A pinacle of German culture, this work gets it's themes from one of the oldest works in German literature: Parzival. It also is responsible for the name given to the famous "Disney" or Neuschwanstein palace/revival castle due to Wagner's influence on Mad Ludwig. Anyway, aside from it being massively important to German Kulturgeschichte, it's beginning 2/3 is incredibly beautiful musically. The last 1/3 seems to have a bit more story to it, and the music takes a back seat except for when the famous wedding march occurs (which is funny because it's for a relationship that won't be lasting). Giving this an 89... if I took 4-5 parts of it (shrinking the near 4 hour opera down to one hour) it'd easily get a 95-100.
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Lohengrin stands as a pivotal work in the career of Richard Wagner. In terms of its structure and approach, it is usually grouped at the end of his early operas; at the same time, it demonstrates many of the ideas and techniques that would achieve full fruition in his later music dramas. Indeed, at the same time as Wagner was drafting the work, many of the ideas for his later works, such as Tristan and the Ring cycle, were already percolating (an even put to paper in some preliminary form). On the other hand, the stylistic division usually placed just after Lohengrin corresponds with a biographical one: having fled to Zurich as a political exile before the opera's Weimar premiere (in 1850, with Franz Liszt conducting), Wagner would spend the next decade articulating his aesthetic philosophies through a series of important essays. These would transform many of the ideas hinted at in Lohengrin into a full-fledged musical paradigm shift.
The story for the opera was nearly a decade in gestation. Wagner first encountered the Lohengrin myth in 1841, and within five years had outlined a scenario for an opera on the subject. The score followed a few years later, in 1848. The story is set in Antwerp, in the tenth century, where Elsa, sister to the would-be duke, Gottfried, is accused of his murder. A mysterious figure arrives to defend her and even take her as his bride, but he commands her to not inquire about his name or his unknown provenance. A count, Telramund, and his sorcerer wife, Ortrud, are Elsa's accusers, and in fact, the real culprits in Gottfried's disappearance. They lay a series of intrigues to convince Elsa to ask her mysterious hero his identity, and in so doing, bring about a sad ending to the love story but an unexpectedly happy conclusion: the return of Gottfried.
In articulating this plot through musical means, Wagner demonstrates a number of his hallmark techniques as well as his keen sense of multilayered drama. The tension between Elsa's love for her mysterious hero and her uneasy curiosity about his background is embodied by the semitone relationship of the key areas associated with each of them (A flat and A natural, respectively). Ortrud's sinister machinations cast an eerie shadow of diminished chord sonorities whenever she appears or her plans fall into place (especially effective when, in the third act, as Elsa succumbs to Ortrud's deception she also adopts a version of her theme). Likewise, the F minor sonority that consistently stands for the "forbidden question" clashes forebodingly with the C major harmonies that characterize the wedding procession at the end of Act II. These type of dramatic conceits combine with the most obvious one: as the opera centers on the utterance of the unknown name, the audience, who has been unceremoniously provided with the secret identity of the hero in the very title of the work, is in constant tension with the opera's protagonists.
Also I'd just like to make clear that although I do think Wagner's operas were some of the best ever written, his proto-fascist/antisemitic ideals disgust me.
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These are textbook Romantic symphonies. Emotional, non-formulaic, etc. The 3rd has a good melody, so it's better. haha. But really these are just decent symphonies - not boring, not amazing, just good.
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Description by Blair Johnston, AllMusic
It has often been charged that Robert Schumann's orchestral works are little more than thinly-veiled transcriptions of musical thoughts that fall more naturally on the keyboard, and that he lacked the necessary skill to realize his purely orchestral ideas effectively. Largely due to musicians' popular acceptance of these criticisms, Schumann's four mature symphonies have suffered long periods of neglect. We can freely admit Schumann's inexperience as an orchestrator, and some pianistic traits and mannerisms are bound to sneak across in the works of such an accomplished composer for the keyboard (very few composers are immune to such "seeping" effects); however, this in no way diminishes the powerful impact that his wonderfully evocative, prototypically "Romantic" (in the original, mid-nineteenth century sense of the word) symphonic compositions can have in skilled hands. A highly individual sense of formal design, strikingly beautiful thematic and harmonic substance, and a powerful influence on such later symphonists as Brahms and Tchaikovsky all recommend these musical gems to both audiences and musicians alike, who would do well to re-evaluate them on their own terms, and not compare them to the works of later composers who clearly had different means and different goals.
Schumann's "Rhenish" Symphony, the Symphony No. 3 in E flat major, Op. 97, is so called because it was written in the fall of 1850 during the composer's tenure as conductor at Düsseldorf on the famous Rhine river. In a letter to the publisher N. Simrock in 1851 Schumann claimed that the history and spirit of that noble river and its people were running through his mind as he composed the work. The Symphony was less successful at its premiere in February 1851 (under the composer's direction) than had his two previous symphonic premieres had been. Although third in number, the "Rhenish" is actually Schumann's final entry in the genre, the forthcoming Symphony No. 4 in D minor, Op. 120, having been originally composed in 1841.
The heroic main theme of the opening Lebhaft is laced with hemiolas that transform its basic 3/4 time into larger bars of 3/2. A second theme in G minor is offered by the oboe and clarinet before being taken over by the violins. The astute listener will have noticed a keen similarity between the rhythmic outline of Schumann's main theme and that of the main theme to the opening movement of Johannes Brahms' Symphony No. 3 in F major. This similarity is enhanced even further during the transition to the second theme in the recapitulation, when the figure is played out with precisely the same intervallic content as the later Brahms melody -- just one example of the deep and abiding influence Schumann's music had on his younger associate. Schumann incorporates the jovial Rheinweinlied (Rhine-wine Song) into the Scherzo, which, as in the Second Symphony, appears as the second rather than the more traditional third movement. The solid C major foundation is shaken up briefly by the A minor Trio (although, rather stubbornly, the bass continues to putter around on low C). Perhaps the most fascinating aspect of the "Rhenish" Symphony is the interpolation of an extra movement. Marked Feierlich (Solemn), the movement originally carried the inscription, "in the manner of an accompaniment to a solemn ceremony." The Finale is a robust outburst (marked, like the first movement, Lebhaft) which recalls some of the main theme from the fourth movement before plunging into a final burst of joyful E flat.
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Description by Blair Johnston, AllMusic
Robert Schumann's popular appeal as one of the masters of mid-nineteenth century piano music has been injurious to his reputation in other genres. His string quartets are frequently ignored by both public and performers due to the oft-stated but ill-informed charge that they are little better than inflated piano transcriptions, and his four mature symphonies have suffered even longer and more painful periods of neglect for similar reasons. It has become fashionable to claim that, even in those passages where Schumann's ideas are more purely orchestral in conception, he lacked enough skill at instrumentation to realize those ideas as well as a better orchestrator might have. Consequently, many conductors have taken it upon themselves to "improve" Schumann's scoring, with results that vary from the extremely effective to the indefensible, and there has hardly been a twentieth century performance or recording entirely free of such alterations.
We can freely admit Schumann's inexperience as an orchestrator, and not take offense at the subtle modifications made to his scores by such well-intentioned musicians as George Szell. On the other hand, the wholesale re-writes by Gustav Mahler have the ultimate and very unfortunate effect of removing Schumann from his element altogether (as does his similar re-write of Beethoven's Ninth).
The first of the two charges leveled above is a different matter altogether, for these four works are by no means mere piano transcriptions. Schumann was obviously a fluent composer for the piano, and some pianistic traits and mannerisms are bound to sneak across from the one medium to the other (very few composers are immune to such "seeping" effects). This in no way, however, diminishes the impact that his wonderfully evocative, prototypically "Romantic" (in the original, mid-nineteenth century sense of the word) symphonies can have in skilled hands. A highly individual sense of a formal design, strikingly beautiful thematic and harmonic substance, and a history of influence on such later symphonists as Brahms and Tchaikovsky all recommend these musical gems to both audiences and musicians alike, who would do well to re-evaluate them on their own terms, and not compare them to the works of later composers who clearly had different means and different goals.
Schumann's Symphony No.4 in D minor, Op. 120, although last by number, is hardly his final effort in the genre. It was, in fact, originally composed immediately following the completion of the First Symphony in 1841, and thus predates either the Second or the Third symphonies. Schumann, however, refrained from publishing the work until 1853, during which interval he undertook some revisions (principally in the area of orchestration, though the work's complexity would lead us to suspect that he continued to tinker with details for some time). The work is far and away the most formally innovative of the composer's four symphonies: the four movements, each structurally incomplete, are to be played without any break. Collectively, they form a single large-scale formal design. Significantly, Schumann considered calling the piece "Symphonic Fantasia"--no doubt wondering if such a creation were still a genuine symphony.
Also I'd just like to make clear that although I do think Wagner's operas were some of the best ever written, his proto-fascist/antisemitic ideals disgust me.
Sometimes it can be tough separating an artist from the art. There's no shortage of unsavory characters who have made great art through the years.
RoundTheBendI miss the comfort in being sadProfile Ground Control
Sometimes it can be tough separating an artist from the art. There's no shortage of unsavory characters who have made great art through the years.
This is true.
If only perfect humans could be artists, that'd be great... mmmmkay?
I suppose what's "lucky" is that none of his music is directly proto-fascist or antisemitic, more like some of his essays he wrote (just like Martin Luther for that matter). But I still love Beck's music even if he was caught up in some conspiracy murder with the cult of Scientology. Thing is, I'd like to believe if that's true, he'd be behind bars, but he's not. I also like a lot of violent rap music. It's just funny how we are ok with some offensive things and others we aren't. It's totally cool we have morphine as a prescription drug, but weed is of the devil (not really a huge proponent/against either, just juxtaposing our social norms/black and white logic that makes no sense sometimes).
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This is a joint post for the 12 Études D'Exécution Transcendante & Grandes Etudes de Paganini from Liszt. I'm sure any "real" appreciator of classical music will like the Études D'Exécution Transcendante much better, and rightfully so. They are more mature, more grandiose, and a cut above, but they also feel more like scales/experiments than music - and I've always been one to stray from music that solely is music for the sake of music instead of conveying humanity through the soul/Humanistic Genius rather than the proper learning of structured education. Even if there were moments of the 12 I really enjoyed, the play on Paganini's work was more exciting - it was equally virtuoso, but had a bit more humanity in it, imo. After a while the over the top playing gets drowned in itself and loses its pzazz, for me anyway. IDK - I'm more of a Beethoven/Mozart piano works fan and the more virtuoso it is the quicker I tune out, but giving the 86 to the play on Paganini cuz I didn't feel that way.
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Description by "Blue" Gene Tyranny, AllMusic:
This 1851 edition of the Paganini Grand Etudes is a considerably simplified reworking of the 1838 - 1839 set entitled Études d'exécution transcendante d'après Paganini (Transcendental Studies After Paganini). The delightfully seductive minor-key tune theme of this third étude is a quote from Paganini's B minor Violin Concerto and was first treated to the variation method in the appreciably more difficult La Clochette Fantasy of 1831 - 1832.
The sound of the "small bell" of the title is introduced by bare octaves in the opening, followed by a long pause. Although this piece is a bravura work, the dynamic is kept at a delicate, colorful, and tastefully restrained piano until the sudden impressive coda. Likewise, the Allegretto tempo should be very flexible, the listener being teased with tinkling arpeggios before each re-entrance of the melody. The melody is first heard in the lower of the right hand lines, accompanied by the staccato bell sound on a high D sharp, with the hand having to skip intervals as wide as two octaves in a fairly quick motion. The left hand offers simple harp-like ascending arpeggios. The melody also contains vocal-like grace notes that add to its charm. The contrasting second subject follows in B major with swift turns, more wide interval skips, and the foreshadowing of more elaborate descending chromatic figures. There are some ear-tickling upper-register octaves exchanged between the left and right hands as the music turns toward the varied recapitulation of the first theme. This variation has the melody in the left hand with the right in a flashy display bouncing off three D sharps spread over two octaves. The melody soon returns to the right hand which switches to guitar-like sixteenth-note triplets. The line eventually climbs chromatically and is suddenly silenced in the highest register. Another pregnant long pause grips the listeners. The second subject returns, but with considerably more subdivisions of the rhythms and the use of chromatic figures. These turn into brilliant arcs, cascades, and eventually ascend with jet-like speed to usher in the theme. The first subject is now surrounded with trills and octave skips creating Impressionist patches of tone color. The secondary theme similarly receives its most spectacular treatment up to this point with a roaring crescendo of contrary-motion chromatic octaves that calls forth the final Animato coda. The music bursts forward, fortissimo, with an impassioned end-of-the-dance fanfare over an insistent bass figure and ever-widening crashes in both hands.
The date of composition of this collection might arguably stretch back to 1826, when the 15-year-old Liszt fashioned a collection of piano pieces called Étude en douze exercices. He intended to expand the dozen to 48; however, he reworked them into the 1838 version of the Transcendental Etudes. During the period 1851-1852, Liszt revised the 12 pieces once more, now known as Études d'exécution transcendante. The 1838 and 1852 sets are quite similar, the former not necessarily appreciably more difficult than the latter.
The first etude, "Preludio," is brief, typically Lisztian and serves the purpose of a prelude or introduction in the sense that it is a sort of warming-up exercise for the performer. The second, in A minor, marked Molto vivace, carries no subtitle. It is a stormy and brilliant piece, anxious one moment, uplifting the next, but muscular in its fleetness.
"Paysage" (Landscape) is a serene, lovely piece, whose repetitive theme appears in a descending pattern. It builds up and reaches an ecstatic climax in the latter half. This is the least difficult of the 12 etudes. In contrast, the fourth, "Mazeppa," inspired by Victor Hugo's 1828 poem, Les Orientales, offers formidable challenges to the performer. After angering the husband of a Polish noblewoman, Mazeppa is tied to a wild horse and dragged all the way to Ukraine. He is released, eventually to lead a Cossack uprising. This etude is manic at the outset, featuring a colorful theme, part-march, part-gallop. Liszt subjects it to a brilliant series of variations.
The fifth etude, "Feux Follets" (Will-o'-the-wisps), is a delicate, fleet piece of playful, wayward character that tests the performer's technique not just in terms of speed, but in dynamics and nuances of coloration. The next entry, "Vision," is somber but ominous in its arpeggiations and tremolo effects. Is it the Dies Irae theme that Liszt alludes to throughout? Perhaps -- Busoni claimed it depicted Napoleon's funeral. "Eroica" shares the same key as Beethoven's Eroica Symphony No. 3, but its theme is not so much heroic as it is dignified and noble.
"Wilde Jagd" (Wild Hunt) is aptly named, as the mood of this dramatic piece, marked presto furioso, lives up to its title by changing from savage to subtle, from furious to furtive, all to brilliantly portray a hunting scene, as typified in the music of German Romantics going back to Weber. "Ricordanza" (Remembrance) is a lovely piece whose focus is nostalgia. It features a beautiful Andantino theme, described by Busoni as evoking the image of a person perusing cherished old love letters.
The tenth etude, unnamed and marked Allegro agitato molto, begins with notes rapidly cascading downward, but it quickly begins a passionate, anxious theme. The music is mostly restless and becomes furious at the end. "Harmonies du soir" (Evening Harmonies) features a beautiful melody that evokes a blossoming of strong passions. The final entry, "Chasse-neige" (Snowstorm) depicts deepening snow. The music is, however, more tempestuous than a snowstorm would usually suggest.
While 2.5 hours, I liked the style within which these piano pieces were written - near gypsy in tone/bohemian, etc.... so I nearly never got bored. It's a bit sad that something like this is reduced down to a Bug's Bunny chase or something in our modern day collective thought, but then again I wouldn't consider this the most magical of musical experiences I've had either - just a bit good/above average. I'm not convinced this is the best recording either - but it is the only full set I could find, one thing I find a little annoying about Classical music - do you only do the compilations or do you listen to full works? Did the artist have all these as "b-sides" not to be played in full but the best bits anyway, or did the artist intend a full 2.5 hour performance? Anyway, I chose the 2.5 hour performance cuz of what I'm trying to accomplish with this project.
Also preludio is the first "classical" style playing that nearly sounds like Jerry Lee Lewis.
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According to Charles Rosen, the Hungarian Rhapsodies represent "the least respectable side of Liszt." Their charm lies not in their musical invention, but in their dazzling expansion of the range of expression possible on the piano, or, as Rosen puts it, "the various noises that can be made with a piano."
When Liszt visited Hungary in 1839, he had been away from the country for 13 years. This visit, plus another in 1840, prompted the production of ten volumes of piano pieces between 1840 and 1847 based on Hungarian themes. In 1851-1853, Liszt published 15 of these works as the Hungarian Rhapsodies, composing and publishing four more in 1882-1886.
While in Hungary, Liszt transcribed numerous melodies performed by indigenous gypsy bands. By using these "ancient" melodies in his Hungarian Rhapsodies, Liszt saw himself as immortalizing the Hungarian race. Actually, many of the tunes Liszt rhapsodized were written by contemporary Hungarian composers and had become popular outside the cities. Like most tourists, Liszt didn't care. He also didn't care that the blatantly flashy, non-musical piano passages in all of the Rhapsodies prompted the contempt of Schumann and Chopin.
The large-scale organization of Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsodies derives from the multi-sectional nineteenth century verbunkos. The Verbunkos is a Hungarian dance style derived from the method of recruiting troops in Hungary in the eighteenth century. It features at least two contrasting sections: the slow lassu, or lassan, and the fast friss, or friska. Liszt varies the number and order of these in the various Rhapsodies, in some cases linking the sections, in others, creating a stream of unrelated ideas in the traditional fashion of a rhapsody.
In the second of Liszt's Rhapsodies, we hear one lassu followed by one lengthy friss, all prefaced by a brief introduction. Typically, the sudden changes of material interrupt what would otherwise be a constant race to the end. While the lassu maintains the opening key of C sharp minor until its very close, the friss is generally in the major mode, closing on F sharp major.
Liszt's approach to the lassu/friss structure is somewhat different in Rhapsody No. 13, in A minor. In the opening lassu, he puts two motives from the second melody through developmental treatment. This leads to a climax, a concept far removed from the gypsy style of music performance. Liszt makes conspicuous use of one Hungarian scale, with a raised fourth degree, while other Hungarian scales appear in Nos. 16 and 17, both beginning in minor keys.
Western art music also permeates Rhapsody No. 14, in F minor. The piece begins with a somber melody with a distinctive rhythmic pattern. In the friss, the same tune and rhythm appear in thick chords, smoothing over the sudden changes that are typical of the traditional verbunkos.
The eleventh Rhapsody adheres more closely to the "gypsy style." Opening with a lento a capriccio, the piece gradually accelerates through three sections, the first of which is a typical verbunkos, the next two evoking the style of the Hungarian csárdás.
-Description by John Palmer , AllMusic
About halfway through is what most modern culture recognizes:
Hey, don't knock Bugs! Without that wascally wabbit, I'd have never gotten into The Barber of Seville!
Oh, and I can honestly say I never expected a Liberace sighting on this site. Nice way to mix things up! I had forgoten how fleet fingered he was.
🤣
Yeah - I guess he took on a different path later in life hehe. Anyway, he had a decent word of mouth intro (not the most historical) to it and smiled a lot... so... yeah just grabbed it. I like live performances when I can get them and couldn't find a better one in less than 30 seconds.
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