K. 42/35a, Grabmusik

Early apologies. For as refined as I may have pretended to be, I am still a troglodyte clinging to an ancient hope. I am not enlightened enough to adhere to the solely material. And, I ain't no hippy out to say every belief is equally valid. I get some may not like that. Sure, I'm out to explore Mozart's music, not preach. But, I'm tackling a religious work, so I will not be able to intellectually and honestly avoid a religious talk. Yet, for the sensibilities of those who may not care to hear the barbaric, I will comment on the music first.

Mozart grew up Catholic. It permeated his familial life. Leopold made major family decisions to ensure they lived in a Catholic region. (They could have had some good prospects had they taken employment in London. It worked for Handel and Haydn. But, alas...) So, of course, a young Mozart would have had composed music for mass. And, we come to another of many. 

K. 42, Grabmusik is his longest mass work at this place in the Köchel, I think. (Unless you count K. 35.) This work is a Passion. Or, it focuses on the suffering Christ went through when he bore the cross. Heavy themes to find the right music. I'm not sure young Mozart carried the emotional-evoking burden well. It is a work of four movements. The first is the most emotionally tone-deaf. (Ha. Ha. Look I'm calling Mozart tone-deaf.) I'm not saying, the music is no good. In fact, it is very nice. It has the same sound of many of his later operas. But, for a song speaking of the soul crushing guilt that Christ had to bear such torture for our sins, it is too jovial. The first movement is redeemed, however, around the 3.5 minute mark. This is actually the best bit of brooding, dark music that reflects real anguish from guilt. Unfortunately, it returns back to a rumpus frolic, with laughing included. 

The second movement holds sorrow. And yes, what fitting emotion to carry when singing of remembering Christ's death. But, the lyrics seem to call for more rumble. I mean... Boulders split... Sun, moon and stars take flight... Thunder! Flames and Lightning...? The third does well enough to reflect guilty sorrow. Sorrow that leads to repentance. And the last bit declares victory. Victory in the death of Christ. "Feed us with thy broken body, now in death's agony."

And, this is the faith that pressed itself upon Mozart. It stayed with him. He would have unlikely ever given it up. Mozart saw his faith as his identity. (Even though, this religion was not what he believed. When I dabble in his Freemason ventures, I'll elaborate more.) He grew up seeing Christ as the suffering servant--which he was. But, this suffering focused unduly on the physical. The triumphant stamp was Christ's death. His physical death. As a protestant, I stress the stamp of victory was his resurrection. There are plenty of Catholics who would say this is a valid point, but even then there is a theology (prevalent for Mozart) that emphasizes an idea of the physical suffering. 

Thus the physical, the material, dominated the Mozarts' fears. And, Mozart's fears, even those fears we might believe were spiritual. 

But I must say, Christ's physical torture was not the pinnacle of the Passion.

The night He was betrayed, Christ wept, trembling with fear for what was about to take place. To the point of sweating blood. I can hardly imagine not having the same fear. Yet, later, when many of the disciples were martyred, history speaks of the peace they had. Stephen celebrated he was going home. Peter picked a more gruesome death.  What? Did they have more courage than Christ? Some may say, 'They had the Holy Spirit.' But, in one sense, isn't Christ the living embodiment of the Holy Spirit. Equal in nature and in strength?

So, am I calling Christ a coward? Be no means! The physical suffering was nothing compared to what he was going to take upon himself. The wrath of God. (A hint of this comes from a sermon I heard. And I do not know all his references, so I apologies for lack of citation) Every forgiven sin, ever committed, Jesus absorbed that wrath. And, even though some believe they have bore guilt and fear, no one can truly know what that kind of wrath is like, but God alone. Christ, God in the flesh, knew what was coming. He fully and completely understood.

We can never know what it was like for Christ. In fact, we have an aversion to the idea that God would take our sins that seriously. In my own sinful flesh, I have a hard time accepting it. So, I'm sure someone who has gotten this far is gnashing his or her teeth because of how 'barbaric' I sound. I'm not trying to offend. But... Everyone can agree that there are, and have been, horrible individuals that were flippantly callous about their actions. Do you think Hitler felt sorry about what he had done? And, in the small odds that he had, would the hint of guilt he could conjure ever be enough?

I know. I know. This is difficult stuff to wrestle with. But, our physical fears are the only fears we can somewhat understand. Thus, they dominate our lives. As with Mozart. And, even the times we wrestle with the spiritual, how do we determine legitimate fears when we have primarily physical experiences? 

Ultimately, there are two types of people: Those who do not fear the wrath of God. And, those who do not need to fear the wrath of God. The former do not believe their actions render such consequences. (They may be right.) And, those who do not need to fear the wrath of God. This could be because He doesn't exist. OR... Or, because one has let Christ bear the punishment for the sins we have committed. Let Christ bear a wrath we cannot fully comprehend. And, let Christ bear a wrath we will never have to.

A troglodyte, as I, strives not to let either physical or spiritual fears dominate my life. I do what I can to cling to a confidence in Christ and his actions. Yet, like just as Mozart's music sings, I fail...

K. 36/33i, Or che il dover – Tali e cotanti sono

Who's ever had a required hunk of work (writing work) where he or she didn't know what to write? Sometimes I have just hacked out something real quick... something I thought the person wanted to hear, not what I really thought. That's a lot easier to do sometimes, especially when I can't formulate my own thoughts on a subject matter.

I remember a punishment I was given in the Army. I was supposed to write a 1000 word essay (yes an essay--very 5th grade, 1950's consequence) on why leaving my belongings unsecured was bad. Toward the end, I started to write about the difficultly of coming up with words to write in a essay, because I left my equipment unsecured. Then, I topped it off with 'How close am I to being done? Oh. I just need two more words. Which two? Oh yeah, I have the perfect ones.... The End.' I had exactly 1000 words. I wasn't expecting him to read it anyway. (For those who wonder if I got further consequences for the work, I will say my squad leader actually read it, and he said he enjoyed it. So, no. I did not get further consequences.)

How much could be truer of writing about someone whom I don't know very well, or don't care for. Maybe, I should just write how hard it was to write. Yeah. I should do that for each of these posts. Hey, ya'll. This stuff is hard to write about.

What better words to throw out for a struggling artist than the words of K. 36? (I realize that Mozart didn't write the lyrics, but I'll address that later.) I couldn't help but laugh at the lyrics to this piece. They are exactly the words I feel all the time. Sure, I do realize they may have been sincere, but the cynic in me wonders. I will give my paraphrase, if you want to whole lyrics look them up in Wikipedia.

Duty compels me to write this song, for this awesome guy, but I can't find the words. I'm trying to beat them out of my head. I'm looking everywhere for inspiration. But nothing. I can't find the right words, because this Schrattenbach fellow is just way too awesome for me to spew out any poetry.

I don't know... It's hard for me to take the words seriously. Maybe the writer did find Archbishop Schrattenbach that awesome. But, as I wannabe writer, I can appreciate the easy way out.

Anyway, on to the Mozarty stuff.

Who was Archbishop Schrattenbach? He was the man in charge before Colloredo. To set up the context of the song, the Mozart's had just returned from the Grand Tour. Three years gone, all while being on the Archbishop's payroll. Maynard Solomon speaks of Leopold's fear of Schrattenbach when the family returned (Mozart: A Life: 1995, pg 68). I know the feeling. Whenever my boss (or my wife) calls me into the office I assume it is because I did something wrong. I'm already tallying the things I know I did wrong, before I even get there. However, the Mozart's tour proves fruitful for the Archbishop as well. Their fame became his fame.

Where as the words of this song convey an artist's struggles, the music starts with that fear of getting called into the office. "What did I do?" Then, the music switches from fear to joy. "Oh. An attendance bonus? (Or something else)." Does this music reflect what he heard from his father? Do they reflect the fears Leopold had after returning from the tour? And, then the possibly exuberance he had when, Leopold found out Archbishop Schrattenbach was in fact happy with Leopold, not angry?

And so, the 10-year-old Mozart, composed a genuine bit of music in honor of Archbishop Schrattenbach's anniversary. His first piece of music after returning home.

K. 41, Piano Concerto No. 4

I thought that some may have gotten sick of my Zaide rants, so I thought I’d get back on the Köchel for a spell. Piano Concerto No. 4. I have already mentioned that the first four were redoings of other works, so what shall I say about K. 41? I thought this would be a fun piece to listen intently to the work in both the harpsichord and piano. I had done that with the others, but maybe I’ll offer a troglodytian analysis on this one.

Clearly, if the work is to be a concerto, I’d say you’d have to use the piano. Harpsichord blends with the orchestra too much. A good concerto needs a quibble. The solo and the orchestra should be separate characters. And, the extra range of emotion you can pump out from the Piano--no wonder they switched after it was invented.   

The first movement was not as impactful between the harpsichord and the piano. In fact, the harpsichord might add the ‘bounding excitingly up a set of architecturally magnificent stairs’ aura. The second movement, however, is where the hammer strikes the emotional strings better than the pluck. Softer emotion needs a softer edge. A sound the harpsichord can’t caress.  The movement sings the song of the spirit that has given up, surrendered to life’s lot.

With the third movement, I don’t know if my tone-deafness just can’t hear the notes, or what. But, the harpsichord seems like as flurry a henish pecks. Whereas a hard piano strike and a softer touch at other times, give the up-paced movement that variety of emotions. It declares triumphantly, “I am going through this battle, but I’m going to win it.”

Listen to the Harpsichord version.
Listen to the Piano version.

K. 344, Zaide Cantor & Psalm 137

Why is it never enough for an authority to have a subordinate do what they request? Why does the subordinate have to have a good attitude as well?

My time in the army is a perfect example. Sighing, huffing, rolling eyes, then saying, 'Yes Drill Sgt.' (Or Sgt.) was as bad as not doing as ordered. A soldier is always to speak with motivation. With a sense of purpose. "YES, DRILL SERGEANT!!" Why was it never enough to simply do what I was told?

In the Army, I understood, the value of morale. So, I guess it makes sense. Keeping spirits high spurs a fighting mentality.

What about the authorities in your life that care about you? Why do they need a good attitude to accompany requests? "Don't you roll your eyes at me young lady." A ma or pa might say. Or, at my job, when I send a resident to his room and he cusses me out hurling any insult he can think of my way, I have a hard time not wanting to ring his neck, even though he just obeyed me. Maybe, the caring authorities are deep down hurt or saddened. Those feeling convert to anger.

Plus, a caring authority knows a bad attitude will do nothing to improve a miserable lot. (You might ask: Will a good attitude? That is not the focus of this post. You can read here for that pondering.)

But, just as the Cantor of Zaide suggests, why do authorities need to control mood as well as behavior. Sure, there is the element of respect. Sometimes, when a resident gives me a bad attitude, there are times when I don't care. (Maybe that is because I don't care). But, my employer will not let blatant disrespect slip without consequence. So, I can see how allowing disrespect to continue could set a bad precedent. And, I see how letting attitude shred a person's soul is bad for the cared one.  So for a resident's and the residency's interest, it is good to address poor attitudes.

Let's forget what is in the best interest of the subordinate. And, blatant disrespect. What about the authorities that are really out to crush soul and spirit of a subordinate?

How did such attitude-battles play out among Colloredo, Leopold, and Mozart? Like two stallions and a gelding locked in a corral. Colloredo likely wanted to crush Leopold. Mozart was caught in the middle. Who was out for Mozart's best interest? (Read here for my theory.) Whatever anyone wanted is not too important. But, Mozart was likely long-faced during the Zaide period. All the while, voices were trying to 'make' him happy. Forced glee.

As I have listened over and over to the jovial slave cantor, Psalm 137 came to mind. An infamous Psalm with the bit about dashing infants against the rocks. (Possibly the reason why one shouldn't cling to bitter moods.)  Yet, one of the powers of the Psalms is the conveying of real emotions. 137 is a Psalm of captive people. Enraged with their captors. Sorrowed in their captivity. A people who use to delight in the sweetest music. Yet, the have hung up their harps. They refuse to sing in their misery. Then comes this interest passage:

For there our captors
    required of us songs,
and our tormentors, mirth, saying,
    “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”

Mirth? Happiness. The captors want them to sing happy songs. Why? Isn't it good enough that they behave? Can't they simply toil in misery? Why do our enemies want us to be 'happy' in our misery?

Is it a matter of pragmatism? Do happy slaves make good slaves? Maybe. But, can you really force anyone to be happy? And besides, wasn't it after Zaide and Gomatz found the thing that made them actually happy, that they became the most rebellious? It doesn't seem as if truly happy slaves would be the best slaves. (At least if the master was cruel and foul.)

Then, I thought of Nehemiah, a slave in his own right (although he had an ok master--if there is such a thing). One day, he was downcast in front of the king (not because of his lot). I remember hearing that even being downcast around the king, was punishable by death. Maybe, that is the key.

Who enjoys being around miserable people? Other people's misery tends to sap joy. Their misery requires effort on our part. To listen. To not ignore. It is a lot of work. What a hassle. And, don't domineering people dominate because they want to rid themselves of misery? Perhaps it is easier to ignore people's problems when one is forcing them to be happy.