MEMETERIA by Thomas May

Music & the Arts

The Ninth at 200

The Berlin Celebration Concert 1989 – Leonard Bernstein – Beethoven Symphony No 9

Exactly 200 years ago today, on 7 May 1824 at 7pm Vienna time, Beethoven presented a “Grand Musical Academy” at the Theater am Kärntnertor. On the program: the Overture to The Consecration of the House; selections from the recently premiered (in St. Petersburg) Missa Solemnis (Kyrie, Credo, and Agnus Dei); and “a grand symphony with solo and choral voices entering in the finale, on Schiller’s ‘Ode to Joy'” — as the poster described the Symphony No. 9 in D minor, Op. 125.

From The Ninth: Beethoven and the World in 1824 by the always insightful cultural historian Harvey Sachs:

It was in the works of his last years that Beethoven delved ever more deeply into his subconscious while affirming ever more strenuously the artist’s obligation to use self-revelation as a means toward the achievement of worldwide human harmony. I call this process the universalizing of the intimate. His Missa Solemnis, Ninth Symphony, last three piano sonatas, “Diabelli” Variations for piano, and last five string quartets are above all a search for transcendence. In them, he carried the process of universalizing the intimate as far as and probably farther than any other musician had or has ever done; at the very least — as Maynard Solomon, a lifelong student of the composer’s life and works, has written — in these works Beethoven “forever enlarged the sphere of human experience available to the creative imagination.”

“The question of whether or not we ought to read artists’ lives into their works ceases to matter in Beethoven’s last years. His late works were his life. …”

“In many ways, Beethoven was — is – much more modern than we are. “We live ‘as if,’” says the protagonist of Claire Messud’s novel, The Last Life, “as if we knew why, as if it made sense, as if in living this way we could banish the question and the ‘as if’ness itself, the way we speak and act as if our words could be comprehended […].” Beethoven, in his terrifying isolation and his terrible pride and his unsurpassed capacity to transform experience into organized sound-complexities, went beyond that stage. In the last quartets, and certainly in the Ninth Symphony, he obliterated the ‘as if’ness of comprehension, and then went on to obliterate obliteration — to dance on obliteration’s ashes.”

Filed under: Beethoven, cultural criticism, cultural history

Congratulations to Philip Kennicott

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Philip Kennicott

As a respite from the election nightmare, some good news: the 2016 ASCAP Virgil Thomson Award for Music Criticism (Concert Music category) has gone to the brilliant Philip Kennicott for his reflections on the Met’s Cavalleria Rusticana/I Pagliacci double bill for Opera News, titled “Suffering the Truth.”

It’s so satisfying to see a genuinely first-rate writer getting the honor he deserves. In 2013 he was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in Criticism. Kennicott’s eloquent writing is consistently original, stimulating, and richly insightful. Enjoy this prize-winning piece from one of our very finest critics:

It was in the fifth or sixth grade, in the class of a teacher I remember for only two things: he was portly, and his pants were too bright. Everything else is a blur, except for one afternoon when he decided his pupils needed to know something about musical theater, so he brought a stack of records to class and proceeded to play his favorite bits. Among them were snatches of Hello, Dolly!, The Music Man and Mame, and — for reasons I can’t quite figure out — Cavalleria Rusticana and Pagliacci.

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Filed under: cultural criticism, music news

Uplifting

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Reviewing cultural historian Andreas Bernard’s Lifted: A Cultural History of the Elevator, David Trotter singles out the role of individualized control:

The clue to the elevator’s significance lies in the buttons that adorn its interior and exterior. Its automation, at the beginning of the 20th century, created a system of electronic signalling which brought the entire operation under the control of the individual user. In no other mode of transport could a vehicle be hailed, directed and dismissed entirely without assistance, and by a touch so slight it barely amounts to an expenditure of energy. The machine appears to work by information alone. Elevators, Bernard says, reprogrammed the high-rise building. It might be truer to say that they reprogrammed the people who made use of them, in buildings of any kind.

There were, as Trotter points out, many revolutionary consequences: making the skyscraper possible, the “recodification of verticality” (Bernard) — meaning the migration of the “top” class hotel rooms from the bottom literally to the top — the influence on urban planning, etc.

But for all these more or less obvious transformations, Trotter also refers to the elevator’s uncanny symbolic significance in modern life:

Safety first was not so much a motto as a premise. No wonder that the closest high-end TV drama has come to Sartrean nausea is the moment in “Mad Men” when a pair of elevator doors mysteriously parts in front of troubled genius Don Draper, who is left peering in astonishment down into a mechanical abyss. The cables coiling and uncoiling in the shaft stand in for the root of Roquentin’s chestnut tree.

Filed under: book recs, cultural criticism, urban planning

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