This video just cheered me right up.

Also, as someone who tries to spread classical music, I found it gratifying how quickly the crowd gathered, and how willing they were to stay. Classical music is for everyone, but musicians need to make more of an effort to spread it.

Thanks to the inimitable @stephenfry for posting this on Twitter.

P. S. Yes, there are new episodes of Classical Introductions coming. Sorry about the delay (again), but I think I’ve sorted out some important issues that have been holding me up.

I think you should watch this video. Trust me.

For those of you who don’t like animated films that much, here’s another post.

I’ve recently been addicted to this track by Philip Glass, which is the opening of his opera Akhnaten. It’s strange. I really shouldn’t like Philip Glass – to a large extent, he embodies everything I don’t like in music, but so often when I hear a new piece, I respond to it on an instinctive level. I suppose it goes to show that, no matter how much we try to apply objectivity and reason to art, it is, ultimately, something to which we must bring subjectivity, and some part of ourselves. I get lost in the swirling, hypnotic arpeggios of Philip Glass, and this track seems particularly good. The declamations at the end always make me smile.

And yes, I’ve ordered the CD. [Amazon UK/Amazon US]

I’ve recently heard a couple of contemporary pieces by composers who have started out in the popular forms of music rather than growing up in the classical tradition.

First up is rapper Goldie’s Sine Tempore (Timeless). Goldie was a competitor last year on the BBC show Maestro which I didn’t see, but as far as I can tell it was something like an upper-class reality show, with various celebrities competing to become a conductor. (Seriously – but apparently it was pretty good, and Goldie very good.) The piece starts off in challenging atonal soundscapes (with some very cool use of the voice), but coalesces to something grand (and tonal) before diverting into heavy, commanding rhythms.

And second is Radiohead guitarist Jonny Greenwood’s amazing Pendereckian soundscape Popcorn Superhet Receiver (in two parts). Greenwood wrote the amazing score for There Will Be Blood (probably the best film of last year), and his use of extracts from this piece and from another of his soundtracks in it cost him an Oscar nomination. For my money, he would have easily won the Oscar, too.

This piece starts, in Radiohead fashion, with a diversion – a beautiful, almost sentimental, chord in the strings almost immediately washed out in dissonance. Again, this piece generally focuses around stringy soundscapes, but an unexpected rhythmic passage about two-thirds through gives it a real drive to the finish.

This little piece showed up on Twitter a few days ago and I liked it and thought I’d share it with you. The steady rhythm throughout provides a nice pulse, through which lots of deviations can be formed. It’s apparently one of those pieces that consideres music to be an aural-visual medium, but never mind that – it’s still very good.

<The following was posted as a guest blog for the Glenn Gould foundation. The original can be found here.>

I’ve never understood puritanism.

I have often seen Glenn Gould described as a puritan, and justifiably so. Certainly in his approach to life, and in his taste in music, Gould was extremely conservative, but when it came to the way that he played, I think it’s fair to say that he was the greatest rebel in the twentieth century performing tradition. It didn’t seem to matter whether he was playing music he loved or music he hated; his approach was invariably to tackle it in a way that would remain completely unique. To become almost a second composer.

When Gould played, you always heard something completely new. It didn’t matter if you’d heard the piece a thousand times before, his approach was always unique and interesting. In his hands, listening to the Prelude in c minor from the first book of the Well-Tempered Clavier is like receiving two hundred tiny electric shocks. The Goldberg Variations either skate by at an impossible pace or allow you time to contemplate every note. The Brahms rhapsodies feel like they have been deconstructed and rebuilt from the ground.

But, of course, this is all well-known. And you would think that three or four records in, critics would be ready for the fact that Gould played music his way. So reading criticisms of him making music sound like it was his has always made me raise my eyebrows. The staunch complaints about, for example, his organ recording of Bach’s Art of Fugue (which is on my list of favourite Gould CDs) condemned his use of the organ as ‘creaking’ and ‘groaning’, and generally seemed to moan that he wasn’t using it properly. Well, what exactly did they expect? He had been using the piano in a completely unique way for years – why on earth should he submit a conventional organ recording?

When we listen to Gould, we are not really listening to the composer: we are listening to Gould playing that composer’s music, and I really don’t see what’s wrong with that. He did point out on several occasions that there were more than enough faithful recordings of all the established works and nearly everything else that’s been written, and that that frees up (indeed, if memory serves, he felt it obligates) performers to take what liberties they need to make the music new. If this was true in his time, it is doubly so now.

Though his approach was very different from anyone else’s, there were some general consistencies: if he didn’t like a piece, he would often rush through it at an exceptionally high speed as if he couldn’t wait to get to the end, and vice versa in his later years; his touch was always light and very carefully articulated; he used the pedals exceptionally sparingly, and didn’t seem to spare a thought for the long legato phrases lauded by most musicians. But even with these approaches in mind a new Gould purchase is always surprising. Even having an idea of his tastes and styles did not make him predictable, because he always saw things differently.

And really that’s what made him so valuable, isn’t it? He had a different definition of beauty from the rest of us – he loved cloudy skies and gloomy weather, but disliked bright colours; he preferred solitude over company; he was roundly dismissive of many of the established masterpieces of music. But when he saw a piece as beautiful, he could make us see the beauty in it too. Listening to Gould play a piece you’re familiar with is like discovering entirely new music.

Though there is of course something to be said for the ability to listen to many performers’ interpretations of pieces and the nuanced differences between them, there are very few performers alive now willing to give us that break with tradition and that assertion of personality which Gould provided. His insistence on doing things his way has ensured that we have an artist and performer of the twentieth century in possession of unparallelled individualism. It is unfortunate that few others in the classical world have taken up his mantle as ‘extreme’ interpreters, but this is a side-effect of the way we are taught music: that the composer always has to come first.

Rubinstein played Chopin. Kempf played Beethoven. But Gould always played Gould, and for that we are thankful.

I meant to put these up a little while ago.

A few years back, Pianist Andras Schiff delivered an excellent series of lectures on Beethoven’s piano sonatas in London’s Wigmore Hall, complete with illustrations he played himself. (I believe at the time he had recently played a full cycle of Beethoven’s 32 sonatas.)

Very kindly, he made them all available for free download here. They are very interesting and insightful, though I do recommend at least a little knowledge of musical terminology.