Category: Daily Dispatch

  • Fritz Kreisler & Jascha Heifetz: Fiddling Legends

    Fritz Kreisler & Jascha Heifetz: Fiddling Legends

    February 2 is not just a day for groundhogs. It also marks the anniversaries of the births of two of the world’s greatest fiddlers.

    Fritz Kreisler, the sweet-toned confectioner and purveyor of violin bonbons, was born in Vienna on this date in 1875. Jascha Heifetz, the superhuman technician, who imbued perfection with tonal beauty, was born in Vilnius in 1901. Kreisler was warm, gregarious and easygoing. Heifetz acquired a reputation for a certain cool intensity.

    At a point, Kreisler ruffled feathers, not with his playing, but because he casually let slip that many of the 18th century “rediscoveries” he had used to charm audiences, critics, and musicologists were not in fact rediscoveries at all. Nor did they date from the 18th century. Rather they were composed by Kreisler himself. When the professionals complained, Kreisler shrugged.

    It would be futile to argue against his serious musical credentials. He gave the world premiere of the Elgar concerto and became a favorite recital partner of Sergei Rachmaninoff. A famous anecdote relates that Kreisler and Rachmaninoff were giving a concert in New York. In the middle of a performance, Kreisler suffered a memory lapse, and as he noodled around on his violin, trying to find his way back, he inched closer to his pianist. “Where are we?” Kreisler whispered. To which Rachmaninoff replied, “Carnegie Hall.”

    In 1941, Kreisler was crossing the street, when he was hit by a milk truck. The accident fractured his skull and put him in a coma. Like something out of an early Woody Allen comedy, when he awoke, he could communicate only in Latin and Greek. Thankfully, the effect was only temporary.

    Kreisler met Heifetz for the first time at a private press party in 1912. After listening to the boy play through the Mendelssohn concerto, he declared, “We can all just break our fiddles over our knees.” Arthur Nikisch, conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic, said he had never heard such an excellent violinist. The year before, Heifetz had played before a crowd of 25,000, and police had to be summoned to prevent the young virtuoso from being mobbed.

    A little more collected was Groucho Marx. When Heifetz met Groucho, he mentioned that he had been earning his living as a violinist since the age of seven. Groucho responded, “Before that, I suppose, you were just a bum.”

    Aside from his astounding accomplishments on the concert stage, Heifetz appeared as a mess hall jazz musician in Allied camps across Europe during the Second World War. Under a pseudonym, he wrote “When You Make Love to Me (Don’t Make Believe)” for Bing Crosby. In addition, Heifetz and Bing recorded the “Lullaby” from Benjamin Godard’s opera “Jocelyn.”

    Heifetz was an advocate for certain socio-political and environmental causes. Decades before it was a thing, he had his Renault converted into an electric vehicle, and he lobbied for the acceptance of 911 as an emergency number.

    Once, after a performance in Israel, he was attacked by a man wielding a crowbar for programming a violin sonata by Richard Strauss. Strauss had remained in Germany during World War II and maintained a fraught relationship with the Nazis. Heifetz, by the way, was Jewish.

    Composers who wrote music for him, or whose music he premiered, include Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco, Erich Wolfgang Korngold, and Sir William Walton. Heifetz commissioned Arnold Schoenberg’s Violin Concerto, but he never played it.

    His standard of performance was stratospheric, and he subjected himself to a punishing, though strictly secret, regimen of self-discipline. He delivered until he felt he no longer could, retiring from the concert stage in 1972.

    Itzhak Perlman reflected, “The goals he set still remain, and for violinists today, it’s rather depressing that they may never really be attained again.”

    Here’s a French film about Heifetz. Interestingly, it opens with him playing one of Kreisler’s forgeries, the “Praeludium and Allegro in the Style of Pugnani”

    Kreisler plays the “Meditation” from Massenet’s “Thaïs”

    Kreisler plays the Mendelssohn concerto

    Kreisler, master of the miniature

    Two-part radio interview on the occasion of Kreisler’s 80th birthday, with spoken tributes from Elman, Menuhin, Milstein, Stern, Szigeti and others:

    Footage of Heifetz performing Grigoras Dinicu’s “Hora Staccato.” The conductor is Donald Vorhees, longtime music director of the Allentown Symphony Orchestra in Allentown, PA.

    Heifetz plays the first movement of the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto in the 1947 film “Carnegie Hall.” That’s Fritz Reiner on the podium.

    From back in the day when classical music was still popular entertainment, Heifetz playing Schubert and Mendelssohn in a short film, with Piatigorsky and Rubinstein. The three of them actually get to act (albeit badly).

    Heifetz and Jack Benny

    Heifetz and Bing Crosby with the “Lullaby” from Godard’s “Jocelyn”

    Heifetz’s popular hit (as Jim Hoyle), sung by Bing

    Heifetz plays it – on the piano!

  • Groundhog Day Six More Weeks Winter?

    Groundhog Day Six More Weeks Winter?

    Happy Groundhog Day! Punxsutawney Phil, seers of seers, glimpsed his shadow this morning, prognosticating six more weeks of winter. So when does it start?

    Pour yourself another cup of coffee and join me in the singing of the Punxsutawney Phil song.

  • The Long Ships: A Sly and Wry, Rip-Roaring Viking Adventure

    The Long Ships: A Sly and Wry, Rip-Roaring Viking Adventure

    Since we don’t really seem to be having winter this year – a dusting of snow this morning aside – I thought I would generate some cold comfort of my own by reading Frans G. Bengtsson’s “The Long Ships.” And let me tell you, the book is the most fun I’ve read in a long while.

    If you’ve seen the 1964 movie, with Richard Widmark, Sidney Poitier, and Russ Tamblyn, I assure you it has very little to do with Bengtsson’s book. Almost nothing, in fact, beyond bringing Vikings into contact with Moorish culture, which happens fairly early in Bengtsson’s narrative. Orm’s adventures take him all over Spain, England, Ireland, Scandinavia, and Kievian Rus. Along the way, he and his men give thanks for their ship-luck, woman-luck, money-luck, fighting-luck, etc. Orm must be the luckiest hypochondriac in the Viking world. But he’s also one of the most rational and fair-minded.

    During the course of his adventures, he encounters temperamental chieftains, kings of all dispositions, spirited princesses, intriguing courtiers, Irish acrobats, a Friar Tuck-like priest and another whose irresistibility to women proves to be his undoing. There are oaths, outrages, abductions, bold heists, blood feuds, bawdiness, and much high-spirited derring-do. I imagine Orm’s rambunctious best friend, Toke, as looking and behaving much like Ernest Borgnine in the 1958 film “The Vikings.”

    But the tale is in the telling. It would take a lot of skill to capture the flavor of the book in a movie. Though certainly crammed with incident, it is Bengtsson’s sly and wry tone that really makes it, especially as the Vikings begin to assimilate Christianity. Much of the humor derives from the characters’ pragmatic, if at times morally-problematic view of the world. To Bengtsson’s credit, the characters behave like real people, as opposed to the stereotypes often put through the motions in this kind of action-packed narrative – even more impressive as the overall tone tends to echo the laconic spirit of the sagas.

    Treachery is to be expected in Orm’s world; what’s remarkable is how much goodness he encounters. His own evolution in outlook seems to mirror larger themes in the novel, as civilization begins to take its first tentative steps from a more impulsive era, marked by greed, lust, and revenge, to glimmers of a wiser, more ethical, humanist age.

    In some respects, Bengtsson’s Vikings behave in a more enlightened manner than some of the author’s own neighbors at the time of the novel’s writing, as we see in their dealings with the Sephardic Jew Solomon, who plays an important role in the Spanish segment of the book. There’s no mistaking the Vikings for feminists, though they do respect some of the female characters for their strength, resilience, and wisdom. Others, they fear for their wrath. There aren’t a lot of women among the main characters, but Orm’s love interest, Ylma, is well-realized. Also, after a warrior, the Vikings respect no one more than a poet. Who knew?

    The foreword to the paperback edition issued by New York Review Books is by Michael Chabon, who holds the distinction of not only being a Pulitzer Prize winner, for his outstanding novel “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Klay,” but also a lifelong champion of pulps and comics. I do not pretend to be fluent in Swedish, but the translation by Michael Meyer is flavorful and flows wonderfully.

    Bengtsson lived from 1894 to 1954. He himself did quite a bit of translating, producing Swedish-language editions of “Paradise Lost,” “The Song of Roland,” and “Walden.” He was also a poet, an admirer of Chaucer, with a marked fondness for antiquated forms. In addition, he wrote a two-volume biography of Charles XII of Sweden. “The Long Ships,” published in Sweden in two parts (as “Red Orm at Home and on the Western Way,” in 1941, and “Red Orm at Home and on the Eastern Way, in 1945), is his only novel.

    Scrolling through the reader reviews I found online, on sites such as Amazon and Goodreads, I find that some did not find it as gripping or peculiarly charming as I did, though the vast majority of reviewers seem to love it. So the book is not for everyone, perhaps. There’s probably a better chance you’ll enjoy it if you’re not the kind of person who reads historical fiction expecting it to reflect 21st century values.

    The reviews I really don’t understand are from readers who describe it as “boring.” This is one rip-roaring yarn. Like Alexandre Dumas, only without the courtliness, and with lots and lots of Vikings.

    “The Long Ships” receives my enthusiastic endorsement. For 500 pages of picaresque Viking adventure, amusingly rendered, it’s a tough one to beat.

  • Mr. Peabody, Schubert, & Missed Music

    Mr. Peabody, Schubert, & Missed Music

    Anybody else remember when Mr. Peabody and Sherman used the Wayback Machine to visit Franz Schubert?

    A fun conceit, but Jay Ward and company really missed the boat by not actually using any of Schubert’s music. It would have been a lot more fun had Sherman sung “Standchen,” D. 889 (a.k.a. “Serenade”):

    Listen, listen to the lark in the ethereal blue!
    And Phoebus, newly awakened,
    Leading his horses to drink the dew
    That covers the calyces of the flowers;
    The buds of the marigolds are beginning to open
    Up their little golden eyes;
    With everything that is charming there,
    Oh sweet maid, get up!
    Get up! Get up!

    Not the more famous “Serenade,” but all the more appropriate, since Schubert remarks afterward that he’s just been at work on a NEW serenade.

    Schubert’s OTHER “Serenade” (from the song cycle “Schwanengesang,” D.957)

    Softly my songs plead
    through the night to you;
    down into the silent grove,
    beloved, come to me!

    Slender treetops whisper and rustle
    in the moonlight;
    my darling, do not fear
    that the hostile betrayer will overhear us.

    Do you not hear the nightingales call?
    Ah, they are imploring you;
    with their sweet, plaintive songs
    they are imploring for me.

    They understand the heart’s yearning,
    they know the pain of love;
    with their silvery notes
    they touch every tender heart.

    Let your heart, too, be moved,
    beloved, hear me!
    Trembling, I await you!
    Come, make me happy!

    Even “The Smurfs” used the “Unfinished” Symphony.

    At least the segment gave kids an awareness of the composer, if not his decadent milieu.

    Happy birthday, Franz Schubert.

  • Schubert’s Unfinished Symphonies Revealed

    Schubert’s Unfinished Symphonies Revealed

    Franz Schubert’s “Unfinished” Symphony is not his only unfinished symphony.

    Schubert began thirteen symphonies, of which nine are generally numbered; but of these, he only completed seven. And regarding the canonical nine, there has been some discrepancy over the centuries as to the actual sequence of their composition.

    Schubert began his famous “Unfinished” Symphony (now widely accepted as No. 8 ) in 1822. It consists of two complete movements. Despite the fact that Schubert would live another six years, for whatever reason, he never finished the other two. There’s a nearly-completed scherzo that exists in short score, with only two pages in the composer’s orchestration. (Another fragment was discovered in an attic in Vienna only in 2017.) It’s been speculated that material originally intended for the last movement may have wound up in another piece, or that Schubert was distracted by work on the “Wanderer Fantasy,” or that the symphony ultimately held bad associations for him, since it coincided with his having contracted syphilis.

    But Schubert wasn’t exactly the kind of guy to fall into crippling despondency.

    The symphony was given its first performance on December 17, 1865 – 37 years after the composer’s death. A characteristic Schubertian blend of geniality and passion, the piece was immediately recognized as one of his most beautiful orchestral works. It is sometimes referred to as the first Romantic symphony. It certainly is a moody one.

    There have been a number of attempts to complete the symphony over the years. Like Michelangelo’s abandoned “Pietà,” it continues to fascinate, despite – or perhaps because of – its orphan status. The music is some of Schubert’s most famous. It has been used in numerous movies and cartoons and as the basis for other composers’ compositions.

    Just don’t get the idea that Schubert never finished anything. He may have died at 31, but in a career that spanned less than 20 years, he managed to complete about 1500 works, including symphonies, overtures, incidental music, quartets, quintets, an octet, twenty piano sonatas, operas, masses, some fifty additional choral works, and about 600 songs.

    Then, this was before Facebook.

    Happy birthday, Franz Schubert.

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