Well, here we are. Your 250th birthday – what would have been the biggest celebration in classical music (at least until 2027, the 200th anniversary of your death) – and we’re all sitting at home with our records. That’s okay. I’ve got plenty of good ones. Anyone care to share any of their favorites?
Here’s a montage of 42 conductors and 1 pianist, performing the most famous opening in all of Western music. It really gives a sense of what different interpreters can bring to a piece of music (also, in Barenboim’s case, the effect of an unstifled sneeze). Performance matters!
Here’s one from 2007 that I find quite compelling, led by the Hungarian composer Péter Eötvös.
My candidate for craziest stick technique:
Perhaps more instructive is this traversal by line-riding bikes:
Clearly, this symphony is bulletproof.
Beethoven as he appeared in 1804-05, while he was at work on his “Fifth”
As seemingly everyone in this part of the country scrambles to fortify themselves with bread and alcohol in advance of the impending nor’easter, The Classical Network hunkers down to celebrate Beethoven.
Intrepid hosts honor the master’s 250th birthday this morning by sampling from his vast and varied output. At noon today, Jed Distler will look back on whacky 2020 on “Between the Keys,” with more Beethoven among his featured music. Then at 10:00 tonight, David Dubal will celebrate Beethoven on “The Piano Matters.” Actually, now that I think about it, it will be Beethoven, more or less, all day long. As well it should be.
It may not be quite the 250th birthday celebration we had all hoped, but it’s certainly in keeping with the craziest year in memory.
Remember, you can do your part to sustain the continued broadcast of Beethoven and his brethren on The Classical Network by making a contribution now, by calling 1-888-232-1212, or donating online at wwfm.org.
What’s a little snow when weighed against the titanic struggle, triumph, and overriding nobility of Beethoven? Make Beethoven the soundtrack to your snowpocalypse. Thank you for your support of WWFM – The Classical Network and wwfm.org!
On the eve of the 250th anniversary of Beethoven’s birth (observed), celebrate Ludwig Van with Peanuts:
Schroeder plays the “Pathétique” Sonata:
Schroeder plays the “Moonlight” Sonata:
Lucy resents Schroeder’s white privilege:
Direct all mail to 1770 James Street (Schroeder’s address – 1770 is the year of Beethoven’s birth). Charles Schulz made Schroeder a musician when he decided to work his daughter’s toy piano into the strip. The first piece he ever had Schroeder play was not by Beethoven, but rather Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in G minor. Schulz himself preferred Brahms, but he said he thought “Beethoven” sounded funnier.
BONUS! “Schroeder’s Beethoven Fantasy,” the first movement of Ellen Taaffe Zwilich’s “Peanuts Gallery”:
Vaughan Williams’ “Lark” first ascended 100 years ago today.
Written in 1914, it was first performed on this date in 1920, albeit in a version for violin and piano, in the unassuming venue of Shirehampton Public Hall in Bristol. Marie Hall was the esteemed violinist. The pianist was Geoffrey Mendham. Hall – who made the first recording of the Elgar Violin Concerto, with the composer as conductor – was also the soloist at the premiere of the orchestral version, which received greater notice, when it was unveiled at the Queen’s Hall, London, on June 14, 1921. The British Symphony Orchestra was conducted on that occasion by Adrian Boult.
The score, which bears an inscription from a poem of George Meredith, is the quintessence of the composer’s elegiac pastoralism. Thanks in part to frequent radio airplay, the music’s popularity increases annually, with “The Lark Ascending” consistently ranked among top listener favorites. At the same time, it has been embraced by more and more violinists.
The composer described his leisurely, contemplative, frankly gorgeous violin rhapsody as “a romance.” It now soars as some of his best-known music.
Hark, hark, the Lark.
He rises and begins to round,
He drops the silver chain of sound,
Of many links without a break,
In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake.
For singing till his heaven fills,
‘Tis love of earth that he instils,
And ever winging up and up,
Our valley is his golden cup
And he the wine which overflows
to lift us with him as he goes.
Till lost on his aerial rings
In light, and then the fancy sings.
I’ve been following the Gävle Goat’s Twitter feed, half dreading, half hoping for disaster, since Thanksgiving. I kid you not.
One of Northern Europe’s wackier Christmas traditions – no doubt with pagan roots – the Yule Goat may have derived from the worship of Thor. After all, the God of Thunder’s chariot was drawn by two goats. The Christmas version of the goat is led about by Saint Nicholas, possibly as a symbol of the subjugation of evil.
Whatever the goat’s function, it goes way back. For hundreds of years, rowdy young men in costumes would go door to door to enact plays and demand gifts. One of these, naturally, was the ornery Yule Goat. Scandinavians sometimes refer to the practice of wassailing as “going Yule Goat.”
In the 19th century, the Goat’s role was transformed into a giver of gifts. Though the Goat has since been replaced by a humanoid Father Christmas, in Finland he is still referred to by the name Joulupukki (need I say, Yule Goat?).
Nowadays, the Goat is mostly seen in its incarnation as a miniature tree ornament, made of straw and bound by red ribbon. A notable exception is the Gävle Goat – erected annually in Castle Square, Gävle, Sweden – which is basically that ornament, only on the grandest of scales (i.e. 40-feet tall). The Gävle Goat is constructed over a period of two days, just in time for Advent.
Then begins an unsanctioned game of cat-and-mouse, with the authorities attempting to guard the Goat, while everyone else attempts to light it off. Yes, you read that correctly. If the Goat is burned to the ground before December 13 (St. Lucia’s Day), it is rebuilt.
Over the years, the Goat has been rammed by a Volvo, damaged by fireworks, stomped to pieces, fired upon with flaming arrows (launched by vandals dressed as Santa and gingerbread men), and torched by a hapless American who was talked into using his lighter by Swedes who convinced him it was a perfectly legal holiday tradition. (It’s not.) In 2010, there was even a failed plot to abduct the goat by helicopter.
2016 was the last year the goat went up in flames, set ablaze within hours of construction. The catastrophe was timed to coincide with a security guard’s bathroom break. The most recent attempt was in 2018, but the Goat sustained only minor damage to its front left leg.
But there is also a smaller, companion goat, in the same park, which stands only about 7-feet tall. In 2019, just after I stopped checking, apparently the “kid” got singed. Nevertheless, this is the first time the larger Goat survived for more than two years in a row.
You’ll find more information and a complete history of the Gävle Goat’s destruction here:
