K. 30, Sonata in F

K. 30, Sonata in F

As a whole, my first impression of this piece was ‘goodbye.’  The first movement captures that final embrace. Heads tucked ear-to-ear, tears secretly streaming. Each waiting to see who will release first. A looming dread hints that life will not be better after parting.  The second movement is the moment after the embrace.  It starts off, with both acknowledging that each had been tearful.  Then, the cadence livens up.  It says, ‘Hey, let’s remember the good times.  Let them be our hope.’  But, the music suggests that neither believe reminiscing will ever satisfy.   

Two Envies, Too Envious

Two Envies, Too Envious

The movie Amadeus delves into a long-standing conspiracy of betrayal and murder.  I’m not going mess with the historical less-than-likeliness of the movie concerning the relationship between Salieri and Mozart.  However, one element in the movie strikes me as spot on: Mozart’s Envy. ‘Huh?  Mozart’s Envy?’ You may be asking.  True, the envy of Salieri is obvious in the overall theme of the movie.  But, I’ve not researched enough to know if this kind of envy actually burned within the opposing composer.  Nor, do I believe Salieri’s jealousy is as detrimental as Mozart’s.  Yet, the movie does display two envies.  Salieri’s, which is obvious.  And, hints at Mozart’s, a subtle suggestion of a historical reality. 

First, I will comment on Salieri’s envy.  I call this type, ‘Talent Envy.’  I’m not out to declare that any jealousy is good, but there is an element of acknowledged greatness with this type of envy.  ‘If only, I was like Mike.’  The all too often mantra declared during my teen years still echoes today.  Not only does this type of envy acknowledge greatness, it can often spur greatness.  How many young men have spent countless hours practicing basketball to become the next Michel Jordan?  Or, after hearing stories about Mozart’s prodigy while listening to his music, how many musicians created works of greatness, saying, ‘If only I had Mozart’s talent, I wouldn’t have to work so hard?’  Beethoven maybe?   Sure, there are negatives to this type of jealousy, as Amadeus eludes, but how many of these examples lead to such Salieri overreactions and cutthroat manipulations?  

The Mozartian envy, however, is arrogant, insulting and rude.  ‘Success Envy.’ Such a jealousy plagues me horridly.  Anyone with half a brain should catch the irony as he or she continues to read.  Whereas an individual suffering from Talent Envy might say, ‘If only I had (blah’s) talent, I’d…’ an individual with Success Envy would say, ‘that person is only successful because…’  Those with such a jealously believe they are uniquely superior, in whichever discipline, and the world can’t acknowledge it because it lacks intelligence.  Think about that co-worker that says if he were he charge, he’d run the place better, because no one in management as any common sense.  Or, that opinionated political guy who tells everyone what’s wrong with everything.  Or, the wannabe actors, singers, or writers that believe popular culture spews nothing but shallow drivel forced onto the masses by consumerist corporations that want to sell junk no one really needs.  Those artists are not sorry that they can’t keep up with the Kardashians. They are simply mad that everyone else is trying to.

I am not saying the ‘success-envious’ are always wrong by such assumptions.  A strong case could be made that Mozart wasn’t.  But, even when an individual is right, he or she often rubs people the wrong way. Such a person believes that the world should simply acknowledge his or her greatness regardless of the attitude with which a talent is presented.  An example from Amadeus: Salieri slaved to write a piece for Mozart.  When Mozart received it, his attitude was flippant.  And, he showed Salieri how it could be improved.  Now, Mozart’s behavior was unintentional, but it does illustrate an attitude I’ve picked up from Mozart’s letters.  I can’t help but wonder how many of Mozart’s troubles stem from his jealousy concerning perceived undeserved successes.

Of course, neither Success Envy nor Talent Envy necessarily correlates with an individual’s talents.  That is to say, immensely talented people can be plagued with self-doubt, jealous of their peers’ talents, when they may actually be more skilled than their counter-parts.  Moreover, horridly untalented individuals may believe their fecal matter should be piled on a pedestal, but ‘the man’ just keeps flushing it down the toilet.

One final element that bothered me in the movie.  In order to feed their theme, the creators of Amadeus overemphasized that Mozart was a man before his time. A man plagued by a world that couldn’t acknowledge his talents.  With the only visionary being his greatest rival.  Salieri recognized Mozart’s greatness, but refused to acknowledge it.  The movie thread its theme via suggesting that Mozart’s operas were lacking in attendance.   Whereas, I have read that they were commercial successes.  Sure, countless people agree that Mozart was not properly compensated for his talents.  I just struggle… What would have been the proper amount of compensation or acknowledgement?  And, even if he had received what we determine as acceptable, would it have satisfied him?  Or would he have simply craved more, squandering the increased finances and attention?

At times feeling under-acknowledged, I ask such questions of myself.  But, why should I?  It’s not my fault the world’s too dumb to listen to I have to say. 

K. 219, Violin Concerto #5 (First Movement)

K. 219, Violin Concerto #5 (First Movement)

There tends to be two types of openings in Literature and Movies.  One starts at normalcy.  The plot boils as conflicts are introduced, until we reach the climax.  The other starts with the final stairs of the climax then knocks the audience down to the bottom of the plot-hill.  We wonder the rest of the movie how the protagonist is going to find him or herself in the introductory predicament. Or, in some cases the introductory jubilation.  The second type of opening has its place, but is so often over-used simply as a means to grab the attentions of an ever-growing impatient audience.

Why bring this up?  The first movement of Violin Concerto #5 has such an opening.  Many music pieces have this element, and I prefer this opening in music as opposed to books and movies. The first strum of stings tick with clock tocking precision.  Cheerful strings proclaim among the increasing beats that they’re ready to take on the world.  The orchestral opening dances with a sprinting optimism at its peak.  ‘Anything is possible’ the voice declares.

Then, the music knocks back the in mood.  The solo violin, timid and frail, asks if it has what it takes.  ‘Is anything really possible?’ The orchestra replies with a gentle touch to the back, ‘yes.’  ‘You can do it.’ The solo violin gains self-confidence, bolstering ‘you’re right.  I can.’ The accompanying strings agree with jubilee, as the solo violin seems to list off each of its attributes.

Around the four minute mark self-doubt seeps back into the violin.  The orchestra reassures the violin, but with less patience.  The violin submits saying, ‘Yeah.  You’re right!’  This banter continues mostly in an optimistic voice with only hints of doubt. The orchestra grows more demanding and seems to want top kick the violin in the rear to get moving.  With one last self-struggle, the solo violin is waiting at the door.  The orchestra encourages it to go out and conquer the world. 

But, what kind of conquering does the orchestra want from the violin?  As I delve into the rest of K. 219 in later blogs, I will explore more how Mozart’s mood may have influenced the work.  Although, the first movement is primarily optimistic, it is peppered with self-doubt.  I see Mozart standing at his Salzburg door, on the verge of manhood.  The world tells him he is destined for greatness.  His father. Salzburg. Whatever… But, the same world that is proclaiming his brilliance is also trying to dictate how it wants him to use it, most likely for self-serving purposes. 

I don’t know… How does one find that balance?  We can sit back and whine about how the world won’t let us be ‘us.’  But ultimately, how can we ever get the recognition we want, if we don’t in some way, at some time, cater to the world’s demands?  Really, isn’t the world full of self-doubting individuals who seek out certain mediums for their own comfort?  Although, we are prone to seek out vain, unlasting comforts.  Sometimes, we do need something larger than ourselves to encourage us to seek out comforts of greater value (an everlasting comfort?) even if the journey is scary. And… Even if we don’t get the adulation we crave. 

K. 527, Don Giovanni: A Work without Blemish

K. 527, Don Giovanni: A Work without Blemish

Charles Gounod called Don Giovanni ‘a work without blemish.’   I am inclined to agree, in all but one stylistic nitpick, which I will address later.  First, I must say, when it comes to watching Operas, I am a troglodyte.  I’ve watched a few, just for the cultured experience.  Most were quite boring, even Mozart’s. The music is good though.  I had no problem leaving them part way through to return to them later.  I believe this lack of enthusiasm stems from plot issues.  From my limited experience, operas tend to focus on emotions and music via a straightforward plot.  I like action in my viewing entertainment.  I get bored watching characters lament about the same conflict for a half-an-hour +.  I want something to happen.  I want my plot devices to move the story forward.  Operas seem to follow Aristotle’s rules of plot. Where as, I like Shakespeare’s reinvention of plot. 

Then there’s Don Giovanni.  I first watched it, knowing that I would not have time to finish it.  I had to get to work.  An hour and a half passed.  I didn’t want to stop.  So, I ended up taking my laptop to work and finishing it.

What makes Don Giovanni more compelling than other operas?  What makes it a work without blemish?  And, how much credit should be given to Mozart, and how much given to his librettist Lorenzo Da Ponte.  Da Ponte and Mozart must have from a perfect partnership. Ultimately, whoever gets the credit, the themes, music and plot are spot on.

Let’s start with the overture.  This is one of my favorite Mozart pieces.  Only, I wrestle back and forth whether the tone fits the mood of the opera.  The opening elements do.  Dark strums that remind me of Bach’s eerie opening of Toccata and Fugue.  Then, Mozart introduces roars of triumph that contrast the darkness.  The overture proclaims a classic battle between good and evil with a fist-pumping excitement.  Now, I do love the song.  I have listened to it while running for motivation.  But, I can’t help but wonder if it sets the right mood for this tragic opera.  Sure, Don Giovanni is an evil man. And, he does ‘lose’ in the end.  Yet, he is the protagonist.  The overture would lend one to believe, good will prevail via winning over Don’s heart, showing the man the error of his ways.  Maybe, this is what Mozart wanted his audience to believe would happen. A set up for the twist ending.  Opening musical irony, in a work possibly riddled with irony.

The plot of the opera is filled with action.  Each character aims to give Don Giovanni his comeuppance. Several subplots gnaw at the overall plot.  The character’s all carry a theme of their own.  If one wanted to write a book about Don Giovanni, he or she could devote an entire chapter to each character.

However, one particular character has staying power.  Elvira.  Don Giovanni’s jilted one-night stand.  We’re introduced to her with a brilliant moment of humor.  She recognized Don, who can’t remember her.  His servant, Leporello, has to point to her name in Don Giovanni’s book of conquests.  Don sweet-talks the woman giving her a reason why he left.  She starts to fall for it, until fate reveals his true character.  She, as the other characters, is at first consumed with anger toward Don.  As the story drives forward, she realizes she loves Don.  But, I don’t think this love is necessarily an ‘I want to marry the man’ sort of love.  She has a genuine concern for Don’s well being. 

Thus, she confronts him.  She tells him he needs to repent. Plea for mercy.  Don Giovanni mocks Elvira.  He calls her a hypocrite.  How relevant a defensive action?  We all wrestle with this great debate.  When should we confront someone? And how? This seems to be a ‘live and let live’ world. But, if you break it down, it is really not.  We all have those ‘hot button’ issues we think need to be fixed.  (Even those that label themselves ‘completely open-minded’ dogmatically feel the need to confront those that confront others.)  Like Don Giovanni, when confronted with a particular vice, confrontees point out confronters’ hypocrisy.  This is why so often, we may be afraid to speak up. Not because we are without values, but out of fear our hypocrisy will be revealed.  Elvira proceeds anyway.  She fights through the ridicule (even truthful ridicule) for Don Giovanni’s well-being.

Along with plot, the music has its own peculiar messages.  Là ci darem la mano froths with irony. I can’t help but wonder if Mozart thrust some jilted views of romantic love into this song.  Without context, I’d say this duet is expression of heartfelt emotions between two people in love.  Yet, this could not be farther from the truth.  Sure, it is a powerfully passionate piece, but what passions are being presented?  The song is a conversation between Don and Zerlina.  Don is trying to woo a woman on her wedding day.  He proclaims his affections to her, asking for just one night to prove himself.  Don’s nefarious intents are clear, but what about Zerlina’s?  Why is she willing to even entertain a relationship with a man she just met? On her wedding day?  Money.  The idea of hooking up with a rich guy?  Does that motivate any woman today?  Did Mozart experience any share of gold-diggers?

Why create beautiful, sincere music for such ugly emotions? So often, we equate those that create beautiful music, as some sort of romance geniuses.  But really, what is the relationship track-record of our greatest love-song writers?  What were Mozart’s wrestlings as he wrote this duet? Marriage issues plagued the composer.  I could see his wife nagging him about their finances.  Guilt may have been plaguing from his indiscretions.   Did he find his old ideals of romance nothing but vanity?  Or, maybe he simply created an unrealized irony. 

So, since a pleading woman couldn’t lead Don Giovanni to repentance, surely the awakened statue of his murdered victim could.  No.  Don must have been a stubborn man to ignore such a supernatural calling.  In his biography on Mozart, Maynard Solomon offers several suggestions why Don refused to repent.  All of which seem to hint at a subtle sense of nobility with in Don Giovanni.  My differing precepts of human nature lead me to what I believe is the most obvious reason for Don’s refusal to repent.  Don did not believe his sin was that serious, even though everyone else did.  So often, when an individual is confronted, he or she tends to not believe their actions are serious.  We all have the tendency to deny or shrug off our faults. ‘I’m only human’ is a common mantra.  Of course, when someone commits an act we find particularly egregious, a righteous indignation burns within us when that individual has a flippant attitude concerning his or her offense.  This opera is full of characters burning in such a manner against Don Giovanni. 

Now, on to the one flaw. The last number.  Now, my issue with this ditty is not an issue of substance or music, but literary style.  The opera ends with the rest of the characters moralizing the story.  They proclaim the effects of unrepentant sin.  From English and Literature classes, one rule states: never tell your audience the moral of your story.  A work should have such weight that you won’t have to.  Don Giovanni has that very power.  The finale is unneeded.  I’ve read that some composers of the past omitted the last song. I can see why.   

K. 29, Sonata in D

K. 29, Sonata in D

All but K. 26 of The Hague Violin Sonata’s are two movements.  The first element that struck me about K. 29 was a slower tempo version melody of the 2nd allegro from K. 14.  It called out from the backdrop in the first movement.  This K. 14 melody is the one that has stayed strongest in my head from all these earlier sonatas.  (That does not necessarily mean it was my favorite.)  Why particular melodies stay in one’s head baffles me.  For the most part, the first movement conjures relaxed feelings, like a lazy Sunday afternoon.  The second movement starts with a daydreaming hopefulness.  Then, in bipolar manner, hopeful ponderings alternate with ‘what if’ worries.