K. 482, Piano Concerto 22: Forced Optimism

That great project. I've got the one project in my head. Or had it in my head at least. It was going to be the greatest thing ever. The arrogant fool I am. I, at times, still think it is the greatest thing ever written. Maynard Solomon suggests that Mozart felt this very same thing about “The Marriage of Figaro.” Some talk this great talk about believing in your work. Yet, I have these great doubts. ‘Why the hell do I think this is so good?’ Did Mozart smack himself with such thoughts? I don’t know. I bounce back and forth between slapping myself, and trying to encourage myself. I say things like, “This is crap. Why do you think it is so good?” To, “This IS good. You just need to grit your teeth, and push forward. Declare its awesomeness.”

I can see Mozart with these very struggles as he worked on “Le nozze di Figaro” (Marriage of Figaro, for you follow Troglodytes.) Written during Figaro’s making, K. 482 is a reflection of such mental bouts. Now, honestly speaking, I’m at a place where I just don’t get it. They say stay positive. Ok. Ok. Ok. Yeah. That’s it. Stay positive? Not that easy. What am I supposed to do? Force myself to be optimistic?

I’ve been listening to Mozart’s Piano Concerto 22 a lot lately. Magnificent piece. (All of his stuff is, really.) But, it just reflects this struggle to try to keep a positive attitude so perfectly. (I already alluded to the third movement in my previous post.) The first movement starts with a real eager heart. Like I had when I sincerely believed (with little doubt) anything was possible. The piano--that bright-eyed optimist--ventures out naively into the unexplored world. Slowly, it starts to realize, “Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as I expected.” Yet it still hold that optimism.

Then, in comes the moods of the 2nd movement. I hadn’t realized the depth of emotions this movement carries until just tonight. Starts with the orchestra. The rejections of the worlds, they try to speak kindly, yet… They don’t have good news. The piano nods, with self deprecating humility. “I understand.” The orchestra tries to cheer the solo up, at times, but only in a manner that is also trying to encourage it to possibly explore new dreams. The piano tries to hide its real emotions. The flute and oboe do the most to encourage. And from time-to-time the piano jokes around, plays around with a fake smile. The orchestra doesn’t respond well to the joking. It feels the need to be stern. “Ok. Let’s grow up.” So the piano hides.

So comes the soul-realizing third movement. The movement I’ll bet I know by heart. The movement that gets me to exercise even when I hate it. It is that of a beaten man sucking in his breath, standing up, and saying, “Let me have it... I’m still going to keep going.” The music declares. “This is going to be hard, and I may not make it. But, if I sit around acting mopey, I definitely WON’T make it.”

Yes. Optimism. So hard to hold, particularly for a cynic like me. Yet, I think it is much more attainable when one discovers and clings to a truth that will always be there, fail or succeed.

K. 482, Piano Concerto No. 22 (3rd Movement)

I've been hacking away at exercising for the last year. I've lost a chuck of weight, but to be honest, all this work still kind of sucks. One of my favorite exercises is to walk up and down the stairs with a 50 pound backpack on while listening to classical music. My favorite piece to listen to while I do this is Mozart's Piano concerto no. 5. It is such a fitting tune, speaking of a that hippy metaphorical stuff. (That and the tempo is great to step too.)

Bogged down. Shoulders burdened with a great weight. How can we possibly trudge up hill? Life is hard, at least with any real aspirations. All those motivational guru's speak of positivity. Good and well, but how do I really achieve a positive mind set. Some seem to suggest by ignoring negativity. Others seem to suggest positivity is a matter of kicking myself in the rear and yelling 'fight it.'

I'm not sure if K. 482 has the answer, but it presses on.  Mozart wrote this piece around the time he was working on The Marriage of Figaro. He had his own set of obstacles to climb.  The song doesn't ignore the fact that life is hard. It doesn't try to say, 'hey that pack is not really there.' This piece has a slapping myself in the face, keep going tone. So, I will. Trudge that steep ascent toward my aspiration (in the case of exercising: perspirations) with that weight on my shoulders.

Quote Challenge: Day 3

"If people could see into my heart, I should almost feel ashamed... All there is cold, cold as ice."

For my last quote in this challenge, I went a shade darker. In the second quote, Mozart shows himself as a man who didn't let people's opinions affect his craft, while juxtapositionally craving praise. Both attitudes (not caring what people think and over-caring) have a common seed--a lowered view of humanity. Mozart saw people as objects for his passions, not the purpose of his passions. 

Yes, Mozart wanted people to be moved by his music, yet not for their sake, but for his. And this mentality is dangerous. It was dangerous for Mozart. The quote was written the year before he died. With people no longer (if having ever) satisfying his passions, Mozart lost love toward humanity. He grew depressed. Bitter. Insulting. And, I wonder if he could have ever received enough praise. So, he spiraled downward, delving into drinking and sex. It was possibly the combination of the two that killed him. (Although, he was disgusted with himself to know that he shouldn't have been consumed by such cold thoughts.)

There is danger in finding our joy in the praise of others, or in the belittling of others for amusement. Both the glory-seeking flatterer and the jerk-face cynic see humans as fodder bolstering their own status...

Why did I start this blog? I could spew out the noble answer: 'To get people to learn about Mozart and enrich their lives.' But honestly, I wanted to do something no one else was doing to put my name out there as a creative force. Sure, if lives are enriched by my posts, I won't complain. I may even feel good about myself (for a spell). But, even that end risks becoming about me. "Boy, I'm such a profound person, I can change lives." Or, I would think such things.

Now, I have tried hard to appeal to as broad of an audience as I can (considering that I'm writing a post about a refined PBS-lover art form from an unrefined troglodyte tongue). So, I have tried not to ruffle the feathers of the few perchance readers. But, from time-to-time, I must stray from my own name-building, to speak of matters of more controversial significance. To say words, that I believe (feel the complete liberty to disagree) are for the good of those reading.

Putting a gob of work into a venture and not wanting some sort of attention is darn near impossible. Then add insults and mocking, how can one not become bitter? How can one hold onto a passion for an audience?  The key fix: we need to change our view of people. People are not objects out to cater our passions. Does that mean we shouldn't have passion? Certainly not. I'm just saying, poorly directed passions lead to death.

When our passion is not dependent on human acknowledgement AND when it is serves a higher purpose, then we can bear ambivalence and even mockery aimed our way. Plus, if we were ever to find a passion that cannot be taken... Such passion is freeing, but can it really be mastered? Through our own methods, I would say this is impossible.

Yet, a perfect example has walked among us. Of Jesus Christ, 1 Peter 2:23 says, "When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly."

From here, I will avoid getting all preachy or long-winded and encourage readers to chew. Speaking of properly directing passions will likely goad various 'How dare you question my passions' passions. Fair. Mozart's emotions lead to beautiful music for us, but damaged him. Maybe he was selfless. Plus, Mozart's music does not reflect the way things should be, but the way they often are.

For my next part of the challenge, I challenge Stephen Willcox. The associate pastor of my church, he is someone I actually know in person. He writes on the blog 4Men1Hope and writes on matters of faith and theology. There's a good post on Jonah the speaks nicely of some of these same themes. He's got a lot going on right now, since the head honcho is gone, but I'd bet he'd conjure some good quotes. (Just to highlight the rules: Write about one quote a day for three days, challenging another blogger to do the same each day.)

Quote Challenge: Day 2

Yeah, I'm pretty sure I was supposed to this challenge for three days in a row, but we went camping this weekend, where I was thrown off a horse. Don't worry, I didn't get hurt. I was riding bareback, and my nephew jumped on a tent. The horse spooked, and I landed on the ground. I just had to tell that story to salvage some manly pride, since I have not done this challenge properly.

Next Quote:

"I pay no attention to anyone's blame or praise. I simply follow my own feelings."

To be honest, I am not a fan of this mentality. (Although, I likely have it). So why did I use this Mozart quote? On the surface, I wonder if it was even true for Mozart. I think he cared deeply and immensely about people's praise and blame. He craved adulation. He was driven to despair by criticism, especially from his father.

Yet, deeper... And concerning his craft... Mozart didn't let the opinions of others affect what he wanted to create. His father, the one with the most power over him, often reminded him not to neglect the popular. Call it what you may, stubbornness, arrogance, inventiveness, or genius, he couldn't confine himself solely to the music people wanted him to write. Salzburg didn't want piano music. He wanted to explore the newfangled instrument. So he moved to Vienna for creative freedom, but just bumped into another group trying to tell him what to create.

Thus, he sank into depression when he didn't get the praise he wanted. What type of questions did he ask himself as criticism came his way? Reactions we tend to have when dwelling with... gnawing on criticism: "What the hell is wrong with them? What hell is wrong with me? Why don't they like it? Why do I?"  

The battle becomes even harder when one doesn't like, or is tired of, the artistic norms. This can, at times, be dangerous closed-thinking. And, my own writing struggles surface. I finished a work a couple of years ago, and I can see why people wouldn't like it. And, I don't even know what market it would appeal to. But, I think I am too attached to it, to do the major changes some might want to see. (That's not to say I believe it is perfect.) What do I do? Just work on something and attach less emotions to it? (Sure, been trying that too).

(The following comes from a comment I made on Emily Moore's blog post on criticism.)

When is it right for an artist to say, ‘you’re wrong’ concerning criticism? I am not out to stress a kumbaya mentality that states ‘It only matters if you like it,” for if we want our work to sell, someone, somewhere has to like it. And certainly, I have issues creating this shell of arrogance that says, ‘they’re just not smart enough to understand what I’m trying to do.’ (Clearly Mozart did as well.)  As do a number of indie and literary writers out there that criticize everything and anything mainstream. Maybe, others are smart enough, and they simply don’t like it. I know there have been works (supposedly deep ones) that I have understood, but haven’t liked..

But, how does one know when the critics are wrong? I remember hearing Cloris Leachman once speak of how, because certain actors ‘know’ the right things they’re supposed to do, they believe they are good actors. She in turn stressed they are not good actors, but cliché. I liked that application for writing.

So, what do you do with criticism that goes as such, “for this genre you’re supposed to yada…” When in you’re thinking, “Yeah, but I hate it when they do that.” Didn’t many of the great transitionalists meet such criticism? Yet, I guess, maybe… that’s the hope arrogant wannabe writers cling too? I don’t know.

The next target of this challenge shall be Rachel Stevenson who writes the blog What She Wrote. A writer with a nice gritty voice (in her works not her blog), she has hosted a couple of critique party's on her sight. And, I have received valuable feedback from a couple of my less emotionally-attached works. She may be busy with her own projects, but I wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to promote her blog. (Just to highlight the rules: Write about one quote a day for three days, challenging another blogger to do the same each day.)

Quote Challenge: Day One

So, I woke up from a day of sleeping, went to my Twitter account and saw that Emily Moore blogger of A Cup of English Tea dared me to participate in a Quote a day challenge. Like Marty McFly being called 'chicken', this troglodyte daren't refuse a challenge. (Not that I actually minded, I thought it would be fun change of pace in the midst of all the secret stuff I've been working on.)

Because this is a blog about Mozart, I guess I'm bound to use a Mozart Quote. (Not really, It's my blog, I'll do what I want, but it is a good exercise to use his words.) This is a bit hard, because I haven't come across that quote of his that has kicked me in the throat. And, many of the most powerful words from his music didn't likely come from him (he was simply a genius at finding the right music for them).

Anyway, here's the 1st quote it picked.

"The Music is not in the notes, but in the silence in between."

This quote applies so brilliantly to Mozart's music. His music carries such subtle shades of emotion. What appears to be a happy song, if really listened to, turns out to be that of a melancholy soul faking it.   And, that brings me a bonus quote I ran into on the internet by Douglas Adams.

"Beethoven tells you what it is like to be Beethoven, and Mozart tells you what it is like to be human. Bach tells you what it is like to be the universe."

Maybe, this is why I was drawn to Mozart, beyond many of the other composers. While I do love Bach and Beethoven, Mozart's subtle emotional approach connects better with me. Whereas Bach and Beethoven's music expresses emotions I want to feel, Mozart describes how I actually feel. He best captures the messy emotions and thoughts I want to express, yet wrestle how to say. 

Such principles can (and should) also be applied to writing, and speaking (or any art form). How can we get people to consider what we want to say to them? Especially those that disagree.  How can we get them to understand what where we're coming from? What we're feeling? Most troglodytes, myself often included, have been guilty a saying something akin to, "Stop being mealy-mouthed, and just say it like it is..." That's all good and well, but does anyone really like to listen to that jerk who spews his or her opinion about everything, all the time? Without filter? (Again especially when they disagree).

And vice-versa, gobs of hippies out there, will say, "Just share your feeeeeeelings." Sure, we all have feelings, but those who are constantly hijacking conversations in order to whine about something grow exhausting. (Go ahead and watch the Debbie-Downer SNL skit.) And people have a hard time taking them seriously. But, if you take the other extreme, and bottle your feelings like a good troglodyte is supposed to do, you may come off as not caring, when in fact you may care deeply.

Mozart's music reflects such struggles, as well as suggests how someone can find a way to get others to contemplate his or her thoughts and feelings. Not through forceful declaration, but via what may not even be said. That old throw a frog in boiling water axiom applies. Music, today, rarely carries that depth (sorry for speaking Troglodytian, but it's my native tongue). 

Yet, honestly (and I think Emily hinted at an experience earlier this month) some people are thick. They don't get subtly. And so, both Mozart's music and this quote teach us a more important skill. Not how to get others to understand, but how to listen to what others are truly saying.  Few are really truly gifted at boldly and clearly blurting what they want to say. For most, their meaning is not in the notes, but the silence in between. 

Or... Some people are particularly gifted at getting others to absorb all sorts of philosophies without them knowing. As a philosophy major, I get told that I over think things. My wife is often one. She complains from time-to-time how a ruin movies for her. I don't think (confession: I'm really arrogant about this) many people reflect on what others are really saying. They passively absorb contrary gobs of information. 

Ahhh... I got way more long-winded than I intended. Probably because I can't quite pin down what I think or feel about this quote. ............... 

So, next I guess I'm supposed to challenge some one else to this.  First, I'd have to go with Isaac Selya, conductor of the Queen City Chamber Orchestra. He's been very helpful in with my pursuit of trying Mozart. He has put many of the lesser known Mozart works on Youtube, including the purest version of Zaide online. He's likely a busy man, but I wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to promote his work. (Just to highlight the rules: Write about one quote a day for three day, challenging another blogger to do the same each day.)

Mozart's Daughter

While particularly heavy into my Zaide research, I was fooling around with a monologue contest. I thought I'd try to enter something that might emote why Mozart scrapped his work on Zaide. In all likeliness, what I wrote is not close to reality, but it was fun to think about how much his heartbreak from Alloysia played into the creation of the work. But, this monologue didn't win, and I didn't want it to die fully, so I wanted to share it.

(If there is anyone in desperate enough need for a free monologue, fell free to use this. I simply request credit be given to the author.)

Mozart’s Daughter 

(Mozart writes, quill in hand, to his love, Alloysia (Al-uh-wish-uh))

Alloysia. I will prove it to you. You shall see. My name will be great one day. We will not live in poverty. I know you didn’t mean it. You were scared. You still love me. I feel it. Isn’t our love worth it? Who could punish you, when you found what you’re looking for? True love. No misery can scourge our love.

But, I am bound in misery without you.

I know. I know. I could not find a job... Mother died. If anyone has the right to be upset… (scribbles paper with quill)

When I returned from Paris, I was a miserable wreck. I understand I frightened you. Believe me, I’m stronger now.

If only I had been stronger then. If only I hadn’t let father send me to Paris… Perhaps mother would still… (scribbles violently) Perhaps you would have… (scribbles)

I am working on an opera. A beautiful opera... The most beautiful opera ever. This opera will bring me great fortune. It will bring me fame. This opera in devoted to you. This opera is our daughter. (stops writing, looks to the side)

I have a letter. (Mozart leaves his table and returns with a letter and a deflated face)

(silence)

Alloysia has married.

(after a moment of silence, Mozart crumples letter and throws it across the room)

(stands silent) 

(from his desk, he grabs a stack of sheets and tucks them into a leather portfolio)

Goodbye Zaide. I’m finished with you.

K. 51, La Finta Semplice, Cosa ha mai la donna indosso

I've heard it from a movie, Ghost of Girlfriends Past, (not recommending the movie) "the power in all relationships lies with whoever cares less." Now, power shmower. I'm not out to say the deep down all people want dominance over every relationship, but I do believe they want to be taken seriously. They want their voices respected. Their opinions heard. Their passions shared. Sometimes I wonder if it is difficult to be taken seriously, when a person cares more.  It is often the exuberant and excitably passionate individuals have a hard time being taken seriously. They care for the cause, but lack power to rally others behind them.

"But, isn't it passionate people who change the world and achieve success?" Some may ask. Yes and no. There are a whole mess of terms one has to define first. But, I won't dabble too much into that. No matter what someone says, everyone is passionate about something (even if it is the desire to be left alone). But, the world does not take those goofy excitable individuals seriously. That's not to say they don't like them, or even that they do not have awe, just there's a lack of... umm... respect.

Mozart was that kind of person. Yes. His culture appreciated his music, but did not take him seriously as a musical authority. This was likely all the worse when he was 12. Sure, everyone gets a kick out of watching a passionate little kid with talent. But, put that bossy mongrel in charge of adults... Who'd take him seriously? Regardless of his talent. This is the time La Finta Semplice was birthed. They, as Salieri's father suggests in the movie Amadeus, likely saw him as a trained monkey. Sure, everyone loves a trained monkey, but do they take them seriously as a positional authority?

And, what causes this 'trained monkey' impression? Oblivious passion. So, where I had said before that it takes a passionate person to gain a following, more often than not, it is focused passionate individuals. A focused passionate person calculates, considers, (and the yucky word people like me hate) plans. He or she reels in skills outside his or her passion in order to accomplish the passion. The obliviously passionate throw themselves headlong into a pursuit, ignoring everything else. They have a hard time considering others' opinions. Don't take criticism well.  That's not to say such a person never does great things, if fact they often do, but the journey is harder. And they have to be either immensely talented, or lucky. And, many with that mentality wear themselves into a depressed funk.

Now, add this personality trait into the realm of love and relationships. (A good study when I get into Mozart's relationship adventures of the Kochel.) A man falls in love with a woman. The obliviously passionate man throws himself at her. How does that usually work out? Do women respect such a man? If not, how does a boy get the girl? That's a mess of stuff I can't answer, because really there is no science to it. Thank God I'm married, that's about all I have to say about that. This brings me to Cosa ha mai donna indosso. Polidoro, one of the men the semplice is to charm, speaks of his passion for women. "Why do I love them so?" "Any man should be cursed if he doesn't appreciate his wife." Isn't this the kind of passion a woman would what? (I am asking, because I don't know the answer.) Yet, he is portrayed as the fool.

The music of the aria is that of yearning. Unfulfilled yearning. It is only fitting that the movie Amadeus uses the term 'unfulfilled longing' to describe Mozart's music. Some say the scene is the best description of music. Possibly why I'm drawn to it, Mozart's music brilliantly captures unfulfilled passions.

And of course, at the end of the opera, Polidoro doesn't get the girl. The brooding 'I'm not going to let a woman get to me' figure does. (That doesn't sound at all familiar in romance). Then, Polidoro turns bitter.

Once growing tired of not being able to share his or her passions, such person pulls his or her desires in. Hides them. Morphs into a bitter outsider. Or, sinks into despair.  It is not that individuals lose their passions, just the desire to share them. To be fair, I must say this is not always the fault of the world. I wonder if, for some, no amount of passion praise will ever be enough. Now, if such a person can coerce others to share their passions, either via guilt or force, can such praise ever truly satisfy? Sure, one could be like the Sultan in Zaide, and force a lover to stick around, but what would that do? Or, a powerful and rich man could force groups to accept him as an 'artist', but... Deep down, we want others to want to love what we're passionate about. And, sometimes they're not. What? Are they supposed to change who they are, in order to accept who we are?

I don't know. Often the sissy inside me gets whiny when people don't like what I want them to like. Or, when I think they're only pretending to like what I want them to like.