(by Wilhelm Bachaus)
"I have continually been asked, "What is the most difficult composition?" The question always amuses me, but I suppose it is very human and in line with the desire to measure the highest building, the tallest mountain, the longest river or the oldest castle. Why is such a premium put upon mere difficulty? Strange to say, no one ever seems to think it necessary to inquire, "What is the most beautiful piece?" "Difficulty in music should by no means be estimated by technical complications. To play a Mozart concerto well is a colossally difficult undertaking.
The pianist who has worked for hours to get such a composition as near as possible to his conception of perfection is never given the credit for his work, except
by a few connoisseurs, many of whom have been through a similarly exacting experience. Months may be spent upon comparatively simple compositions, such as the Haydn Sonatas or the Mozart Sonatas, and the musical public is blind to the additional finish or polish so evident to the virtuoso."
Friday, November 21, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Features of musical aesthetics
(By Will Earhart)
1. The first facts in music are emotional cries, as of birds, animals, primitive men.
2. In origin music is characteristically vocal.
3. The individual, at the moment of musical experience, is strongly active (emotionally).
4. The value of music to humanity is to heighten man's power by vast intensification of feeling.
5. The highest temple of musical art would be the music-drama auditorium.
In contrast to this general view a view that is seldom if ever, explicitly stated, but that may be discerned as implied by attitudes and preferences is another, similarly existing by implication only. It assumes that music arose because of
the Pleasure of the Ear in Tone. Instead of the emotional cries of birds, animals and men, this theory would find the origin of music in the twang of the bow-string, the sound of the wind in the reeds, the murmur of falling waters, the ring of wood on wood. All natural sonorities would become primary experiences in man's musical development. As against the other view, we would now think of music as primarily or characteristically instrumental; would conceive the individual, at the moment of musical experience, not as being strongly active but as being sensitively and beautifully receptive; would find the value of music to humanity to reside (in a word) in culture that is, in the ability to find joy in every beauty that nature or man provided; and would find the true temple of music represented, not by the
operatic stage, but perhaps by the organ-loft in St. Thomas Church in Leipzig, as Bach communed with incorporeal visions; or perhaps by the small chamber in which a string quartet would seek glories from an unseen world.
1. The first facts in music are emotional cries, as of birds, animals, primitive men.
2. In origin music is characteristically vocal.
3. The individual, at the moment of musical experience, is strongly active (emotionally).
4. The value of music to humanity is to heighten man's power by vast intensification of feeling.
5. The highest temple of musical art would be the music-drama auditorium.
In contrast to this general view a view that is seldom if ever, explicitly stated, but that may be discerned as implied by attitudes and preferences is another, similarly existing by implication only. It assumes that music arose because of
the Pleasure of the Ear in Tone. Instead of the emotional cries of birds, animals and men, this theory would find the origin of music in the twang of the bow-string, the sound of the wind in the reeds, the murmur of falling waters, the ring of wood on wood. All natural sonorities would become primary experiences in man's musical development. As against the other view, we would now think of music as primarily or characteristically instrumental; would conceive the individual, at the moment of musical experience, not as being strongly active but as being sensitively and beautifully receptive; would find the value of music to humanity to reside (in a word) in culture that is, in the ability to find joy in every beauty that nature or man provided; and would find the true temple of music represented, not by the
operatic stage, but perhaps by the organ-loft in St. Thomas Church in Leipzig, as Bach communed with incorporeal visions; or perhaps by the small chamber in which a string quartet would seek glories from an unseen world.
Friday, November 14, 2008
The Violin
In this instrument ("the king of instruments") the art of instrument making has reached its highest point in terms of simplicity of materials and effect. The violin has the unique advantage of combining the emotional expressiveness and flexibility of the human voice, which it closely resembles, with a special brilliance and agility of its own in passage work. Unlike the human voice, the violin can also play chords to some extent.
This instrument first emerged in the sixteenth century and evolved substantially to its present form in the eighteenth century with Antonius
Stradivarius. Certain changes were made in the nineteenth century to in crease the power and brilliance of the violin. The bow, "the soul of the instrument," is strung with horsehair, and it assumed its present form about 1780 in the hands of Franfois Tourte, still considered the greatest of all bowmakers.
The violin is fully chromatic (that is, can play all the semitones) throughout its range. Originally the violin I part had more interesting and difficult things to do than the violin II. Since Wagner, however, the latter part has become increasingly difficult, and in some scores one part is as difficult as the other.
Almost any violin concerto will give an idea of the violin's capacity for
singing tone and brilliant passage work.
Bach Brandenburg Concerto No1 Part 1
This instrument first emerged in the sixteenth century and evolved substantially to its present form in the eighteenth century with Antonius
Stradivarius. Certain changes were made in the nineteenth century to in crease the power and brilliance of the violin. The bow, "the soul of the instrument," is strung with horsehair, and it assumed its present form about 1780 in the hands of Franfois Tourte, still considered the greatest of all bowmakers.
The violin is fully chromatic (that is, can play all the semitones) throughout its range. Originally the violin I part had more interesting and difficult things to do than the violin II. Since Wagner, however, the latter part has become increasingly difficult, and in some scores one part is as difficult as the other.
Almost any violin concerto will give an idea of the violin's capacity for
singing tone and brilliant passage work.
Bach Brandenburg Concerto No1 Part 1
The ascent to the sacred music
(By J. Edwards)
In simplest definition, music is rhythmical sound used as a means of expression. What it expresses is first in the soul from which it flows. It takes the color of the soul's atmosphere. As an art it is not found in nature, but belongs to the ear, the brain, and the spirit of man. Nature gives only sound of which to make music. It is, therefore, a human art for the expression of the spiritual in man. In its primitive form, as in drum worship and the early religious use of bells, music was really a naive attempt to interview the invisible spirits supposed to reside within them, which responded by rhythmical and more or less melodious sounds. The ascent from a crude, animistic essay at communion with the spiritual world to the Veni Spiritus, Bernard's celestial song, Bach's Passion Music, or the best hymns of Wesley and Faber in fitting musical expression, marks the course of man's religious growth. In sacred music he utters the highest that is in him, and aspires after that which is far higher.
In simplest definition, music is rhythmical sound used as a means of expression. What it expresses is first in the soul from which it flows. It takes the color of the soul's atmosphere. As an art it is not found in nature, but belongs to the ear, the brain, and the spirit of man. Nature gives only sound of which to make music. It is, therefore, a human art for the expression of the spiritual in man. In its primitive form, as in drum worship and the early religious use of bells, music was really a naive attempt to interview the invisible spirits supposed to reside within them, which responded by rhythmical and more or less melodious sounds. The ascent from a crude, animistic essay at communion with the spiritual world to the Veni Spiritus, Bernard's celestial song, Bach's Passion Music, or the best hymns of Wesley and Faber in fitting musical expression, marks the course of man's religious growth. In sacred music he utters the highest that is in him, and aspires after that which is far higher.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
A cat playing the piano
Have you ever seen how awesome cats play the piano? And generally have you seen any cats playing the piano? I found an amazing funny video with a cool cat.
There is so much sense in its performance! It is playing very expressive and listening to how the piano sounds. Well, actually I always suspected that the cat is a pretty smart animal, but I haven't realized how smart it can be so far. The most surprisingly is that it sits on the chair during the playing and plays "with both hands"!
There is so much sense in its performance! It is playing very expressive and listening to how the piano sounds. Well, actually I always suspected that the cat is a pretty smart animal, but I haven't realized how smart it can be so far. The most surprisingly is that it sits on the chair during the playing and plays "with both hands"!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Metropolitan: all the vogue
I've seen some beautiful pictures of Renee Fleming and her amazing dresses, designed specially for the gala showcase by Karl Lagerfeld, Christian Lacroix, and John Galliano. A dress trimmed with lace from "Manon," designed by Mr. Lagerfeld is really a dainty work. Costumes from "Traviata" designed by Mr. Lacroix are iridescent and full of air. And my absolute favorite, the amazing dress, designed by Mr. Galliano for scenes from "Capriccio."
You can have a look at these photos here: NY Times photos of Renee Fleming
You can have a look at these photos here: NY Times photos of Renee Fleming
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Brahms Variations
(By Philipp Spitta)
The old Variation form, above all, is brought out from the treasures of the old composers, and glorified in his hands. Brahms's variations are something quite different from what had been commonly known by that name. Their prototype is Bach's Aria with thirty variations, and that work is an elaboration of the form known as the Passacaglia, in this the determining idea is not the addition of figures or of various accompaniments to the theme or melody, but the persistent identity of the bass. This continues the same through all the variations; upon that a free treatment is worked out — not, however, excluding an occasional reference to the original melody. Beethoven so far adhered to the usually accepted form, as to restrict the supremacy of the bass to alternate use with variations in the melody, and Schumann followed his example. This form was not adopted by other great masters, and even Beethoven and Schumann only used it fitfully.
Brahms, so rich in inventive combinations, stands nearer to Bach than to Beethoven, but has much of Beethoven's freer style of treatment. Augmentation or diminution of the phrases forming the theme are a manner of variation never used by Beethoven, and employed by Brahms only in the variations in the two first Sonatas, and in the independent Air with Variations (Op. 9). In this it is often surprisingly ingenious, but he must have thought the process incompatible with his strict sense of form, just as he gave up changes of key from one variation to the next, which Schumann often used, though Beethoven allowed himself only once (Op. 34).
In the second variation in Op. 9 we find, on the other hand, what important pre-eminence he assigns to the Bass; and in the tenth variation of the same set he even uses it as the melody in the upper part. Then he derives a subject from the diminution to half or quarter notes of the opening of the theme; this is worked out to fill up the required measure, while the essential harmonies are maintained in the same succession, so that the theme, or part of it, is reflected, as it were, to and fro, from two or four mirrors. This first work of his with variations was written on a theme by Schumann, and dedicated to Clara Schumann, and Brahms therefore introduced some other musical ideas of theirs as a mark of respect.
Similar ingenious adaptations of borrowed materials often occur in his works. A brilliant instance of ingenious and artistic combination is to be seen in the ninth variation, which seems to introduce a whole piece of Schumann's with a slight alteration (out of Bunte und Blatter, Op. 99, No. 5) in the middle part, heard through the compressed theme-melody. How thoroughly he had thought out the spirit of the Variation is seen in the fact that he is fond of interchanging the modulatory relations of the two phrases of the theme. The place where this generally occurs is at the beginning of the second part; but also in the second half of the first part. The digressions, more or less important, which he admits are always so chosen that the effect of the newly introduced key approximately answers to that produced by the original key of the preceding or following phrase. Even the cadenzas appear altered from this point of view.
It is impossible, from description, to form even a faint idea of the wealth of fancy, of inventive power, of vigorous vitality that lies in Brahms's variations. I cannot, indeed, conceive of any more subtle or more thoughtful treatment of this form of music than that of Brahms — for instance, in the Variations for the Piano, on a theme of Handel (Op. 24). The danger, as it seems to me, is that the true form of variations should be lost sight of, which consisted originally in the persistent embellishment of an air. The bass of a simply harmonized theme- melody has not, as a rule, any very distinctive character.
And when it happens that the theme is a mere popular and insignificant tune, the result is a series of movements that have nothing in common with it but the constant number of bars and the regular alternation of the original key with those of the two dominants. This is the case in the Paganini Variations (Op. 35); and also, it must be said, in Beethoven's Thirty-three Variations on a waltz by Diabelli.
In close relationship to the Variation form, we had in the seventeenth century the Suite, both being essentially species of Clavier music. Of the set of dances which constituted a Suite, the first was the theme; the others were variations on it, each in its own rhythm. Traces of this connected form survived into the eighteenth century, till Bach finally severed the parts. His Suites having come into favor again in our time, some modern composers have felt prompted to imitate him; but their Suites are not Suites. When they are not Sonatas, or a simplified form of Symphony, they are Serenades. Brahms has altogether neglected the Suite. Though in his second Sonata the Scherzo is developed like a last variation from the Andante (with variations), it is one of the ingenious ideas of which his early works are full.
The old Variation form, above all, is brought out from the treasures of the old composers, and glorified in his hands. Brahms's variations are something quite different from what had been commonly known by that name. Their prototype is Bach's Aria with thirty variations, and that work is an elaboration of the form known as the Passacaglia, in this the determining idea is not the addition of figures or of various accompaniments to the theme or melody, but the persistent identity of the bass. This continues the same through all the variations; upon that a free treatment is worked out — not, however, excluding an occasional reference to the original melody. Beethoven so far adhered to the usually accepted form, as to restrict the supremacy of the bass to alternate use with variations in the melody, and Schumann followed his example. This form was not adopted by other great masters, and even Beethoven and Schumann only used it fitfully.
Brahms, so rich in inventive combinations, stands nearer to Bach than to Beethoven, but has much of Beethoven's freer style of treatment. Augmentation or diminution of the phrases forming the theme are a manner of variation never used by Beethoven, and employed by Brahms only in the variations in the two first Sonatas, and in the independent Air with Variations (Op. 9). In this it is often surprisingly ingenious, but he must have thought the process incompatible with his strict sense of form, just as he gave up changes of key from one variation to the next, which Schumann often used, though Beethoven allowed himself only once (Op. 34).
In the second variation in Op. 9 we find, on the other hand, what important pre-eminence he assigns to the Bass; and in the tenth variation of the same set he even uses it as the melody in the upper part. Then he derives a subject from the diminution to half or quarter notes of the opening of the theme; this is worked out to fill up the required measure, while the essential harmonies are maintained in the same succession, so that the theme, or part of it, is reflected, as it were, to and fro, from two or four mirrors. This first work of his with variations was written on a theme by Schumann, and dedicated to Clara Schumann, and Brahms therefore introduced some other musical ideas of theirs as a mark of respect.
Similar ingenious adaptations of borrowed materials often occur in his works. A brilliant instance of ingenious and artistic combination is to be seen in the ninth variation, which seems to introduce a whole piece of Schumann's with a slight alteration (out of Bunte und Blatter, Op. 99, No. 5) in the middle part, heard through the compressed theme-melody. How thoroughly he had thought out the spirit of the Variation is seen in the fact that he is fond of interchanging the modulatory relations of the two phrases of the theme. The place where this generally occurs is at the beginning of the second part; but also in the second half of the first part. The digressions, more or less important, which he admits are always so chosen that the effect of the newly introduced key approximately answers to that produced by the original key of the preceding or following phrase. Even the cadenzas appear altered from this point of view.
It is impossible, from description, to form even a faint idea of the wealth of fancy, of inventive power, of vigorous vitality that lies in Brahms's variations. I cannot, indeed, conceive of any more subtle or more thoughtful treatment of this form of music than that of Brahms — for instance, in the Variations for the Piano, on a theme of Handel (Op. 24). The danger, as it seems to me, is that the true form of variations should be lost sight of, which consisted originally in the persistent embellishment of an air. The bass of a simply harmonized theme- melody has not, as a rule, any very distinctive character.
And when it happens that the theme is a mere popular and insignificant tune, the result is a series of movements that have nothing in common with it but the constant number of bars and the regular alternation of the original key with those of the two dominants. This is the case in the Paganini Variations (Op. 35); and also, it must be said, in Beethoven's Thirty-three Variations on a waltz by Diabelli.
In close relationship to the Variation form, we had in the seventeenth century the Suite, both being essentially species of Clavier music. Of the set of dances which constituted a Suite, the first was the theme; the others were variations on it, each in its own rhythm. Traces of this connected form survived into the eighteenth century, till Bach finally severed the parts. His Suites having come into favor again in our time, some modern composers have felt prompted to imitate him; but their Suites are not Suites. When they are not Sonatas, or a simplified form of Symphony, they are Serenades. Brahms has altogether neglected the Suite. Though in his second Sonata the Scherzo is developed like a last variation from the Andante (with variations), it is one of the ingenious ideas of which his early works are full.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Bedrich Smetana
Bedřich Smetana (1824-1884) was endowed by nature with a rare gift of musical initiative. While a wee child of five he was already playing the violin and composing; as a poor student he returned one evening from a concert of chamber music and wrote down a string quartet he had heard, because he could not buy a copy of it. Like Beethoven, he lost his hearing in the time of his most intensive period of creation. When deaf and persecuted by the malignity of his enemies, when fate knocked on his door with its iron hand and robbed him of his wife and child, his genius created the greatest works.
The high spiritual plane of his life as it touched the personal and the accidental is revealed in the charming string quartet "From my Life". "My quartet," says Smetana, "is not merely formal playing with the tones and motifs, to show off the composer's skill, but it is the real picture of my life. The tone sounding for a long time in the Finale is that whistling sound of very high pitch, which had preceded my deafness. This little tone-picturing I dared to insert in this composition because it was so fateful for me." Smetana always found in the small ensemble of chamber music the proper interpreter for expression of his most intimate feelings. Thus the Trio, op. 15, was written to the memory of his little daughter, whose death brought to Smetana a great sorrow.
Smetana never accommodated his artistic principles to the taste of the public. He was too serious an artist to make a work pleasing to the masses. His eight operas – except The Bartered Bride – had to fight against a wall of misunderstanding; and were victorious, only after many years of dispute, because of their originality and vitality. A real genius, Smetana was much ahead of his time. The Bartered Bride (1866), Two Widows (1874), The Kiss (1876), The Secret (1878), and The Devil's Wall (1882) represent the highest style of the comic operas. Each of these works introduces a charming overture of a pure musical beauty, classical in form.
Dalibor (1868), a historical-romantic opera, became a favorite even outside its native land. The story is based upon a Czech folk-legend of the fifteenth century, which tells about a knight, Dalibor, who was a prisoner at the castle in Prague. He begged his jailor for a violin to lighten the heavy hours of his captivity. After a time, it is said, he played with such marvelous skill that the people came from far and wide to stand outside the prison walls and listen to the charming music. Likewise the libretto to the festival opera Libussa (1881) is drawn from the Czech history. This work marks the climax of Smetana's genius, and knowledge of it is indispensable to the student of Czech musical art. The overture to this opera is a masterpiece of form and festival mode. It begins with a trumpet call, developed in a tremendous gradation. Surely this work ought to be heard at least in a concert hall.
Considering the technical side, Smetana's works exhibit a great skill in the most problematic combinations of the polyphonic style flowing so naturally, that the hearer does not notice the difficulties solved with such exquisite grace and lightness. The melodies are fresh, original, and impressive, and enriched with Smetana’s harmonic peculiarities.
As a composer for the piano Smetana left a considerable number of works, especially Polkas, which he idealized in a very poetic form. His Polka No. 1, op. 7, was one of Liszt's favorites. Two cycles of piano compositions, of which the first bears the title Reves, and the other The Bohemian Dances, especially deserve the attention of the pianist. In this later work the Czech folk-melodies are preserved in very artistic and pianistic style. Smetana's best known composition, which is often played at concerts, is his etude By the Seashore, op. 17, a difficult but very effective piece of music snatching the spell of the Northern Sea.
In the last period of his creation Smetana expressed his love and admiration for his country and its history in poems in a cycle called My Country, consisting of six charming symphonic poems: Vyšehrad, the old castle, the seat of the first Bohemian ruler; Vltava, the river of Bohemia; Šarka, the Bohemian Amazon; From Bohemian Meadows and Woodlands, an idyll; Tabor and Blanik, which picture in tones the glorious past epoch of the Reformation. With this work the composer reached his goal. No greater tribute to his success is needed than Liszt's exclamation upon hearing of Smetana's death—"He was a genius!"
The high spiritual plane of his life as it touched the personal and the accidental is revealed in the charming string quartet "From my Life". "My quartet," says Smetana, "is not merely formal playing with the tones and motifs, to show off the composer's skill, but it is the real picture of my life. The tone sounding for a long time in the Finale is that whistling sound of very high pitch, which had preceded my deafness. This little tone-picturing I dared to insert in this composition because it was so fateful for me." Smetana always found in the small ensemble of chamber music the proper interpreter for expression of his most intimate feelings. Thus the Trio, op. 15, was written to the memory of his little daughter, whose death brought to Smetana a great sorrow.
Smetana never accommodated his artistic principles to the taste of the public. He was too serious an artist to make a work pleasing to the masses. His eight operas – except The Bartered Bride – had to fight against a wall of misunderstanding; and were victorious, only after many years of dispute, because of their originality and vitality. A real genius, Smetana was much ahead of his time. The Bartered Bride (1866), Two Widows (1874), The Kiss (1876), The Secret (1878), and The Devil's Wall (1882) represent the highest style of the comic operas. Each of these works introduces a charming overture of a pure musical beauty, classical in form.
Dalibor (1868), a historical-romantic opera, became a favorite even outside its native land. The story is based upon a Czech folk-legend of the fifteenth century, which tells about a knight, Dalibor, who was a prisoner at the castle in Prague. He begged his jailor for a violin to lighten the heavy hours of his captivity. After a time, it is said, he played with such marvelous skill that the people came from far and wide to stand outside the prison walls and listen to the charming music. Likewise the libretto to the festival opera Libussa (1881) is drawn from the Czech history. This work marks the climax of Smetana's genius, and knowledge of it is indispensable to the student of Czech musical art. The overture to this opera is a masterpiece of form and festival mode. It begins with a trumpet call, developed in a tremendous gradation. Surely this work ought to be heard at least in a concert hall.
Considering the technical side, Smetana's works exhibit a great skill in the most problematic combinations of the polyphonic style flowing so naturally, that the hearer does not notice the difficulties solved with such exquisite grace and lightness. The melodies are fresh, original, and impressive, and enriched with Smetana’s harmonic peculiarities.
As a composer for the piano Smetana left a considerable number of works, especially Polkas, which he idealized in a very poetic form. His Polka No. 1, op. 7, was one of Liszt's favorites. Two cycles of piano compositions, of which the first bears the title Reves, and the other The Bohemian Dances, especially deserve the attention of the pianist. In this later work the Czech folk-melodies are preserved in very artistic and pianistic style. Smetana's best known composition, which is often played at concerts, is his etude By the Seashore, op. 17, a difficult but very effective piece of music snatching the spell of the Northern Sea.
In the last period of his creation Smetana expressed his love and admiration for his country and its history in poems in a cycle called My Country, consisting of six charming symphonic poems: Vyšehrad, the old castle, the seat of the first Bohemian ruler; Vltava, the river of Bohemia; Šarka, the Bohemian Amazon; From Bohemian Meadows and Woodlands, an idyll; Tabor and Blanik, which picture in tones the glorious past epoch of the Reformation. With this work the composer reached his goal. No greater tribute to his success is needed than Liszt's exclamation upon hearing of Smetana's death—"He was a genius!"
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Antonin Dvorak
Antonin Dvorak (1841-1904), the best known Czech composer, was a son of a village butcher. From his early childhood his only passion was music. In spite of many struggles and much suffering, he did not cease to study and work, Music was his consolation, his life. In just praise it may be said that the high position of this composer in the musical world is due chiefly to his unparalleled perseverance under his own criticism. To take a full orchestra score of a completed opera and destroy it and then rewrite it, was characteristic of Dvorak's method of attaining perfection. This self-teaching explains his temporary experimenting and uncertainty in form.
The number of Dvorak's compositions is vast, covering almost all forms of music. His fame began with Slavic Dances, brilliantly instrumented, which appealed to the larger public. Of his five symphonies the last one, From the New World, was composed while Dvorak was teacher of composition at the National Conservatory of Music in New York, in 1892. To this American period belongs the popular String quartet, op. 96, and his most beautiful as well as his last vocal opus, the cycle of The Biblical Songs, op. 99.
Whoever wishes to have a clear idea of Dvorak's genius must study and hear the wonderful symphonic poems from the last period of the composer's life. Here Dvorak, master of classical and absolute music, pays his tribute to the modern form of romantic program music with great success. As a composer of piano music, Dvorak could not subdue his eminent orchestral genius to clavier technique; his piano compositions call for instrumentation. The seventh number from opus 101 has become an extraordinary favorite in US. It is the celebrated Humoresque.
Of his seven operas the most beautiful is Russalka, which exhibits the best qualities of the author's creative ability. It may be said, however, that all Dvorak's operas are handicapped by a lack of conciseness.
Rhythm is everywhere
Rhythm is an element of nature, and the whole universe responds to it. The periodic movements of the constellations must be rhythmical or the solar systems would be annihilated; the return of the seasons, the rising and setting of the sun, the rising and falling of the tides, all are rhythmical; the pulse of life is rhythm, for rhythm is the pulsation of every kind of movement and pulsation the rhythm of everything that has life. It is therefore no strange thing that man, when performing any recurring movement, should naturally fall into doing it rhythmically; he cannot avoid it, for rhythm helps him, makes it easier, as it has a momentum of its own.
The march is an evolution of the measured step of warriors or priests, the dance is an evolution of the measured movements of the body under mental or emotional excitement, and the most intricate modern musical rhythms have been evolved from these primitive sources.
Walking is the most rhythmical exercise; the free movement of the feet and legs, the relaxed swing of the arms, and the regular inhaling and exhaling of the breath, should produce balanced physical rhythm. When this is not so, there is something wrong with the organism; an unrhythmical gait is one of the surest symptoms of a mental or physical defective.
How Music Works: a programm about Rhythm
Rhythm is simply balance, as necessary in the physical sphere as in the mental and emotional spheres; in music and poetry it is the balancing of one strong beat or part against one or two weak beats or parts. It is necessary to language in the same sense that as a rhythmical arrangement of inarticulate sounds (tones) produces music, so a rhythmical arrangement of articulate sounds (words) produces the cadences of prose and poetry.
If the fundamental idea of rhythm is pulsation, the next idea should be order, for rhythm brings order into every kind of movement. When exemplified in the arrangement of matter into visible objects, as in sculpture and architecture and other plastic arts, rhythm is translated into symmetry. Symmetry is one of the chief requisites of a work of art; it is as necessary to that art which appeals to the eye as to that which appeals to the ear – as in music and poetry.
The march is an evolution of the measured step of warriors or priests, the dance is an evolution of the measured movements of the body under mental or emotional excitement, and the most intricate modern musical rhythms have been evolved from these primitive sources.
Walking is the most rhythmical exercise; the free movement of the feet and legs, the relaxed swing of the arms, and the regular inhaling and exhaling of the breath, should produce balanced physical rhythm. When this is not so, there is something wrong with the organism; an unrhythmical gait is one of the surest symptoms of a mental or physical defective.
How Music Works: a programm about Rhythm
Rhythm is simply balance, as necessary in the physical sphere as in the mental and emotional spheres; in music and poetry it is the balancing of one strong beat or part against one or two weak beats or parts. It is necessary to language in the same sense that as a rhythmical arrangement of inarticulate sounds (tones) produces music, so a rhythmical arrangement of articulate sounds (words) produces the cadences of prose and poetry.
If the fundamental idea of rhythm is pulsation, the next idea should be order, for rhythm brings order into every kind of movement. When exemplified in the arrangement of matter into visible objects, as in sculpture and architecture and other plastic arts, rhythm is translated into symmetry. Symmetry is one of the chief requisites of a work of art; it is as necessary to that art which appeals to the eye as to that which appeals to the ear – as in music and poetry.
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