My Early Introduction to Classical Music... and My Father's

When I was growing up in Cleveland, my father built a console of blonde wood for his record player. Inside he kept a modest collection of primarily classical music. On Sunday mornings Mom would take us to church while Dad listened to his classical records and read the Sunday paper at home. Albums with titles like Echoes of Offenbach and Scheherazade intrigued me. Beethoven’s Fifth became a favorite of mine then. Beethoven’s indelible sense of the dramatic is evident in both the opening and the climax, stirring the blood in little boys like myself. 

This early introduction to classical music gave me a lifelong appreciation for the genre. I’m no expert, just one who appreciates the form. One of my father’s favorites was Dvorak’s Ninth Symphony, better known as the New World Symphony, which I’m listening to now as I write these reflections.

If you knew my father’s life story you might be surprised at how he came to appreciate the classical greats. He grew up exceedingly poor. Six children slept in the living room of a three-room house with no bathroom and perhaps no running water. When my dad was born Grandpa was working in a coal mine, on the run from feds who’d come to bust him for moonshining during prohibition. Grandma taught Grandpa how to read so he could fill out a job application when they moved to Southwest Ohio.

The day my father graduated high school he joined the army. Upon completing his tour of duty, he attended Hiram College on the G.I. Bill where he met my mother. When Dad and Mom eloped, they moved to Little Italy in Cleveland, renting a second-floor apartment on Murray Hill Road where Mom could walk to the hospital to work and finish nurses training. 

“I never had to work nights or evenings while in school, so I could usher in Severance Hall, where the world-famous George Szell was conductor,” my mother recently told me. The Hungarian-born conductor and composer came to Cleveland after World War II to take charge of the respected but undersized orchestra there. During his 24 years as music director, Szell brought the Cleveland Orchestra international recognition and acclaim.

“The first year I ushered on Thursday nights. We wore burnt orange uniforms,” my Mom said. “The next year we wore white blouses with black skirts.” 

One of the perks of the job was that my dad was permitted to attend performances if there were empty seats, which there almost always were. “That is where he got his love for classical music,” Mom added. “Dad had classical records even then. I was only a volunteer, but we both got to hear wonderful music for free.” I can imagine him being transported by the music, much like Harry Haller in Herman Hesse’s Steppenwolf, or Joseph Knecht in The Glass Bead Game.

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Here's the incredible finale to Beethoven Symphony no. 5  
George Szell conducting the Cleveland Symphony Orchestra

Fantastico! 

BONUS TRACK
Szell and Cleveland LIVE: Beethoven symphony no. 3 in E flat (Eroica)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VGjF5mWYnHo

This live performance of Beethoven's symphony no. 3 took place three days after the shooting at Kent State in the spring of 1970. Before beginning the performance, George Szell asks the audience to stand for a moment of silence to honor the victims of the shooting. 

As is the case with many YouTube videos, there are comments. This one stood out as a nice postscript for this blog post:

"Incomparable! Along with the Sibelius 2nd recorded live in Tokyo, THIS EROICA is a testament to the greatness of George Szell. Among the small pantheon of musician conductors Szell is at the summit!" --Ian Harper

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Related Links
10 Classical Music Favorites of Exquisite Beauty
Oli Braithwaite of Stars & Catz on the Power of Music

Can We Talk About Beauty for a Minute? 10 Pieces of Classical Music That Can Lift You Higher

Photo courtesy John Heino Photography

"Where words fail, music speaks." --Hans Christian Anderson

Beauty. It transports us. It inspires us. 

It takes our breath away... when we let it.
It captures us... when we yield to it.

Harry Haller in Herman Hesse's Steppenwolf was a troubled man who felt himself a misfit, ill-suited for the world of everyday, regular people. The one place where he felt a deliverance from this discomfort was at the concert hall where he found himself lifted, by beauty, beyond the cares of this world. Music served as a form of salvation.

I've known the feeling, the power of music. Like Harry Haller, the sweet strains of anguished beauty have also transported me, at times, enabled me to forget the cares of this world.

For this reason I offer you here some of the music I've found comforting, soul-soothing, uplifting, nourishing. The links will take you to YouTube videos that you may enjoy as time permits in this harried age in which we live.

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1. Air on the G-String, Johannes Bach
This YouTube video has had over 50 million views, a tribute to the enduring legacy of Johannes Bach. This is not my favorite version, however. The version that most transports me is a solo piano version played by Henry Wiens. His CD Quiet Classics can be found on CD Baby. Hear a brief sample here.

2. Prelude in E Minor, Op. 28, No. 4, by Chopin
When I heard this piece of music in the film Five Easy Pieces it spoke to me, as did all things Chopin. French novelist George Sand once wrote that she considered the beauty of Chopin's music to be evidence that there was a God. I took two and a half years of piano lessons and learned a number of simplified versions of his music when I was young. When I saw the film again in the 90s I bought the sheet music and worked at learning it. The chord progressions are marvelous, the lingering pace that makes you ache... words fail again.

3. On Earth As It Is In Heaven, by Ennio Morricone
This is a live performance of the Theme from The Mission. It elevates me like almost nothing else.

4. Adagio opus 11, by Samuel Barber
This piece of music served as a thread that wove its way through Oliver Stone's tragic Platoon. It is also effective in the very sad story of John Merrick, the Elephant Man (Anthony Hopkins, John Hurt). A powerful film about what it means to be human.

5. Clarinet Concerto In A Major K 622 Adagio, by Mozart
It is remarkable how much this young man achieved in the course of such a short life. How did he do it?

6. Ballade No. 1 in G minor, by Chopin

7. Sonata for Piano No. 8 in C minor, Op. 13, Pathetique, Adagio, by Beethoven

8. Elvira Madigan, by Mozart

9. Beethoven's Seventh Symphony, Second Movement

10. Erik Satie's Once Upon A Time In Paris
This opens with such poignant lilting delicacy... How was it conceived? It moistens eyes and causes one bow the head.

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Related Links
Healing the Hurting Through Music
Quiet Heart Music

Meantime life goes on all around you. Listen to the music.

Eric Himy's Homage to Liszt

“Art is Heaven on earth, to which one never appeals in vain when faced with the oppressions of this world.” ~ Franz Liszt

I like surprises. Two weeks ago I discovered the Oldenburg House Bed & Breakfast. Located on the outskirts of Carlton it was the birthplace of Jay Cooke State Park. The Oldenburg House is listed on the National Register of Historic Places, bordering not only the park but also the Willard Munger State Trail, the National Kayak and Canoe Center and Thompson Reservoir.

In addition to being tangent to a corner of North Country paradise, the Oldenburg House is also host to music and arts events, one of which is taking place May 9 when the world-renowned pianist Eric Himy performs here. Himy, who’s training from his youth is an amazing story in-and-of itself, has been compared to pianists as distinguished as Vladimer Horowitz. The “short list” of nations where he has played to critical acclaim include Canada, Argentina, Brazil, Bulgaria, Chile, Czech Republic, Egypt, France, Germany, Italy, Malta, Monaco, Morocco, Poland, Portugal, Russia, Spain, and Slovenia… and, of course, the United States where he was born to immigrant parents in New York.

I’ll share a little more about Mr. Himy another time, but wanted to make sure you had a chance to put May 9 on your calendar because there are so many things happening in May with the inaugural North X North music and arts experience.

I took lessons in classical piano when I was a boy, falling in love with the staggering beauty of Chopin (whom I am listening to as I write this) and Beethoven and Tschaikovski at that time. Any comparison, however, between Mr. Himy and myself stops there. In additino to having the wonderful privilege of being able to obtain rich musical experiences and training at an early age, Himy followed it through to some great experiences on both coasts and all the way to Juilliard. Among his earliest teachers was a 90-year old Madame Rosa who claimed to be a student of the man who is clearly his hero, Franz Liszt.

This past week I asked Mr. Himy a few questions, one of which was to make a comment on each of several classic masters and what distinguishes them. Here were his replies.

Chopin: His soul, poet of the piano.
Beethoven: His defiance and will, triumph of the human spirit.
Gershwin: Cool independent unique genius, American par excellence.
Ravel: Craftsman, sensational piano writing and colors.
Tschaikovski: All heart and passion.
Rachmaninov: In the lineage of Liszt, pianist composer, thus knows how to write for piano, harmonies that overripe and wrenching.
Liszt: The MASTER pianist…. the ROMANTIC, the DEVIL, the VIRTUSOSO…. has it all.
Mozart: Music to get purged with after, such simplicity, honesty and purity.

In addition to being an amazing pianist he’s also an insightful writer. The liner notes to his Homage To Liszt CD make for an excellent reading experience even if you are not a lover of classical music. The essay begins with a gripping opening.

“To speak of Liszt is to speak of an immense force of nature. His music has been described as powerful, radical, enigmatic and spellbinding. With his music Liszt seems to have captured the very spirit, heart, soul and genuineness of humanity.”

For an even more satisfying experience I encourage you to set aside May 9 for this memorable evening of music. The program will be hosted by Keith Swanson, conductor of the Itasca Symphony Orchestra with cellist Jeffrey Erband opening. Purchase your tickets online at  oacc.oldenburghouse.com

Photo courtesy Eric Himy 

Clapton Autobiography Proves To Be A Worthy Read

"I am, and always will be, a blues guitarist." ~Eric Clapton

It’s Dylan Days in the Northland, but since I just finished reading Eric Clapton’s autobiography I can’t help but address it one more time.

First, a few details. I listened to the audio version, which was abridged. It was very good and covered his life with ample detail to be satisfying. According to some reviews the unabridged version has dry spots. Perhaps he felt an obligation to produce a lengthier tome, as opposed to a slimmer volume, because he was paid $7 million dollars to write it and did not wish to shortchange his sponsors.

The book comes across as a remarkably candid personal account of his life. He doesn’t flinch from things that put Eric Clapton in a poor light. It's real, tragic at times, actually quite powerful. It's not something you pick up for the juicy gossipy bits. It's a real account of one man's struggle to achieve manhood. This is, in fact, the single theme throughout: Clapton’s struggle to become a mensch. Despite great personal pain, escapist behavior and setbacks, he came through the dark valley and up the other side to make a contributions beyond his own self-promotion.

Being one of the luminaries of the rock scene this past four decades, it’s not surprising that Clapton’s career bisected many other greats of the era and he gives much praise to these with whom he had the privilege of performing. As someone quite talented, his assessments carry a measure of weight.

If you do a Google search you’ll quite a few reviews of this book, and I would encourage you to check them out. I like Greg Kot's review of October 14, 2007 which opens like this:

“Clapton is God,” the graffiti in London once said. But Eric Clapton knew better. He wasn’t God. He was struggling mightily to be a man, and by his own admission didn’t quite become one until he was well into his sixth decade.

“Clapton: The Autobiography” (Broadway Books) does what many rock historians couldn’t: It debunks the legend, de-mythologizes one of the most mythologized electric guitarists ever, puts a lie to the glamor of what it means to be a rock star.

“Backstage, John [Lennon] and I did so much blow that he threw up.” Those few words capture the book’s tenor: intimate, scandalous, titillating, but ultimately sad, at times pathetic. Legends reduced to drug-addled buffoons.

As a first-time author, Clapton has a matter-of-fact, self-deprecating touch. In this autobiography, for which he was reportedly paid nearly $7 million, the guitarist who launched the Yardbirds, Cream and Blind Faith psychoanalyzes himself and recounts a life riddled with drugs, booze, womanizing, shame, self-doubt and self-destructive choices. He sleepwalks through the prime of his life in a haze of self-medication, and rightly trashes most of the albums he released in the ’70s and ’80s. “There was no reason for me to be making records at all,” he acknowledges, yet he went right on making them, tarnishing a great legacy almost beyond repair.

What struck me most about the book is the feeling of transparency it conveys. At the end I felt I understood his views, convictions as it were, regarding music and art and the values he possessed. He lays his heart bare in this story, and perhaps that has always been the power behind his work.

Consider these lines from the song Tears In Heaven, written with Will Jennings after the horrorific loss of his four year old son Conor. I still remember the shock I felt when I heard that nightmarish news in 1991, having a son of my own at a similar age. I can't even imagine going through something like that.

Time can bring you down,

Time can bend your knees.

Time can break your heart,

Have you begging please, begging please.

When I finished the book last night I put on his Greatest Hits album Time Pieces, followed by Derek & the Dominoes and his breakout Journeyman album while making art in my studio. It was a nice evening after a thought provoking read.

Values Formation and Black Urban Culture

How much of who we are is influenced by our fathers and how much do we choose?

I woke this morning thinking about some of the ways our fathers influence us. Education was important to my dad, and it pleased him when we got good grades. I don't know exactly how long it lasted but a dime for each A on my report card led to more diligent efforts in elementary school. My second grade report card had quite a few A's and a series of D's for handwriting. I don't recall ever being rebuked for those D's, with the subsequent result that my penmanship has never been a thing of beauty. And I always expected that I would one day go to college, as sure as it felt inevitable that I would one day grow up and marry.

What's interesting is how our tastes can also be shaped by our dads. My appreciation for classical music goes to those early years as well. Dad frequently read the Sunday paper while listening to Rimsky-Korsakov, Dvorak or Beethoven. He liked baseball and I wanted to be a baseball star. He listened to pop music on the radio as we drove in the car, and he watched the television shows which were popular in their day, such as Bonanza, Perry Mason, and Saturday Night at the Movies.

My dad's days were quite proscribed by the rituals of rising each morning, putting on the radio at 7:00 a.m., making breakfast and driving off to work, returning at 5:30 every evening. After supper, he would sit in his chair reading his books with the TV on. Having grown up poor, Dad valued frugality, saving and responsibility.

I even noticed that some of my tastes with regard to humor were related to the way Dad responded to various comedians. The Marx Brothers were funny, Jerry Lewis was not. He never told me I couldn't laugh at Jerry Lewis, but one could sense his scorn and it shaded the way I responded at the time.

In short, the dye runs deep into the fabric of our developing souls, and it can be challenging to identify where our own personal values get chosen and where they get imprinted.

What about people who grow up without fathers? Who shapes their values? In particular, I'm thinking here of the up and coming generation of inner city black youth with absentee fathers and fractured families. Or rather, I was reflecting on Orlando Patterson's New York Times editorial, "A Poverty of the Mind."

Patterson, a Harvard professor of sociology, opens the discussion with this. "SEVERAL recent studies have garnered wide attention for reconfirming the tragic disconnection of millions of black youths from the American mainstream. But they also highlighted another crisis: the failure of social scientists to adequately explain the problem, and their inability to come up with any effective strategy to deal with it."

After pointing out examples where the problems of black youth are systemic, he notes, "What's most interesting about the recent spate of studies is that analysts seem at last to be recognizing what has long been obvious to anyone who takes culture seriously: socioeconomic factors are of limited explanatory power."

Patterson's editorial gives me the impression that the problems of race in America are going to be with us for a long time. The freedoms won by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., including the elimination of Jim Crow laws, are external in nature. Whether red or yellow, black or white, there are deeper internal victories that each individual must achieve in the arena of their own souls.

We all tend to oversimplify problems, in part because we'd also like an easy fix. Lenin, in the Russian Revolution, put forth education and electrification as the twin objectives that would make for the brightest tomorrow. We hear it here all the time. If only the schools were better.
Unfortunately, it is not that simple according to Patterson.

An anecdote helps explain why: Several years ago, one of my students went back to her high school to find out why it was that almost all the black girls graduated and went to college whereas nearly all the black boys either failed to graduate or did not go on to college. Distressingly, she found that all the black boys knew the consequences of not graduating and going on to college ("We're not stupid!" they told her indignantly).

SO why were they flunking out? Their candid answer was that what sociologists call the "cool-pose culture" of young black men was simply too gratifying to give up. For these young men, it was almost like a drug, hanging out on the street after school, shopping and dressing sharply, sexual conquests, party drugs, hip-hop music and culture, the fact that almost all the superstar athletes and a great many of the nation's best entertainers were black.

For young black men, however, that culture is all there is — or so they think. Sadly, their complete engagement in this part of the American cultural mainstream, which they created and which feeds their pride and self-respect, is a major factor in their disconnection from the socioeconomic mainstream.

What we're seeing is a bi-product of our racist past. Fortunately, a majority of blacks, according to Patterson, have escaped these social patterns. This does not mean we can close our eyes to the serious cultural issues in our inner cities.

The article, whixch is worth reading, challenged a few of my cherished notions which may need to be discarded or re-examined.