I sat in the second row of Concert Hall of the
Brighton Dome, my view dominated by the underside of the Steinway; the knees of
the young Dutch pianist performing Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1.
I was practically face to face with the cellos in
an awful seat; but matter a jot it did not; my eyes were closed in a glorious
state of meditation.
Oh how I’ve missed this; the thrill and impact of
seeing a live orchestra.
Sublime.
Any genre of music can evoke a response, but there
is something about classical music that moves me deeply and allows me to access
my imagination in other ways. Unlike popular music, which can rely on sad lyrics
to convey complex feelings, classical pieces do this through melody, harmony and
rhythms.
I remain unconvinced that the harpsichord can
evoke any emotion other than disgust as favoured during the Baroque period; a
period heavily influenced by religious themes.
Yuk-yuk-yuk-baroque.
The Romantic era in music was (roughly) between
the years 1830 to 1900. This is the period that resonates with me the most; a
time inspired by art, literature and nature; embracing passion and
emotions.
Take Bedřich Smetana infectious and joyous
composition, Má vlast: Vltava, which evokes the flow of the Vltava river from the
source in the mountains to the city of Prague. This is a musical painting of a
rolling river with flutes and clarinets used to evoke trickling springs in the
beginning, strings ebb and flow giving the sense of a growing current as the
piece progresses. Like some nature program, one can visualise the river
throughout this piece, although it is a stretch of my own imagination to
visualise the nymphs.
Yes nymphs.
Grieg’s Piano Concerto is arguably one of the more
iconic openings of piano concertos with a style reminiscent of the Tchaikovsky's
Piano Concerto. It is especially relevant in the UK, where every Christmas we
must endure reruns of the Morecambe & Wise Christmas Show. André Previn
attempts to lead the orchestra, while Eric, a non-concert pianist butchers the
famous opening.
As beautiful as “I'm playing all the right notes,
but not necessarily in the right order.” is; its the second movement (adagio)
that I find the most moving.
It starts with tender strings, a slow, languorous
melody and the soft call of a trumpet which I find divinely romantic. You are
held here for about two minutes; when a single solo piano key introduces the the
most beautiful melody which quickly builds in tempo, lifting the energy like a DJ
bringing up a crowd for the briefest of moments — only to settle back down
again.
On days of low energy and melancholy, the response
feels physical; as if its tuned into a vulnerable spot, a place of yearning for
something. An ache of longing.
Lately, and much to my annoyance, when I hear this
piece, I can’t shake the image of a woman gazing wistfully out a plane window as
it soars into a blush-pink sunset. A melancholic immigrant leaving home, like
some overdramatic Aer Lingus ad.
It’s not all melancholy, longing for romance and
sitting obediently in your concert chair.
If you need some cheer in your day and something
energetic then let’s go to Mexico.
Jose Pablo Moncayo was a Mexican composer of the
20th century and I defy anybody to sit still listening to his Huapango. I was
once told by a Mexican Tinder match that this is the unofficial national anthem
of Mexico. This has to be one of the happiest pieces of classical music, it is a
bright and fun piece, with traditional Mexican rhythms. It is joyful and full of
pride.
While in Mexico, another lively piece, full of
percussion and fire is Arturo Margquez - Conga del Fuego. Translated as “Conga of
Fire” it is a short fiery adventure but packs a punch. A glorious conga style
piece with lots of pulsating vibes.
Both of these pieces make me soar with energy and
happiness that I have found twirling around my living room wielding an imaginary
baton conducting my imaginary orchestra.
Irish traditional music, not classical music, was
played in our house throughout my youth. Like many heritage studies, it was seen
as unmodern and outdated to this teenager so I steered clear.
In my immediate family, my Father played accordion
and bodhran while two of my brothers play a variety of instruments ranging from
banjo, violins, guitars and accordions.
My only exposure to anything resembling classical
music came from a music class in secondary school, where we were introduced to
the instruments of an orchestra. Once, in my early teens, my brother took me to
see a quintet perform at the local theatre. This did not lead to an epiphany.
Despite having no background in classical music,
at aged 13 I purchased the Classical Experience III, my first and only classical
album. The album cover gave hints as to what you were about to hear while the
sleeve gave a brief description of the music.
The cover had a grey-bearded Gandalf looking
wizard wearing a blue hat with yellow stars at the forefront of the picture
alongside a broom; a nod to Dukas - The Sorcerer's Apprentice.
The wizard looks out across a valley where a
sphinx sits proudly acknowledging Alexandre Luiginis one hit wonder of Ballet
Egyptian.
A howling wolf stands over a set babushka dolls
salutes Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf.
Once I understood the stories behind the pieces,
it opened them up and made it feel more accessible. It is not necessary to
understand the backstory however they do help bring the music alive and give it
another dimension.
Classical music took a back seat for many years as
I went through the Bob Marley phase, followed by the house music phase. These
days it ranges from 70s Kenyan funk, rock, blues to bluegrass and obviously an an
occasional bow at the alter of Dolly.
It resurfaced back into my life nearly 20 years
ago; a colleague of mine played second violin in an orchestra. For a measly £5, I
would go and see him play in churches around London. Now only could I hear
Rachmaninoff but the sound in the church meant I could also feel
Rachmaninoff.
No doubt about it, classical music has an image
problem - a genre mostly dominated by white men, something seen to be enjoyed by
the elite and top tiers of society. Yet classical music is much more readily
available from cheap seats in venues, radio channels to playlists on Spotify so I
wonder if that argument still holds?
These days, its not just elitism, classical music
is being politicised. In the wake of the Russian invasion of Ukraine, there were
calls for buycotting Russian composers being played. If history teaches us
anything it is the importance of arts and media especially in times of turmoil.
For some Shostakovich represents Russian pride, for others some of his symphonies
were symbols of protest against a repressive regime.
Nevermind these nuances, those in DEI roles are
teaching us to to be ashamed of past arts or are calling for arts to be
disappeared and cancelled. You can’t listen to that, where is your white
shame?
I came across a lovely quote - “For the audience,
music is the most democratic of the arts.”
In a week where democracy hangs by a thread as we
head into the final few days of the extraordinary US elections; I would like to
share a piece by the only female composer in my playlist; Florence Beatrice
Price.
Price was the first African-American woman to be
recognized as a symphonic composer. Her Symphony No. 1: Juba Dance is a spirited
piece and sounds oh-so American with its Western music influences. In 1933, she
was first black woman to have her music played by a major orchestra in
Chicago.
So turn up the volume and keep our fingers crossed
and hope for another woman being a first in her field.
You received this email because you signed up on our website or made a purchase
from us.
