That was something else I’d wondered about. Other than advances in recording techniques (wax cylinders to CDs) I wondered why the seemingly endless re-recording of the same music. I never listened to a lot of different versions of the “classic” classics (Beethoven’s Fifth, etc) for this reason. I figured (apparently quite erroneously) that, if you’ve heard one version, you’ve heard them all. :smack:
Wasn’t there some kind of weird conspiracy theory about what “a” should equal?
To clarify the comment on period instruments I thought I’d mention that it wasn’t until the prominence of Bach that we ended up with the twelve-tone enharmonic system we hear today. Modern theory dictates that D# and Eb are the same note; prior to Bach they were, in fact, slightly different tones. For a performance a pianoforte would be retuned to the key of A (for example) and made to perform two pieces both in the key of A (or F#m, the relative minor that uses the same scale). The pianoforte (or clavichord, or harpsichord) could then be re-tuned for the next night’s performance in E or Ab or whatever (which is necessary, because harps and clavs with their plucked strings go out of tune quickly anyway).
Bach composed a great deal on the organ, which could not easily be retuned. Also, an organ keyboard with that many notes would be too large and awkward to play, so he devised a system of tempering between D# and Eb so they became enharmonic (the same tone with two different names). He then released piano exercised The Well-Tempered Klavier so keyboardists could adjust to the new series of tones.
Period wind instruments such as clarinets (added to the symphony orchestra around 1750) were originally available in a wide range of keys, as harmonicas are now. There would be a Bb clarinet, a C clarinet, a Db clarinet, etc. Over time, and with the tempered twelve-tone system, most of the various keyed instruments have not been made. Changing to a tempered system on a violin was simply a matter of adjusting the fingering, so the instruments then differ less than those of today, and mostly in the composition of the strings, which are now synthetic.
Most of the “classical” music you hear (by which I think you mean “symphonic orchestral music”) postdates this invention, but it does affect the overall sound of a particular piece. Today there are digital keyboards that can be de-tempered at the press of a button.
FISH
To each his own, Ike! I just play the bassoon, and like most orchestral musicians (who weren’t fired by him) I think the guy’s spectacular. Here’s an article…
http://www.scena.org/columns/lebrecht/010530-NL-Maazel.html
As the man says, he was asked there by the musicians, who love him (this is common knowledge). I give them more credence than “pundits”, who I dismiss altogether. And I rather like the three B’s.
As for him never being called exciting, how’s this? The author addresses our difference of opinion a little way in. Of course this is only one other man’s opinion. I just felt compelled to find someone else who called him “exciting”. He’s right about the podium technique too. He’s every bit Szell’s equal in ability, just different, perhaps more arrogant. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to post the whole article or not, but it’s from Classics Today.com and the author’s name is at the bottom.
"MAAZEL’S THRILLING BEETHOVEN OPENS PHILHARMONIC SEASON
Avery Fisher Hall, N.Y.; September 24, 2002
Lorin Maazel opened the New York Philharmonic’s 2002-3 season with a sensational interpretation of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony: rich in good ideas, stunning in execution, and brimming with excitement and the necessary sense of occasion. Universally acclaimed as a podium technician without peer, this aspect of Maazel’s art was on graphic display in the maniacally swift account of the second movement Scherzo. Taken with no repeats (a more logical choice than the usual “pick and choose” approach) and featuring an even faster trio, Maazel’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once. Perfect rhythm, exceptional care with dynamics, every cue clearly indicated, it was an amazing display of the conductor’s (and orchestra’s) sheer virtuosity in music that really thrives on it.
Of course, technical ability is no guarantor of musical success, and Maazel has plenty of detractors who find him–with some reason–cold or interpretively perverse, often on account of this very facility and precision. However, it seems to me a mistake to lay the blame on what by any other standard would simple be labeled “exceptional talent.” On this particular occasion, Maazel played Beethoven like the greatest conductor in the world. The first movement opened swiftly, and never stinted on the necessary drama (though the moment of recapitulation would have been even more exciting without the big ritard leading into it). As just noted, the scherzo received a performance for the ages.
And in the glorious Adagio, the supposedly cold Maazel had the orchestra playing its collective heart out. The first appearance of the second subject on the cellos sounded breathtaking, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. And he really nailed that glorious modulation after the second appearance of the climactic passage of orchestral fanfares, the deep notes of the basses adding an unforgettable physical thrill to one of the symphony’s great moments. It was very satisfying to hear the way Maazel touched in the little timpani and double bass motives at the movement’s beginning, setting up with such intelligence and foresight the later dialog between those instruments that takes place below the violin variations of the principal theme. Despite the uncommonly elegant phrasing and masterful control of dynamics, at no point did the listener sense that important structural or formal issues were being sacrificed in favor of incidental detail.
The one moment of real concern occurred at the beginning of the finale, where Maazel made quite a meal of the opening recitatives in the cellos and basses. But as soon as the “joy” theme appeared, swiftly flowing and naturally shaped, the danger passed. Generally fleet tempos, a healthy willingness to let the brass really cut loose now and then, stunning choral work from the New York Choral Artists, and a fine quartet of soloists (Marina Mesheriakova, Jill Grove, Thomas Studebaker, and Peter Rose) made this a finale to treasure. Maazel seemed to relish the spectacle, with a huge tenuto on the word “Gott” just before the tenor march, and a truly grand coda with special emphasis given, à la Klemperer, to the trombone contributions to the festive closing bars.
The concert opened with a John Adams commission called “On the Transmigration of Souls,” a work designed to commemorate the victims of 9/11. Scored for large orchestra, chorus, childrens’ chorus, and (irritating) taped voices speaking names of selected victims and fragmentary statements relating to the tragedy, it was probably a piece that had to be written, however impossible the task. What Adams came up with is a sort of shapeless neo-Ivesian collage, beginning and (predictably) ending with taped street noises, in which bell sounds and a trumpet tune oddly similar to that in “The Unanswered Question” support bits of sung text chosen seemingly at random, none of it suggestive of any especially musical potential. As a 23-minute long curtain raiser to Beethoven’s Ninth, it was about as inappropriate as it was musically inexpressive. No one should doubt Adams’ sincerity, but the result remains one of his weakest works, an occasional piece in the most limited sense of the term and one that need never be revived.
Happily, the audience left with the glorious sounds of Beethoven ringing in its ears, secure in the knowledge that in Lorin Maazel the Philharmonic has a new Music Director in whom the potential for greatness surely resides. One evening does not a career make, of course, and only time will tell if Maazel fulfills the promise of this first series of concerts. There’s no question, though, that he can do it if he wants to and that the Philharmonic was probably right to give him the chance to do it here.
David Hurwitz "
Ike? What the…?
Trit…is that a response to the “ergonomic viola,” or what?
Contra: Yeah, but he yanked the new Adams piece and replaced it with Beethoven/s third “Leonore” overture for the inaugural concert, the big wimp.
Also, the New York Times and the New Yorker both were less than enthusiastic.
“…Unpredictable: performances of his that I have heard over the years range from the propulsive to the repulsive, with few subtle shades in between…In the Ninth, there were many glimpses of Maazel’s familiar tics. In the first movement, he repeatedly applied the brakes in passages that Beethoven marked “a tempo”; that is, don’t slow down. The movement didn’t so much end as grind to a halt…the Finale had infectuous energy, but Maazel’s heavy-footed tempos again slowed the work’s momentum.” – Alex Ross