Music to Soothe a Ruffled Soul

     Those of you who follow this blog know of my obsession with Schubert's late piano music. I wrote another post and even a poem about his last piano sonata. Today I offer you one of his most sublimely melodic and introspective pieces, the Impromptu in G-flat, Op. 90 no. 3, played here by one of the undisputed masters of Schubert's music, Alfred Brendel. Equally beautiful is the rendition by another undisputed master, Wilhelm Kempff, which you can listen to here. For me, Brendel edges out with his ice-melting tone, though both he and Kempff give Schubert's long, arching melodies the fullness of singing romanticism without overt sentimentality, and give the rest of the texture wonderful clarity.

     I suppose someday I'll have to write a poem about this piece as well.

Ears without Eyes

     A few years ago I gathered all my piano scores that were in solid physical shape and weren't rife with my personal markings and sold them to Half Price Books, in hope that some earnest piano student with limited funds would snatch them up. Snatched they were; in fact, when I returned to Half Price a couple of weeks later, most of my scores were gone. I wasn't surprised, really; piano scores of the better editions can be very expensive when bought new, especially for poor students.

     Besides needing the shelf space for my ever-expanding library of books, I sold my scores because I decided once for all to give up playing the piano, even for personal pleasure—"personal pleasure" for me never could last long, as my temper and hyper-perfectionism always got the better of me. I did, however, keep a few: Mozart sonatas, Chopin nocturnes, a handful of concertos. Some things one cannot part with, for any reason. It would be like losing a limb. (Another reason why I made a very poor nun.)

     Now that I can once again listen to piano music without the emotional pain—for which I am infinitely grateful—I find it peculiar in a sort of amusing way that listening is so difficult for me without actually seeing the music. It occurred to me last night, as I listened to the chiaroscuro  of Schubert's D959, that I would better understand not only the music but also Kempff's interpretation (for that was whose performance I was listening to) if I had the score in front of me, and could see the actual markings. Only in that moment did I realize just how much of a hindrance my musical history was to simple aural learning. I thought of all the music lovers in the world, those with a genuine, refined, informed taste, who can't read a note of music. How do they "learn" the music without seeing it? * That one could indeed learn merely by listening is a notion I never seriously had to consider till now—now that I had no score to consult whenever my ears prompted the question, "Why did Kempff do that ? Why did he make that specific choice, if it was  his choice and not an actual marking in the score?"

     I don't regret for a moment the basic reason behind selling my scores, but now I do regret not being able to consult them, to which end, I have ordered the Complete Schubert Sonatas (unfortunately sans  the "fragments") in the very edition I once owned. I anticipate its arrival as I would the arrival of a dear friend I've not seen in a long time. Its renewed presence in my life will not stir up old, painful memories, but will only enrich and enhance my newly found "personal pleasure" in listening to music.

* I'm not referring to "playing by ear," which is another thing entirely; I'm referring to getting to know a piece of music intimately through study.

    

Lately I've Been ...

I swiped this meme from November's Autumn. It's appeared on a few other blogs as well.

 

Lately I've been ...

 

... writing revisions of my new poem, formerly titled "The Language of the Sea," now titled "Amphitrite." I'm still not happy with it, and honestly don't know if it'll work out at all. I might just chuck it into my rejects file and see if, in future, any portion of it can be culled for use in another poem. I've done that a few times, with successful results. Waste not, want not, even when it comes to poetry.

 

... reading In Defense of Sanity: The Best Essays of C. K. Chesterton.  I've not read any Chesterton till now and am loving these essays. What a fertile mind, what an engaging and lucid writer! He is indeed a master essayist, worthy to be placed in the same rank with Johnson, Hazlitt, Addison and Steele, and Lamb, all of whom were recommended by my great "kinsman of the shelf" Helene Hanff, through her book 84, Charing Cross Road.  However, nowhere does Helene mention Chesterton, and if indeed she never read him, she certainly missed out on a great writer. She'd have loved him, I think.

 

... listening quite a lot these days to Schubert's piano sonatas. I owned a score of them for years, contemplating every so often actually studying one or two of them; but for some reason his solo piano music didn't appeal to me. Besides which, much of it lay very awkwardly under my tiny hands. (I have, however, loved and played many of his lieder.) But I recently bought Stephen Hough's CD and upon listening to it, my opinion of Schubert changed completely. I suspect the change is also partly due to age—some music and certain composers are better appreciated, and indeed, better understood, from a more mature viewpoint. Of course, since I have quit the piano altogether, I still won't be playing any Schubert, but I now have the great satisfaction of listening to him. As Hough has written, while Beethoven is overtly passionate, Schubert is more reticent. His passions are glimpsed through a veil, through a partially opened curtain. And though what may be glimpsed is bleak, it is nonetheless intensely moving.

 

... watching—why, Dancing with the Stars,  of course! My mother and I are hooked. Well, she's been hooked a lot longer than I have; I am only a recent convert. I must admit, it's great fun and a nice change of pace from all the cooking shows, House Hunters, and House Hunters International.  Ever since I moved to Houston in 1989, I no longer watch current series, and I know even without sampling an episode that I would absolutely loathe reality shows such as—I don't know, that housewives thing, or whatever. But I genuinely enjoy DWTS.  I doubt, however, I could ever get into American Idol, America's Got Talent, and whatnot, simply because I can't stand most of what passes for singing these days. I am both a dinosaur and a cultural snob. Yep, I am. Call me Niles.

 

... looking pretty bad. Cannot tell a lie; my physical appearance has definitely seen better days.

 

... feeling under the weather. Which is probably why I've been looking bad. I'm just getting over a cold; still feel a bit 'snarfy' in the sinuses. Allergies don't help, either. I am grateful, though, that autumn is here. Summer in Texas is far too long and hot. You'd think I'd be used to that, but the sad truth is, you never  get used to it.

 

... anticipating receiving in the mail the Complete Schubert Sonatas played by Wilhelm Kempff. Yes, this dinosaur still listens to music on CDs, and sometimes even on vinyl. I had a hard time deciding between Kempff and Brendel, but ultimately went with Kempff. I'll probably get Brendel later on. The thing about classical music, including opera, is that you can't just listen to one artist performing any one piece. In order to appreciate a piece properly, you have to listen to as many interpreters of it as possible. Otherwise, you're not appreciating the piece of music itself; you're appreciating one person's interpretation.

 

... wishing oh, so many things! I wish I could go to Italy again. I wish I could go to England again. I wish I could write a poem without ripping my brain and the poem to shreds. I wish I could write a poem, period. I wish my hair would stop falling out onto the bathroom floor.

 

... loving being able to listen to piano music again without feeling that invisible knife twist in my gut. And in case you're thinking, "Well, why don't you write a poem about that?"—fact is, I already did.