Most musicians are aware of Mozart's relationship with his father. He embraced his son's talent with open arms. He paraded young Mozart all around Europe hawking his talent and making him known to the public. He considered his whole family fortunate to have a member (or two, as his daughter, Nanerl was also of great musical talent) in posession of a talent so lucrative.
This is why, I suppose, I was so surprised to read in our exerpts for class of Schubert's father being opposed to his devoting his life to music. I suppose it seemed odd, what with he, himself being musical, and encouraging his son to study violin and music in general, even organizing a family string quartet, that he didn't envision music as his son's ticket to a successful life.
It seems that the emergence of both Schubert and Mozart's talents were similar. Both were very young, skilled at piano and violin. Both wrote small inventions of their own, and showed early promise of talent in composition in general.
The times were not so different in between Mozart and Schubert as to make me think that Schubert's father, a humble school teacher living with his family of seven in a two room apartment, would not realize the potential of having a young son so talented. Not that he necessarily should have farmed out his child's talent in exchange for money or his own personal fame. We see the effects of this "stage-parent" syndrome all over the place today (Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, Miley Cyrus- take your pick of any oversexed, underloved starlet in the tabloids today...), and it can visibly turn into a bad thing. But Mozart's story of being a tiny tot with gifted possibilites would not have been so long ago that Schubert's father would not have thought it possible for his son, of comparable talent, to also become a pint-sized rockstar.
As we know, Schubert's father obviously relented when he realized that music was what Schubert truly wanted to do. Schubert went on to have a very successful and prolific musical life. This makes me wonder: Had Mozart's father not pushed his musical talent to its utmost potential, would Mozart have been the man we remember today? What if, at seven years old, he had discovered he loved to paint, or throw pottery, or play polo, or decided to become a junior politician? The world will never know.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Contrasting Mozart's Memorials
If there's one thing there's alot of in Austria, it's Mozart memorials. Each of them are unique and humbling in their own way.
The first we visited was Mozart's grave in the Central Cemetary. Easily the darkest of the three, an angel sits atop a stack of books containing his works, weeping with a copy of his Requiem in her hands. One can't escape the feeling of great loss; that we are truly forsaken for having lost such a talent at such a young age. Surrounded by beautiful graves of other great musicians, a sense of despair lingers in the air.
The second monument is in the park at the Museums Quartier. A stark comparison to the first, a triumphant Mozart stands atop a giant marble creation, all the instruments he wrote for stacked at the base. The back is ornamented with a stylized scene from his youth; he is playing the klavier while his father and sister look on in quiet adoration. A massive treble clef, formed of planted geraniums stretches on ahead of him. It leaves us with a sense of hope, that even though he is no longer with us, his music will always live on.
The third monument, where Mozart is thought to be buried, was the most emotional. In Saint Marx cemetary, an angel stands at the base of his grave, his head in his hand, as if to ask, "How could this have happened?" He stares at Mozart's grave in a state of near disbelief. Off by himself in a small field, Mozart's grave is surrounded by lush begonias and an aura of peace.
Since visiting a Mozart grave or memorial is certainly on the bucket-list of any musician, I would've felt lucky to have been able to pay hommage at just one of those sites, but to be able to visit three Mozart monuments makes me feel truly blessed.
The first we visited was Mozart's grave in the Central Cemetary. Easily the darkest of the three, an angel sits atop a stack of books containing his works, weeping with a copy of his Requiem in her hands. One can't escape the feeling of great loss; that we are truly forsaken for having lost such a talent at such a young age. Surrounded by beautiful graves of other great musicians, a sense of despair lingers in the air.
The second monument is in the park at the Museums Quartier. A stark comparison to the first, a triumphant Mozart stands atop a giant marble creation, all the instruments he wrote for stacked at the base. The back is ornamented with a stylized scene from his youth; he is playing the klavier while his father and sister look on in quiet adoration. A massive treble clef, formed of planted geraniums stretches on ahead of him. It leaves us with a sense of hope, that even though he is no longer with us, his music will always live on.
The third monument, where Mozart is thought to be buried, was the most emotional. In Saint Marx cemetary, an angel stands at the base of his grave, his head in his hand, as if to ask, "How could this have happened?" He stares at Mozart's grave in a state of near disbelief. Off by himself in a small field, Mozart's grave is surrounded by lush begonias and an aura of peace.
Since visiting a Mozart grave or memorial is certainly on the bucket-list of any musician, I would've felt lucky to have been able to pay hommage at just one of those sites, but to be able to visit three Mozart monuments makes me feel truly blessed.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D Major at the Musik Verein
About halfway through our Viennese expreience, Matt and I realized we hadn't yet heard any Beethoven. We were pleasantly surprised to come across an opportunity to hear Rainier Kuchel at the Musik Verein performing Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D Major.
The most inexpensive tickets one can purchase in the Musik Verein Brahms Saal went for about 5 Euros and had no view of the stage. Most times this was somewhat of a challenge for me, as I typically need some sort of visual stimulus to be totally entertained. Although I couldn't see him, I sat in rapture for the entire concert.
Each new movement was better than the last. Soaring cadenzas, difficult technical passages, nothing was too great a challenge. We felt so lucky to be hearing the concertmaster of the Vienna Phil performing solo. Not only did he play completely from memory, but he played so beautifully that he recieved three encores, which was the first time I had ever seen that happen.
Like all Beethoven, this piece is dramatic, as is it's story. Beethoven had written this piece to showcase the talent of Franz Clement, a violin playing colleague who had given him input for his opera, Fidelio. Beethoven finished the piece so late before the performance that Clement was forced to sight read it on stage, which after having heard the piece, is beyond impressive.
While I'm sure Kuchel wasn't sight reading, his interpretation was nothing less than spectacular. This was easily something everyone present will remember for a lifetime.
The most inexpensive tickets one can purchase in the Musik Verein Brahms Saal went for about 5 Euros and had no view of the stage. Most times this was somewhat of a challenge for me, as I typically need some sort of visual stimulus to be totally entertained. Although I couldn't see him, I sat in rapture for the entire concert.
Each new movement was better than the last. Soaring cadenzas, difficult technical passages, nothing was too great a challenge. We felt so lucky to be hearing the concertmaster of the Vienna Phil performing solo. Not only did he play completely from memory, but he played so beautifully that he recieved three encores, which was the first time I had ever seen that happen.
Like all Beethoven, this piece is dramatic, as is it's story. Beethoven had written this piece to showcase the talent of Franz Clement, a violin playing colleague who had given him input for his opera, Fidelio. Beethoven finished the piece so late before the performance that Clement was forced to sight read it on stage, which after having heard the piece, is beyond impressive.
While I'm sure Kuchel wasn't sight reading, his interpretation was nothing less than spectacular. This was easily something everyone present will remember for a lifetime.
Hofsburg March: Schonbrunn
I came to Vienna to get my fill of classical music. I saw museums, concerts, statues, artwork, street performers, palaces and composers' houses, all ranging in price from one Euro to fifty, but I've never in my life seen anything quite like the free Vienna Phil concert at Schonbrunn.
Picture if you will eleven thousand people, all of different walks of life. Some had been camped there for a good spot all day, most were wandering in about an hour before for standing room only. As twilight fell, the Glorietta albaze with light, the first tuning pitch sounded and the crowd fell silent. John William's Star Wars theme filled the air, and everyone gasped.
I realize that there was no Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, or Brahms on the program, but it was one of the most significant concerts I saw there as a musician. It wasn't a high brow concerto, it wasn't a technically advanced aria. It was the theme from an American classic movie, and in that moment, all those thousands of people were nothing but completely united as one, just listening.
That is why we are musicians. We live for those moments. I know that if ever I'm in doubt about what I'm devoting my life to, all I have to do is think back to that moment. One of the premiere ensembles of the world was playing Darth Vader's march and nothing could've bonded us all any better. It didn't matter if you were a concert violinist or a car mechanic. The whole world stood in awe, soldered together by music. Indeed this is why we play.
Picture if you will eleven thousand people, all of different walks of life. Some had been camped there for a good spot all day, most were wandering in about an hour before for standing room only. As twilight fell, the Glorietta albaze with light, the first tuning pitch sounded and the crowd fell silent. John William's Star Wars theme filled the air, and everyone gasped.
I realize that there was no Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, or Brahms on the program, but it was one of the most significant concerts I saw there as a musician. It wasn't a high brow concerto, it wasn't a technically advanced aria. It was the theme from an American classic movie, and in that moment, all those thousands of people were nothing but completely united as one, just listening.
That is why we are musicians. We live for those moments. I know that if ever I'm in doubt about what I'm devoting my life to, all I have to do is think back to that moment. One of the premiere ensembles of the world was playing Darth Vader's march and nothing could've bonded us all any better. It didn't matter if you were a concert violinist or a car mechanic. The whole world stood in awe, soldered together by music. Indeed this is why we play.
Abduction from the Seraglio
I was incredibly excited to see the Volksoper's production of The Abduction from the Seraglio. I had been awed earlier in our trip by Puccini's Madame Butterfly, and couldn't wait to get another taste of opera in Vienna. Unfortunately, I was incredibly disappointed by what I would end up experiencing.
The basic plot is interesting enough. Konstanze and her hand-maiden are abducted and taken to the harem of the Pasha Salim. Konstanze's lover Belmont attempts to rescue her with the help of his servant Pedrillo. Everyone stands around and sings about how bad everything is, and drama ensues.
While the music is beautiful, as all music of Mozart characteristically is, the voices chosen to play the parts in this particular production were not good enough to overshadow the lack of scenery and sight-read feel of the music on the part of the orchestra. The bright spot in the production was the soprano who performed the part of the hand-maiden. She had a lovely, clear and sparkling tone. Her arias shone brighter than any other piece performed all evening.
Of course opera as an art form is mainly about the music (understandably so...), but the reason it's opera and not just a concert of collected pieces and performers is because there is scenery to be admired. The scenery of this particular opera was white. ALL white. The performers for the most part wore all white, the floor and ceiling and walls and furniture were ALL white. The only color element to be seen throughout the first three acts of the performance were four false ferns. I suppose there was some sort of artistic statement to be found there, but sadly it must have been lost on me.
I only stayed through the three of the four acts. While everything musical in Vienna is a treat sheerly because of where it is taking place, I suppose the old addage remains true that not all that glitters is gold.
The basic plot is interesting enough. Konstanze and her hand-maiden are abducted and taken to the harem of the Pasha Salim. Konstanze's lover Belmont attempts to rescue her with the help of his servant Pedrillo. Everyone stands around and sings about how bad everything is, and drama ensues.
While the music is beautiful, as all music of Mozart characteristically is, the voices chosen to play the parts in this particular production were not good enough to overshadow the lack of scenery and sight-read feel of the music on the part of the orchestra. The bright spot in the production was the soprano who performed the part of the hand-maiden. She had a lovely, clear and sparkling tone. Her arias shone brighter than any other piece performed all evening.
Of course opera as an art form is mainly about the music (understandably so...), but the reason it's opera and not just a concert of collected pieces and performers is because there is scenery to be admired. The scenery of this particular opera was white. ALL white. The performers for the most part wore all white, the floor and ceiling and walls and furniture were ALL white. The only color element to be seen throughout the first three acts of the performance were four false ferns. I suppose there was some sort of artistic statement to be found there, but sadly it must have been lost on me.
I only stayed through the three of the four acts. While everything musical in Vienna is a treat sheerly because of where it is taking place, I suppose the old addage remains true that not all that glitters is gold.
Schoenberg Center and Pierrot Lunaire
What I would give to crawl around in Arnold Schoenberg's head. A seemingly normal father and husband, I found on our trip to the Schoenberg center that old Arnold lived in essentially, my house. Like his, mine is filled with old books, strange artwork in various states of completion that I and my fiance have made, millions of notebooks full of ideas, sheet music of all kinds and ages, musical instruments and their cases, and many othe collected oddities. He favored the same color palette, a soft yellow with dark furniture in an eclectic mix of hues and time periods of origin.
While eccentric, the mock up of his house could have been any musician's home. This was somewhat surprising having attended Pierrot Lunaire a couple of weeks before. I had heard recordings of this piece, but there's nothing quite like it live. The only word for it really is haunting. The song cycle is set to German translations of Albert Giraud's cycle of French poems and is typically sung by a soprano in a speak-singing (or Sprechstimme) style. It's full of trembling violins, clarinte glissandos, and like I said, a moaning soprano. It's really just downright creepy. Pierrot Lunaire puts its listeners in a trancelike fantasy mindset. At times it can sound almost hopeful, but this is almost always doused by a haunting, verging on violent text setting. It's not in his twelve-tone, twentieth century style, but there are several themes that circulate throughout that add to the repetitive feeling of musical dread. While that sounds like a completely negative reaction, I completely enjoyed the performance. It was so entirely different from all the other Viennese music that we studied that it was a welcome foray into the altogther different world of Arnold Schoenberg.
While eccentric, the mock up of his house could have been any musician's home. This was somewhat surprising having attended Pierrot Lunaire a couple of weeks before. I had heard recordings of this piece, but there's nothing quite like it live. The only word for it really is haunting. The song cycle is set to German translations of Albert Giraud's cycle of French poems and is typically sung by a soprano in a speak-singing (or Sprechstimme) style. It's full of trembling violins, clarinte glissandos, and like I said, a moaning soprano. It's really just downright creepy. Pierrot Lunaire puts its listeners in a trancelike fantasy mindset. At times it can sound almost hopeful, but this is almost always doused by a haunting, verging on violent text setting. It's not in his twelve-tone, twentieth century style, but there are several themes that circulate throughout that add to the repetitive feeling of musical dread. While that sounds like a completely negative reaction, I completely enjoyed the performance. It was so entirely different from all the other Viennese music that we studied that it was a welcome foray into the altogther different world of Arnold Schoenberg.
FACSIMILE: Where's the real stuff Haydn?
I was expecting for us to visit many composers' houses while we were in Austria. It seemed logical; it's a tourism-based country, and no one could blame Austria for making a little cash off of their rich artistic history, right? So upon entering Haydn's small apartment in Eisenstadt, I was excited to discover what would be there. Would it be his piano? Would there be books of his manuscripts? Would they have some of his clothes or a piece of his wig? I scoured each case carefully, pouring diligently over letters he wrote, his marriage license, page after page of delicate notation, gleaming tidbit after tidbit about his life and work. What it must have been like, to be within these walls while he worked. How different it is to be a musician now working when and how you want, as opposed to being on call by a royal family whose life soundtrack you would be imposed upon to write on a whim. It was about 15 minutes into my trusting adoration that I noticed the fine print at the bottom of one of the exhibits, and came to know that word that I and my Euros would come to dread: "FACSIMILE". The word was emblazoned upon almost every surface I could see. I browsed my English pamphlet given to me at the door; this wasn't Haydn's house! It was Haydn't staircase with a replica built around it. I felt used. They had played upon my childish enthusiasm and given me photocopies with a decorative edge. I was wiser, savvier than when I entered. I was also on the prowl. I would find real composer artifacts. I had four more weeks; it could only get more real from here.
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