilarity. So even if you don't like it, you can have a good laugh!
Here is Dirksen's hymn, for reference. (Worth noting that the hymn is actually an adaptation for The Hymnal 1982 of the tune from this vibrant anthem. (Note that in that linked recording, Alleluias are substituted for Hilariters.)) [Here is a simpler digital version of the tune.]
And this is, more or less, what I played this morning (recording is feeble cellphone recording from before church). It's not profound, but now it exists! Hilariter!
This was a Haydn-adjacent remark about my opinion that, among multiple musical practices which became perhaps too formalized in the 18th century, the idea that just about every symphony, sonata, or string quartet should include a "minuet" is just kind of overkill. The minuet is a perfectly fine (if a little bland) stylized dance form, and it had already become a frequent feature in Baroque-era suites; but we just don't need so many of them. I'm fine with most large-scale works featuring fast opening and closing movements and some sort of slower, more lyrical middle movement (those structures invite so many different possibilities), but I simply think we ended up with too many minuets. (My nemesis Haydn even wrote a set of 24 - all minuets!)
Beethoven, of course, would help push towards replacing minuets with scherzos, and that made life better in many ways (so many great scherzos out there!). I trust Mozart would have gotten there if he'd lived long enough, but in the meantime, he did something marvelously mischievous with the minuet in the Act One Finale of Don Giovanni. In this masked ball scene in which the host Don Giovanni is trying to get the peasant girl Zerlina to himself and thus away from her fiancé Masetto, he has his servant Leporello run interference while also utilizing two small onstage orchestras to play contrasting dances.
Those contrasting dances are set against the formal, highbrow (boring?) minuet with which the primary dancing begins. The nobles Donna Anna, Donna Elvira, and Don Ottavio (all suspicious of their bad-boy host) sing their suspicions in 3/4 time with the minuet. Giovanni then gets the first on-stage band to play a less elevated Contradanse in 2/4 time to dance with Zerlina, and soon after Leporello has a third band playing a lively peasant dance in 3/8 time in order to distract Masetto. Mozart has each of these bands "tune up" first with some open strings and warm-up gestures. By the end of the scene, all three dances are going at once before a scream from Zerlina sets the rest of the Finale in motion.
The treatment of this scene is very on-brand for Mozart - fiendishly clever in a way that is also nonchalant and delivered more with a wink than a hammer. The full-on collisions last for less than ninety seconds and everything still harmonizes so that the average listener might barely be aware of how complex it all is - especially given that audience members are more likely focused on the drama.(Notably, there's only one short passage of about five seconds - right before the scream - when we hear only the dances with no singing to distract.) And yet there is a sort of elegant chaos which is quite ahead of its time. I wish there was more of it, but for all the revolutionary underpinnings of Mozart's mature operas, a surface of formality and balance prevails most of the time.
Back in the very Covid-inflected days of April, 2020, I started work on a project designed to illuminate how all of these elements come together. This was following on a major project I'd recently completed creating a one-page score and interactive site for Bach's legendary Chaconne in D Minor. I made a lot of progress designing my own landscape-format, efficiently laid-out version of Mozart's score, but I think I got lost a bit deciding how to make satisfying recordings and user interactions to match.
A recent look through my blog's draft folder reminded me of this, so about three weeks ago, I dug back in and, slowly, developed a plan for a website which enables the user to hear the clashing dances from different vantage points. This involved: 1) refining the score layout in Lilypond (managing a score with multiple time signatures creates interesting challenges), 2) producing a range of recordings using NotePerformer inside Dorico, 3) editing those recordings and syncing them metrically with a public domain (-ish) 1955 studio recording in Ableton Live, 4) designing little digital "puppet" dancers to - sort of - dance along using Scratch "sprites," 5) creating subtitles and screen-recording the dancers using Camtasia, and 6) using Javascript (along with HTML and CSS) to design a webpage which integrates all of these elements and allows user interaction.
I mention all of that to...well, yes, to brag a little, but also to say how satisfying it is to bring all of these elements together. Almost like Mozart did bringing three dances together. Almost.
So, though I hope to have more to say about this and will likely keep tweaking the way the website works, with a YouTube version to come later perhaps, you may go here to see how Mozart brings all of these elements together.
I will add that this project joins a long list of little online "machines" I've built which enable a kind of magical integration of score and audio. Go HERE to find a series of "musical manipulatives" which combine audio, analysis, and scores of works by Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Mendelssohn, and, yes, Mozart (featured with an even greater finale from another opera*). The Bach Chaconne page features a one-page score in which one may easily jump around. The Beethoven "Eroica" page lets you switch seamlessly back and forth between two very different video performances:
This Haydn page offers a variety of alternate surprises for...see if you can guess.
A series of Satie sites let you experiment with some semi-random ways to experience his...see if you can guess.
Another Satie site lets you create your own 12-tone Gymnopédie!
Here's a Scratch program which lets you interact with the three voices of a Bach fugue as they generate popping corn.
This machine is a bit less interactive, but it does provide fresh new syncopations for some famous Stravinsky accents.
As I've said before, creating these machines is a way of performing this music. Of course, it's not exactly the same, but there is something very satisfying about "orchestrating" various multimedia elements so that they allow fluid interaction with a score. Give it a try! UPDATE (4/27): You may now hear all of the various options for this scene (with the three orchestras spotlighted in different ways) via this YouTube playlist.
* The Act Two Finale of Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro has perhaps my favorite use of minuet-style in any music as Susanna surprises the Count and Countess by stepping out of a locked closet. Go to this page and find the section marked TRIO to hear.
This is a connection which has stuck with me even though it's a fairly tenuous one. (I've yet to Google evidence that others have discussed it.) Of course, to some degree, once such a mental connection has been made, it perpetuates itself naturally, but I do think there's an affinity between these manically lighthearted works. For Bernstein's "Officer Krupke," the lightheartedness is meant to relieve the dramatic tension that has been building, with the harmonic instability underscoring how unsettled everything is for The Jets as misunderstood juvenile delinquents. (In the original stage version, the song comes after the disastrous and deadly rumble). For Bizet, a playful chase mood prevails, with surprising harmonic twists suggesting evasions and escapes.
First, if you don't know one or the other of these works, here's Bizet's Le bal, the "galop"-style finale of a 12-movement suite for duo pianists called Jeux d'enfants (Children's Games). [video should start at the 1:08 mark]
And you may head HERE to see and hear "Officer Krupke" as sung in the 1961 movie version of West Side Story.
The most obvious connections are:
each is in a fast-paced 2/4 time
each melody begins with an eighth-note pattern of Do-Ti-Do-Re-Mi (1-7-1-2-3) though with different kinds of upbeats. (This motif is used obsessively by Bernstein, helping our ears adjust to the tonal shifts.)
each features a fair amount of chromaticism caused by quickly shifting key centers mid-phrase. This happens through much of the Bernstein, but also a good bit in the middle of the Bizet.
Back in 2013, I made a slapdash little comparison audio which ends in a sort of sloppy back-and-forth between the two. You may hear that here.
I was a little dissatisfied on hearing that last night, so I threw the MIDI for both works into a DAW blender, tweaked a few things, and came up with this:
If I'm correct in referring to these works as "manically lighthearted," then this smash-up definitely up-ke's the ante on the manic - perhaps to maniacal. Because Bernstein's tune shifts key centers so quickly, there's a lot of incidental dissonance, but I find my ear can still follow both threads in a way that's satisfying. The "score" I created is pretty bare-bones and not really playable in places, but it's useful for giving your ears something to follow.
If you'd like to see scores for these two works, here's a fun "player-piano" style take on Krupke:
...and here's a recording of Bizet's entire two-piano suite with a score helpfully reduced to one piano. (The original duo-piano score has the two parts on separate pages, so it's a little harder to follow along with that.) This video should begin at the 21:06 mark where Le bal begins. The most harmonically adventurous section - which has a little of that Krupke spirit - starts around 21:40.
I've always loved "Officer Krupke," and have found that students really enjoy it as well. After showing the scene to 8th grade boys some years back, I was a little surprised that they wanted to sing it. Since the lyrics are intentionally a bit provocative, I made my own parody version (one less verse and no modulations between verses (because modulations are provocative?)) which I've used with multiple classes over the years. The character names are based on actual authority figures at my school, including the mysterious Mister Doctor Monroe, a reference to the fact that students love to correct each other about how they should address the music teacher (I honestly don't care). This resulted in the Mr./Dr. double-prefix becoming a thing. The lyrics also address the fact that I did my best to get the students to act out the song as a skit. (This tended to result in many overturned chairs; the rest is a blur.)
If you've followed this blog, you'll know I love mashing things up (as evidenced by this lengthy playlist), but there's a particular subset of mashup - into which today's exhibits fits - where two works are just smashed together with little or no effort put into making things fit. As I already suggested above, I find that my mind loves this kind of listening - it's an extreme kind of counterpoint in which the brain gets to try hearing two conflicting things at once. Here's a new playlist to celebrate such monstrosities.
I was on February vacation last week, and though I didn't have a chance to escape our cold winter weather, I did have some time to take walks, listen to music, see some movies, and muse to myself about connections among these experiences. Early in the week, I already knew I'd be hearing acclaimed pianists Yuja Wang and Víkingur Ólafsson in a Friday duo-piano recital which would feature Schubert's remarkable Fantasy in F Minor for two pianists at one piano - so I chose to listen to that on a cold, gloomy, colorless Thursday afternoon walk.
The piano is such a generally self-sufficient instrument that piano duets are usually more about creating an opportunity for social music-making than they are about epic musical statements. Even works for two pianos, while allowing for some really big sonic energy, can seem excessive and without the advantage other chamber ensembles have of coloristic diversity resulting from the use of varied instruments. The kinds of textures enabled by four hands at one piano can shine more light on the delicate upper reaches of the instrument and can make it easier to weave multiple contrapuntal threads together than two hands can naturally handle. But there's still something surprising about how far Schubert was able to push this otherwise modest ensemble in this unique and unsettling fantasy. And no matter how much pianists like to talk about coloristic sonic possibilities, the sound of a piano still has a distinctly black-and-white (or grayscale?) character, which I believe Schubert uses to advantage here.
Anyway, almost as soon as the familiar haunting theme began on my Bose headphones, I thought how appropriate it was for the setting. There's so much I could say about this music, its unusual structure, its moments that sound like ice cracking open, but I was especially surprised by my reaction to the recapitulation which begins at the 12:53 mark in the video below. Although it begins as an exact repetition of the opening, I was struck by how different this music sounded after all that had come before.
This caused my mind to wander (to return!) unexpectedly to the movie my wife and I had seen in a theater the night before. The Returnis a 2024 film which depicts the final "arrival back home" part of The Odyssey. We had gone to see it because it was playing at a local arthouse cinema, but didn't know much about it going in. I didn't love everything about it, but it is brutally honest as a depiction of what it means to return to a home that is no longer what it was - and the familiar events I've often thought of in high-minded literary context lead to an extremely violent and disturbing conclusion.
I'm not sure Schubert's Fantasy can be said to end with quite such an obvious bloodbath, but after the recapitulation first seems simply to be going home, a violently contrapuntal coda arrives [14:25] to dispel any sense that things will be the same. Although I wouldn't want to draw any one-to-one correspondences between these works of Homer and Schubert, there is a "Homer-ically" episodic and adventurous quality to Schubert's Fantasy with its "trills gone wild" section [4:30], a tender love duet [5:24] and the swashbuckling scherzo (beginning at 7:12) that soon follows - plus the unsettling return [12:53] and the devastating finish. In short, it's remarkable that Schubert could pour so much depth of human experience into what first might seem to be a humble parlor duet - which would've been played on a much more modest instrument than the TWO nine-foot Steinways Wang and Olafsson used Friday night.
I could do a whole philosophical exploration on the propriety of using two pianos for this music intended for two pianists sitting side-by-side at one instrument, but will save that for later - or never. I will add that I met up a few hours before the Symphony Hall performance with the friend who had invited me. She and I read through the Schubert together, and though it was hardly polished, I think my three experiences of this music (via headphones on a walk in 20 degree weather, sightreading with a friend, and listening with 2500 other people) were all worthwhile and offered usefully different perspectives. For the record, the Wang/Olafsson performance was exceptionally well-played, although I'm not sure this music is most at home in a space as large as Symphony Hall, even with an extra piano thrown in.
And now it's time to end this winter journal journey by observing that today is the 18th birthday of this blog. MMmusing can now vote! As a special birthday offering, I'm uploading something Schubertian on an unusually large multimedia scale. When it comes to walking through snow and ice in the depths of winter, nothing captures that experience like Schubert's song-cycle Winterreise (Winter Journey*) which, like the Fantasy, was written in the composer's final year. In fact, all of my favorite Schubert comes from this final year: Winterreise, the Fantasy in F Minor, the Cello Quintet (string quartet plus extra cello), the Piano Trio No.2 in E-flat, and the Piano Sonata in B-flat. It's unbelievable that one person wrote all of this earth-shattering music in a year in which his young and troubled life was coming to a much too early end.
The experience of listening to the Fantasy on a wintry walk prompted me to listen to a performance of Winterreise from 1997 in which I collaborated with a wonderful, expressive, and very intelligent bass, Mark Risinger. (Mark is also a world-class Handel scholar.) There's no video from that performance, but now that it's almost thirty years old (which is almost as long as Schubert lived), I really enjoyed listening to it and reliving the amazing experience of learning and performing it. As a one-off live performance, of course it isn't perfect, but I think it captures the music quite well, so it's worth sharing. Honestly, it's probably my favorite Winterreise recording, with no apology for personal bias.
Rather than add a score to follow, I've uploaded the video with the German text alongside English translations - I'm not sure I even knew these texts myself very well back in 1997, but I think Schubert's music often does a lot of the work.
Happy MMmusing Day. Enjoy this bitter walk through ice, snow, heartache, and death alongside a hurdy-gurdy! [direct link here]
* Note that this blog began as a sort of "winter journey."
LYRIC POET: Are we embarking on a study of the meaning of meaning? YOUNGER BROTHER: I sure hope not. (from Leonard Bernstein's The Joy of Music)
NOTE: There are more than 500 possible outcomes.
About Me
MICHAEL MONROE
I'm a pianist and college music professor in the Boston area. This is not me. Neither is this. Curiously, these most Googleable Michael Monroe's are each musicians. This IS me.
