I have to say that the goal of criticism has never been to control or reflect the public taste–neither is possible–but rather the simpler (but also infinitely difficult) work of analyzing and evaluating works of art as honestly and independently as possible.
There’s a frightening decadence running through a lot of mainstream cultural criticism these days, including music and dance. (If you click through, you’ll see it comes mostly from one particular outlet.)
You can’t even begin to imagine my surprise when I found out that this was the website of the guy who wrote The Most Amazing Press Release Ever:
Today’s Seth Godin’s blog post (one of them, anyway; it gets to be a little much sometimes) warned of raising expectations only to dash them on the rocks of mediocrity. Going from that irreverent press release from PitchPoint to its website homepage is a case study in this particular way to fail.
It’s confusing too. What am I going to get if I hire this publicist, I wonder. Am I getting the sarcastic, brazen PitchPoint–the 483 Words of Pure Awesomeness–or am I getting the run-of-the-mill “one stop shop for all your marketing and creative needs.” It’s hard to tell.
And come by the Third Street Music School Settlement in Manhattan on January 28; Vanessa and Aron are playing a concert at 7:30 PM. Since they don’t get paid for this, bring a hat and pass it for them.
For those of you who don’t know, “Vanessa” is Vanessa Fadial. She’s my wife. And an amazing pianist as well. Just ask our neighbors. All six floors of them.
Most people who know anything about Erich Korngold know that he was a film composer. Some might also place him as the fin-de-siecle Viennese wunderkind that put the fear of God into Strauss.
My first contact with Korngold came as a graduate student, when I heard Gil Shaham’s recording of his violin concerto. What struck me about the music–particularly the first movement–was that it had nothing superfluous. It was perfect, polished, and immediately satisfying.
Before Shaham, Heifetz owned Korngold’s concerto. Since Shaham, a lot of violinists have taken up the piece in concert and on record, including Hilary Hahn, James Ehnes, and Philippe Quint.
Philippe recorded it for Naxos. My friend Raymond Bisha produced a podcast on Korngold for Naxos, which you can listen to on the Arkivmusic website.
If we waste our time on that musical painter of light Rachmaninov, we can do worse than to pay some attention to Korngold as well. Renee Fleming is singing his songs tomorrow night at Carnegie Hall, and I also suggest you listen to any one of the violin concerto recordings out there.
Maybe it’s Tommasini’s condescending tone (“I don’t do rankings”), or his ignorance of the music media that exists all around him (which contributes to the condescension), or his cloying set-up (that whole thing about the high-school student), but today’s how-to-make-a-top-ten-composers-list-if-you-really-want-to article annoyed me.
Carlson can come off as a little didactic, but his list of instructions on how to listen to classical music can be helpful. For people new to Bach, Beethoven, and the boys, it provides a firm launch pad; for more experienced listeners, the list helps focus in on aspects of the music we take for granted. I found myself disagreeing with Carlson at times (he wrote three articles in all), but at least he gave me points to think about.
I may just be grumpy this morning. What do you think? You can e-mail me if I’m full of beans.
Toot, Whistle, Plunk, Boom—the hippest music appreciation class ever–won the Academy Award for best short animated film in 1954; it was up against this:
There was some crazy stuff going on in the 1950s. Don’t let anyone tell you different.
The people over at Open Culture are at it again. Today, they posted this Disney film from 1953, Toot, Whistle, Plunk, Boom. It’s Disney, it’s from the ’50s, but it’s definitely not square.
Meanwhile in the blogosphere, some less-than-sympathetic online commenters to news reports about the Louisville Orchestra has prompted responses from both Tim Smith and Drew McManus.
On every January 1 since 1939, the Vienna Philharmonic has been waltzing in the new year at the Musikverein. In all of these concerts, Johann Strauss Jr.’s music is the most prominent musical fixture.
Although it was his father, along with Josef Lanner, who popularized Austria’s indigenous 3/4 dance music, Johann Strauss Jr. was the true “Waltz King”; by the time he passed in 1899, his music was beloved worldwide, from Bosnia to Boston.
Most people are familiar with his “Blue Danube” Waltz; the Vienna Phil plays it on every New Year’s Day concert–and of course, it’s part of the 2001: A Space Odyssey soundtrack:
As respected for his dance music as he was in his time–Brahms was but one noted admirer and friend–and as historically important as he is for it today, Strauss was also a successful stage composer. He wrote a ballet based on Cinderella, and provided competition to Offenbach with operettas such as his Die Fledermaus (1874):
This year, the Vienna Philharmonic New Year’s Day concert is broadcast in over 70 countries, and you can watch it on PBS. Just try not to think too hard about who was in Vienna in 1939 when this tradition all started, and what it might have meant back then.
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