Cheesy Classical Music You Should Know: Fanfare for the Common Man

In 1977, Emerson, Lake, and Palmer recorded their own, nine-minute blues-jam version of what is probably Aaron Copland’s single most famous piece. The cover was a big hit–perhaps also the nadir of art rock–and CBS used it as the opening theme for its Saturday-afternoon sports show, CBS Sports Spectacular, a low-rent version of Wide World of Sports:

Outside of the concert hall, this is how most people (at least those of a certain baby-boomer age) have come to know Fanfare for the Common Man; that’s a shame, because inside of the concert hall, its distinctive, sweeping opening always exhorts goosebumps.
Copland wrote the piece on commission in 1942 from Eugene Goosens, who at the time was the music director of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra. Goosens contacted 18 composers to write fanfares that would be “stirring and significant contributions to the war effort” (this was only shortly after Pearl Harbor). He ended up using nine of them for Cincinnati’s 1942-43 season, including Copland’s, which is pretty well the only one still heard today.

A few years later, Copland used Fanfare for the Common Man in the finale of his Third Symphony, which you can hear here.

Cheesy Classical Music You Should Know: The Hallelujah Chorus

Pretty well everyone has heard the Hallelujah Chorus:

It’s a Christmas staple, on its own or as part of Handel’s Messiah; it’s also become one of those pieces that people love to make their own.

Since 1993, Marin Alsop has been performing a gospel version of Messiah, conceived with Bob Christianson and Gary Anderson, called Too Hot to Handel, with a particularly swinging Hallelujah Chorus:

Here’s a “mildly cynical update” by Edward Current and Steven Clark from the UK (only Brits would find this “mildly cynical”):

And only Canadians would find a Hallelujah Chorus flash mob cool:

Cheesy Classical Music You Should Know: The "Blue Danube" Waltz

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.

Cheesy Classical Music You Should Know: Ravel’s Bolero (Part II)

Here’s what Uncle Fred had to say about Ravel’s Bolero: “It’s the most descriptive sex music ever written.”

According to his niece-in-law Jenny, played by Bo Derek in 10, “he proved it.” To anyone with qualms about pedophilia (I’m firmly in this camp), Jenny’s little story, meant to seduce poor hapless George (Dudley Moore), is uncomfortable, to say the least. (The whole movie gives me the creeps.)

Although he was an incestuous cad, Uncle Fred had a point about Bolero. As mentioned in an earlier post, the piece opens with the snare drum playing the distinctive rhythmic pattern of the Spanish dance it’s named after. The seductive flute melody that enters shortly after sets in motion a gradual blossoming to a climactic finale; as that rhythm pulses below, the melody repeats, the orchestration expands, and the music becomes ever more incessant and powerful. It’s hard not to get all worked up when you listen to it.

Bolero set Ravel for life financially. It’s hard to believe that the composer didn’t know he had a crowd pleaser on his hands, but he did express doubts that no one would want to hear it as anything more than ballet music. For Ravel, it was a chance to show off his chops as an orchestrator, an “experiment in a very special and limited direction.”

Some critics didn’t care for the piece in the few years after its 1928 premiere. Writing for the American Mercury in 1932, Edward Robinson called the piece “the most insolent monstrosity ever perpetrated in the history of music” that sounds like “the wail of an obstreperous back-alley cat.” Even today, a lot of critics look down on the piece, and programmers tend to consider it to be fluff. Fortunately, lots of orchestras still play it.

Cheesy Classical Music You Should Know: Ravel’s Bolero (Part I)

Now that the World Series is over, it’s time to start thinking about the Super Bowl–and the ads that’ll be on the Super Bowl broadcast.

During the third quarter of last season’s game, Coke ran an ad that used Ravel’s Bolero, a piece that even the composer might concede is among the cheesiest music ever written.

The ad, by advertising company Wieden & Kennedy, was set in Africa, but the music is based on the distinctive Spanish dance rhythm. Ravel’s mother was Basque, and although he didn’t make his first trip to Spain until 1924 when he was almost 50, he used the sounds of the country in early pieces like Rapsodie espagnole suite (completed in 1908) and his opera L’Heure espagnole (composed at around the same time, and premiered in Paris in 1911).

In the same year Ravel sat down to write Bolero, he made a triumphant tour of North America. Everywhere he went–from Houston to Montreal–people greeted him as a star. Ravel was overwhelmed: “You know, this doesn’t happen to me in Paris,” commented the composer after a Carnegie Hall performance of his orchestral music that was met with roaring applause and a standing ovation.

Flush with good ol’ American style fame, Ravel returned to the City of Lights; one of his first duties was to fulfill his promise to dance impresario Ida Rubinstein to write ballet music for her. The result, of course, was Bolero, which received its premiere at the end of the year, in November 1928 at the Paris Opera.

What’s all this got to do with the Super Bowl? Not much, beyond the aforementioned ad. But with its Spanish groove and colorful orchestration, Bolero is worth getting to know better.

Cheesy Classical Music You Should Know: Barber’s Adagio for Strings

Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings has been repeatedly popping into popular consciousness to signify tragic loss since its auspicious 1938 premiere on an NBC Symphony Orchestra broadcast with Arturo Toscanini (which you can hear courtesy of NPR.org).

Originally composed as part of Barber’s second string quartet, the Adagio for Strings was heard on the radio when FDR died. Barber arranged it in 1967 for choir as an Agnus Dei.

Adagio for Strings is part of the soundtracks for 1980s classics The Elephant Man and Platoon. On September 15, 2001, Leonard Slatkin and the BBC Symphony Orchestra closed London’s annual Proms concerts with the piece.

Barber’s centenary is this March (the composer died in 1981), so now is a perfect time to get to know (again) his most famous music, a work that has become an almost universal musical symbol for catharsis in the face of loss.

Cheesy Classical Music You Should Know: Holst’s Planets

If classical music is dead, how can it so spectacularly capture the magnificence that is the mixture of peanut butter and chocolate?  

And if we can have a chocolate bar named after an entire galaxy, why can’t we also compare one to the largest planet in our solar system?  
The music that accompanies this quick-and-painless Reese’s ad is “Jupiter” from British composer Gustav Holst’s orchestral work The Planets, another cheesy piece of classical music that everyone really should know.   
Holst wrote The Planets  in 1916.  A collection of seven short musical character studies meant to depict the personalities of the gods each planet in the solar system is named after, it’s by far the composer’s most popular work, and lives on through references in (commercials, of course, as well as) the soundtracks to such movies as The Right Stuff and Wallace and Gromit: Curse of the Were-Rabbit, as well as on The Simpsons and other TV shows. 
So grab some candy and enjoy a trip through space.  All hail, the Jupiter Cup!  

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Cheesy Classical Music You Should Know: Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto

As a kid, I first came across classical music in a commercial that ran on TV for one of those compilations that promised to send you on a journey to an enchanted land filled with enduring musical wonders.  Most of the music came off to me as pretty well all the same, but there was one piece that stuck out from the rest.  

The opening of Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto, with the pianist pounding out the beat behind the thick syrup-pour of strings, seemed at once completely out of place with the other “relaxing classics” and their epitome.  While other pieces whispered apologetically, Tchaikovsky’s concerto yelled, You are going to listen to some beautiful classical music now!  It was unashamedly, flamboyantly, cheesy music. 
It’s a staple of the repertoire today–a favorite piece of classical-music cheese–but when Tchaikovsky’s concerto premiered in Boston back in 1875, reviewers were, at their most forgiving, skeptical of its staying power and, at their most aggressive, outright dismissive.  A Russian critic panned the piece as “like the first pancake … a flop”; one Beantown writer described it as “difficult” and “strange,” asking “can we ever learn to love such music?”  
Since its ignominious premiere, many have acquired a taste for this stinky piece of musical lindberger, and during the Cold War the piece became a source of national pride–ironically, for Americans.   
In 1958, a young Texan named Van Cliburn shocked Moscow’s musical cognoscenti–and the Soviet party bigwigs–by winning the first International Tchaikovsky Piano Competition with a program that included Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1.  
Coming after the launch of Sputnik and at the dawn of the Space Race, Van Cliburn’s win made him an unlikely hero at home: he was welcomed back with a ticker-tape parade in New York City and was hailed on the cover of Time as “The Texan Who Conquered Russia.”  His recording of Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto won a Grammy and went on to become the first platinum-selling classical album.  
Almost 40 years later, in 1987, Van Cliburn stepped into the Cold War spotlight again, emerging from retirement to entertain Mikhail Gorbachev and Ronald Reagan at the White House.