torsdag den 28. januar 2021

KLASSISK MUSIK I SKYERNE

 


After a time of forced name confusion, this page is now called

KLASSISK MUSIK I SKYERNE

which in Danish leans on the original French name "Cafe Classique dans les nuages".

Hopefully the site's old friends can find "KLASSISK MUSIK I SKYERNE".

The site's French name was a reminiscence of the fact that Cafe Classique several years ago started as a weekly presentation of classical music at the real Café "Enten - Eller" (named after the philosopher Søren Kierkegaard's book).

Café Classique at that time had a website on Facebook under the name Café Classique. After "Enten - Eller" closed, Café Classique moved to premises in a disused amusement park, run by a group of "cultural activists" under the name Platform4, providing space and equipment to Café Classique.

The large rooms were good for a larger audience, but unsuitable and too cold those days, when only a few listners found their way to the music evenings… .and in winter it was simply no go.

Thus, "Café Classique" became "Café Classique in the clouds" (the electronic ones - that is).


lørdag den 16. november 2019

Music Imperialism



Music Imperialism

Europe, this Asian peninsula, has in a surprising way spread its "culture" - that is, way of living, technology and economic practices - across the globe. Here I will not go into all the racist delusions that have since been used to explain this phenomenon, but just point out that also (or just?) racist scientists believe that on average, Asians are smarter than Europeans…
That technology, of the here and now brutal-superior kind, wins over the more traditional modes of production is not surprising as economics and warfare have been and still are largely interconnected
Also in the field of "arts" many areas are closely linked to earnings and marketing. Therefore it is not surprising, that f.x. "Hollywood movies" have gained the popularity they have. They earned so much that many countries try to emulate them and make "Bollywood" - surprisingly not exactly in Europe, because here we have taken the American Hollywood films to our hearts as an extension of our own cultural experiences and norms inflated to cinemascope by US economic capability.

However, after this probably cumbersome introduction, I want to get into the subject that has my special interest: the so-called "classical" music. It has survived for a very long time and it is an admittedly prestigious but commercially only moderately successful genre of art.

One has to give in, that famous classical musicians, concert organizers and well-established music media distributors make real money, but compared to popular music in all its genres, the profits are ridiculous compared to the efforts of the performers and the investments - especially from the public.
The strange thing is that this form of art, in its very European design and expression, has gained a foothold in almost the whole world, at least with the cultural as well as the political elite.
European classical music gained its "imperial" significance, as the art music of the churches with a twist towards the worldly moved into the principalities, to entertain and impress the rulers. However, court music is by no means a purely European phenomenon, but certainly existed in Asia as well.
Yayue (Chinese, literally: 'elegant music') was originally a form of classical music and dance performed at the Imperial Court and in the temples of ancient China. Along with the laws and rituals, this form of music contributed to the formal representation of the aristocratic political power.
Yayue was considered by Confucius to be the kind of music that is good and beneficial, in contrast to the popular music which he considered decadent and corrupt. 

Court Yayue has largely disappeared from China, although modern attempts at its revival exist. In Taiwan, Yayue is performed as part of a Confucian ceremony and in China in a revived form as entertainment for tourists. Other forms of Yayue are still found in parts of East Asia, notably "gagaku" in Japan, "aak" in Korea, and "nhã nhạc" in Vietnam. Although the same word is used in these countries (but pronounced differently), the music does not necessarily correspond to Chinese Yayue. However, the Korean “ax” preserved music elements that had for long been lost in China. (source: Wikipedia)
Accordingly , this aristocratic Chinese/Asian style of music has almost vanished. It has been "ousted" or replaced by classical music, which is either purely European or strongly influenced by European music style.
However recent classic Asian compositions may sound, they are mostly performed by musicians and orchestras who use throughout European/Western instruments and clothing style:
China National Symphony Orchestra

All this equipment, all that demanding training of musicians, the construction of concert- and opera houses to cultivate a fundamentally very Western/European culture WITHOUT real opportunities or expectations that this efforts will pay off or be yielding "political" returns in form of increased popularity or respect… what is this about then ... or where is the explanation?

After all, in the reign of emperors, kings, and counts they could content themselves with lovely sonic experiences that were otherwise inaccessible. If those noblemen themselves were unmusical, they at least impressed their like-ranked guests with full-fledged musical splendor delivered by virtuoso soloists and well-trained orchestras who could, if desired, accompany ceremonies as well as dinners.
But today? If you like symphonic or other classical music you can easily listen to it from a luxury electronic device performed by the finest artists so that your experience a musical quality by far exceeding the abilities of a "state orchestra" in a third world country.

MUSON Symphony Orchestra, Nigeria

If I should venture some kind of explanation then it must be two-stringed, where I first throw myself onto the sociological string:
From the moment classical music moved out of the royal court into the bourgeois homes and into the concert halls it was taken over by a bourgeoisie who could not only maintain but even promote it in coordination with the urbanization and technological and economic development that particularly characterized the 18th and 19th century. Because this bourgeois "revolution" first took place in Europe, it has since become THE model for development. The organization and expression of music then came along with it as part of "the civilization development package" .1
And here comes the second string of my explanation, which is more music internal: The development that musical instruments and composition took in European music, inextricably made it stronger in expression and more potent in sound than anything else other contemporary cultures could offer.
Since then, this "classic sound" entered theater performances, first in the form of opera, then operettas and musicals. Furthermore, the European "audio formula" in the shape of film music then penetrated throughout the world. At the same time, being a performing musician in the well-established music institutions of the state and/or the bourgeoisie became a completely different way of life, now attractive to musical people who wanted to live a civil and respectable life - opposed to popular music, which usually either offers short-term fame in a hectic life or a more or less "sub cultural" identity on the edge of society.
Conservatory-trained musicians can beside to or instead of performing music teach in public and private institutions, thus maintaining a music environment for people interested in classical music both as experience and as an integral part of education. It is noteworthy in this context, that, despite its proximity to bourgeois culture, classical music is usually appreciated and promoted by both authoritarian and revolutionary regimes, which makes me think that many cultural politicians, regardless of political observance, on their way through education to influence have apparently been infected with an interest in classical music.
Usually in the context of European composers such as Mozart and Beethoven and typically performed by orchestras, ensembles and choirs (rather than bands), classical music also in Africa has for long had a loyal following. With roots in colonial times, classical music has continued to be performed, composed, taught and consumed in many, if not all, African countries since independence.
 Sometimes this does not stray far from the European originators; in other cases African composers and musicians have crafted a distinctly African brand of classical music, drawing on traditional and even contemporary popular influences.
Classical music has been written off in some parts of Africa as an 'exclusive' or 'elitist' genre. But it is necessary to recognize the role of classical music in Africa, especially in education. Many musicians start with formal training in classical music before moving to other genres.



torsdag den 6. september 2018

Did Video kill the Radio Star?




Have music videos a tendency to kill/suppress specific musical substance/qualities?

"Video Killed the Radio Star ...
They took the credit for your second symphony
Rewritten by machine and new technology
And now I understand the problems you can see”


(read further down below, if you are interested in details about the quoted hit-singles history)

Like the songwriter Trevor Horn (b. 1949) I was lucky enough to be born (1951) before music in general as a rule became dominated and promoted by visual effects. Even though musical performance always had a quite obvious optical quality – would it be a Celtic bard, a chivalrous minstrel or an opera performance – especially classical music was - already before record players and radios became the most important “music carriers” of their time - very much dominated by the acoustic quality. That fact had its offspring in church music, corals and since than polyphonic choirs, organ music and musical masses transferred to the worldly music halls for performances of classical music as we know it: for a bourgeois audience expecting the ultimate sound quality.


This had since the transistorization of amplification been transferred to private homes, where already at a time when color TVs were just at their brink, it was possible to reproduce music in a very high acoustic quality while only real music-movies shown in cinemas could (if they were equipped to it) show music in a quality worth watching and listening to at the same time. For the most the movies showing music were, where the money was:
a Musicals
b Childish movies with pop/rock-stars in leading roles performing in pre-bollywood stile productions of mostly American but sometime also European origin.


While TV-sets through the seventies, eighties and nineties of the 20th century enhanced their color quality and since with the flat-screens everywhere also the number of pixels, the musical/acoustic quality of this equipment stagnated completely (commonly) while the connoisseur stereo sets were sold to aficionados and very well to to people.
Off course would home cinemas since than be equipped with at least good sound bars and since earthquake speakers. But the youngsters without rooms and leisureliness to be placed in one place in the basement only, ran off with their smartphones where there was already a legion of videos waiting to be spread by YouTube and others – all the time supplemented by new videos more exiting to watch and seldom really worth listening to without the video.
However (as I have been told by a younger “listener”) there is a wave of music streaming services such as Spotify, Apple and Tidal, where there is a new focus on audio quality enabeling HiFi and master quality (16/24 bit) for an extra fee.
So … the visual dominance in the electronic presentation of music should not bother me too much, if I could look at it pragmatically and admit, that pop- or rock music in its essence is about pleasing and earning lots of money by doing so.
But besides that there is the enormous heritage of the “utmost” quality of acoustic experience, not dominated by visual impression.
This heritage might fade away without an effort … and there are after all quite many people out there, who think it could be worth trying to interest musically interested youngsters for the joy of experiencing music as music per se and not only a sub-medium to computer-games, movies or “music-videos”
Cafe Classique is trying to contribute a tiny little bit to that -


ᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠᾠ


"Video Killed the Radio Star"
is a song written by Trevor Horn, Geoff Downes and Bruce Woolley in 1978. It was first recorded by Bruce Woolley and The Camera Club (with Thomas Dolby on keyboards) for their album English Garden, and later by British group the Buggles, consisting of Horn and Downes. The track was recorded and mixed in 1979, released as their debut single on 7 September 1979 by Island Records, and included on their first album The Age of Plastic. The backing track was recorded at Virgin's Town House in West London, and mixing and vocal recording would later take place at Sarm East Studios.
"Video Killed the Radio Star"s theme was promotion of technology while worrying about its effects. This song relates to concerns about mixed attitudes towards 20th-century inventions and machines for the media arts. Musically, the song performs like an extended jingle.
Commercially, "Video Killed the Radio Star" was also a success. The track topped sixteen international music charts, including the official singles charts of the group's home country of the UK and other nations such as Australia, Austria, France, Italy, Ireland, Spain, Sweden and Switzerland, as well as the Japanese Oricon International Chart. It also peaked within the top 10 in Canada, Germany, New Zealand and South Africa, the top 20 in Belgium and the Netherlands, and barely in the top 40 in the United States.
Quite ironically the song's music video, written, directed, and edited by Russell Mulcahy, is well-remembered as the first music video shown on MTV in the United States at 12:01a.m. on 1 August 1981, and the first video shown on MTV Classic in the United Kingdom on 1 March 2010.
From Wikipedia


Video Killed The Radio Star - lyrics
Trevor Horn/Buggles The Age Of Plastic


I heard you on the wireless back in '52
Lying awake intent on tuning in on you
If I was young it didn't stop you coming through
Oh-a oh

They took the credit for your second symphony
Rewritten by machine and new technology
And now I understand the problems you can see
Oh-a oh
I met your children
Oh-a oh
What did you tell them?

Video killed the radio star
Video killed the radio star
Pictures came and broke your heart
Oh-a-a-a oh

And now we meet in an abandoned studio
We hear the playback and it seems so long ago
And you remember the jingles used to go
Oh-a oh
You were the first one
Oh-a oh
You were the last one

Video killed the radio star
Video killed the radio star
In my mind and in my car
We can't rewind we've gone to far
Oh-a-a-a oh
Oh-a-a-a oh

Video killed the radio star
Video killed the radio star
In my mind and in my car
We can't rewind we've gone to far
Pictures came and broke your heart
Put the blame on VCR

You are a radio star
You are a radio star
Video killed the radio star
Video killed the radio star
….

mandag den 3. september 2018

MAESTROS FROM ANDALUCIA



MANUEL DE FALLA AND JOAQUIN TURINA:

MAESTROS FROM ANDALUCIA


Notes by Adam Kent

Spaniards in Paris


Writing in the Spanish newspaper La Vanguardia in 1912, Joaquín Turina offered the following description of his debut in Paris at which his newly composed piano quintet was first performed:
Already in place on stage and with the first violinist’s bow poised to begin, we saw a fat gentleman with a huge black beard and an enormous wide-brimmed hat rush in, flushed with haste. A minute later, in absolute silence, the performance began. After a while, the fat gentleman turned to his neighbor, a slight young man, and asked him, ‘Is the composer an Englishman?’ ‘No sir, he’s from Seville,’ replied the slight young man, completely stupefied. The performance continued, and in the end they were as one, the fat gentleman bursting into the artists’ room accompanied by the slight young man. He approached me and with the utmost courtesy pronounced his name: Isaac Albéniz. A half-hour later the three of us were strolling arm-in-arm across the Champs-Elysées in the graying autumn twilight; after crossing the Place de la Concorde we settled down in a bar on Rue Royale, and there, amidst champagne and pastries, I experienced the most complete metamorphoses of my life. There the patria chica began to shine; there we spoke of Spanish music with ‘vistas towards Europe,’ and from there I left completely changed in my ideas. We were three Spaniards in our little group in a corner of Paris, and we had to make great efforts for the music of Spain. In shall never forget that scene, nor do I think will the slight young man, who was none other than the great Manuel de Falla.”

Like so many great Spanish composers of their generation, Joaquín Turina and Manuel de Falla, both natives of Andalucía, established themselves in Paris in the period leading up to the First World War. There the two composers formed a life-long friendship, at one point living as neighbors at the Hotel Kléber. Falla was already an accomplished musician who had won two prizes in Spain in 1905—one for pianists sponsored by the Ortiz y Cussó firm, the other organized by the Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando for composition. For this latter prize, Falla composed his first fully mature masterwork, the one-act opera La vida breve. Paris was to provide a professional launching pad for Falla, a chance to pursue the performances and publication of his music which had eluded him in his native country. Contemporary French musical culture also furnished Falla with much inspiration, especially the work of Claude Debussy, with whom Falla eventually established a cordial if sometimes tense relationship. Turina arrived in Paris in 1905 somewhat less fully formed as a musician. He came to study, enrolling in the composition class of Vincent d’Indy at the Schola Cantorum and the piano studio of Moritz Moszkowski. Indeed, as the above anecdote makes clear, Turina’s devotion to a nationalistic idiom evolved only after he had mastered a traditionally mainstream approach to musical form and harmony.

Turina’s posthumous reputation has suffered somewhat from the comparison with Falla. The latter composer was indeed a rare phenomenon, an artist who seemed to reinvent himself with each major work. It can be hard to fathom that the composer of the perfumed, impressionistic Noches en los jardines de España could evoke the rawness of Andalusian gypsy culture in El amor brujo, the elegance of eighteenth-century Castile in El sombrero de tres picos, and the siglo-de-oro mysticism of El Retablo de Maese Pedro all within little more than a decade. Turina, though, was a far more prolific artist, who discovered his voice as a young composer in Paris and produced an impressive body of work in a wide range of genres. His style may not have evolved as dramatically as Falla’s, but his musical presence is equally powerful and immediately recognizable. The 125th anniversary of Turina’s birth furnishes the ideal occasion to juxtapose the work of these two maestros from Andalucía.

Manuel de Falla (1876-1946)

Transcriptions from El Retablo de Maese Pedro, El amor brujo, and El sombrero de tres picos


El Retablo de Maese Pedro owes its existence to a commission in 1919 from Princess Edmond de Polignac of an opera for marionette theater to be staged at her Parisian residence. Falla settled on the titeres scene from Cervantes’s Don Quixote, in which the novel’s eponymous hero witnesses a puppet show and loses all perspective on the actuality of the drama. The acerbic, neo-Renaissance style of the writing is enhanced by Falla’s use of the harpsichord in the original instrumentation, one of the first instances of newly composed music for that instrument in the twentieth century and a harbinger of the wonderful harpsichord concerto Falla would produce a few years later.

El amor brujo was inspired by the legendary gypsy bailarina Pastora Imperio, who in 1914 requested a work from Falla she could “sing and dance.” The ballet which emerged is based on a scenario by Martínez Sierra, who adapted a tale of love and obsession related to him by the dancer’s mother. The music impressively evokes the cante jondo vocal style Falla would later study in such depth with Federico García Lorca. The most celebrated numbers from the ballet—the “Danza ritual del fuego” (Ritual Fire Dance) and the “Danza del terror” (Dance of Terror)—owe their popularity to piano transcriptions triumphantly connected to Arthur Rubinstein.

As premiered in London in 1919, El sombrero de tres picos was the product of a collaboration between several of Europe’s brightest stars. Falla composed the ballet score, Pablo Picasso provided costume and scenic design, and Leonid Massine undertook the choreography in a production by Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes de Monte Carlo. The scenario, popular in origins, was based on a novel by Antonio Pedro de Alarcón. The famed “Danza del molinero” (Miller’s Dance), a ruggedly masculine farruca, was composed on twenty-four hours notice at the suggestion of Diaghilev, who felt his lead male dancer Massine needed a solo to complement the more extensive “Danza de la molinera” (Dance of the Miller’s Wife) already in the score. This dance has also achieved notoriety in the piano transcription heard tonight.

Pièces espagnoles


Along with La vida breve, the Pièces espagnoles were the first fruits of Falla’s compositional maturity. Each of the four pieces evokes a particular region (colony, in the case of “Cubana”) of Spain in an idiom at once polyphonic in texture and impressionistic in sonority. The collection—begun in Spain before Falla’s departure for Paris in 1907—is dedicated to Isaac Albéniz.

The opening “Aragonesa” presents a lively jota in alternation with a more languorous secondary thematic area, derived from the triplet figurations of the first. “Cubana” repeatedly juxtaposes measures of 6/8 and ¾ in the seductive style of a Cuban guajira. “Montañesa” recalls the delicate texture of Debussy’s work, with its numerous bell imitations and fragmentary handling of thematic materials. A lively middle section quotes a popular regional folk song. The concluding “Andaluza” presages the gypsy outbursts Falla would later immortalize in “Polo,” the last of the Siete canciones populares españolas, in the ballet El amor brujo, and in the final movement of his Noches en los jardines de España. All four pieces end in quiet contemplation.

Fantasía bætica


Having scored such a triumph with his transcription of the “Ritual Fire Dance,” Arthur Rubinstein eagerly commissioned a piano solo from Falla. The Fantasía bætica, completed in 1919, was originally entitled simply “Fantasía,” but Falla’s London-based publisher Chester requested a more distinctive name. “Bætica” is an allusion to the ancient Roman province corresponding to modern-day Andalucía. The music, though, has little to do with toga-clad senators and philosophers and much more to do with the gypsy culture of that region. The work unfolds as an epic sonata form, full of impressive guitar imitations, convincing approximations of cante jondo, and the dark-hued state of obsessive possession sometimes termed duende. Rubinstein performed the work on several occasions, but ultimately abandoned it, apparently disappointed by its length and difficulty. It has been left to more recent generations of pianists to claim for it its rightful place as one of the masterpieces of the Spanish piano literature.


Joaquín Turina (1882-1949)

Danzas fantásticas, Op. 22


The three Danzas fantásticas were composed originally for solo piano in 1918, although they have become better known in Turina’s orchestration. In their way, the dances complement Falla’s Pièces espagnoles, in that each one alludes to a specific region of Spain. The pieces were loosely inspired by La orgía, a novel by Turina’s friend José Mas. “Exaltación” is a jota, the quintessential dance of Aragón, and is prefaced by the following citation from Mas’s novel: “It seemed as if the figures of that incomparable picture were moving inside the chalice of a flower.” “Ensueño” is cast in the unmistakable 5/8 meter and dotted rhythm of the Basque zortziko. Mas’s words introduce the piece: “ The guitar’s strings sounded the lament of a soul helpless under the weight of bitterness.” “Orgía” is another Andalusian farruca, whose rugged swagger is summed up in Mas’s effusive prose: “The perfume of the flowers merged with the aroma of manzanilla, and from the bottom of raised glasses, full of wine incomparable as incense, joy flowed.”

Sanlúcar de Barrameda: Sonata pintoresca para piano, Op. 24


Sanlúcar de Barrameda is a popular seaside resort at the mouth of the Guadalquivir River on the Mediterranean, about 30 miles downstream from Seville. Turina was familiar with the small town and premiered his Sonata pintoresca there in the summer of 1922. The work is arguably Turina’s masterpiece for solo piano, a perfect reconciliation of Andalusian atmosphere and imagery with traditional formal procedures. Like of most of the composer’s multi-movement works, Sanlúcar de Barrameda employs cyclical form, in which themes are reworked from movement to movement. This stylistic tendency was a hallmark of most composers who trained at the Parisian Schola Cantorum, a characteristic Turina’s music shares with that of Vincent d’Indy, Guillaume Lekeu, Ernest Chausson, and many others.

The first movement, “En la torre del Castillo” (In the Castle Tower), is a traditional sonata form, which lays out much of the thematic material for the entire work. The second movement, “Siluetas de la Calzada” (Silhouettes on the Promenade) is sparkling scherzo, which quotes a processional theme from the first movement as its contrasting middle section. Sanlúcar de Barrameda is noted for its beautiful beach, immortalized in the sonata’s brooding third movement, “La playa” (The Beach). The writing here is particularly impressionistic in its evocation of oceanic imagery, and at the end, sweeping arpeggios form a link with the final movement. “Los pescadores en Bajo de Guía” (The Fishermen in Bajo de Guía), an allusion to Sanlúcar’s fishing district, opens with a strict fugal exposition. Throughout the movement, various restatements of the initial theme recur as old-fashioned fugatos. Some of the contrasting episodes recall material from previous movements, but perhaps the most memorable bears an uncanny resemblance to Gershwin’s “I’ve got rhythm!”




mandag den 27. august 2018

several reasons you need to listen to Carl Nielsen



The great Danish composer does not get the attention his music truly
deserves. So we're here to change that and to tell you exactly why
you need to get him on your headphones right now.Carl Nielsen was born to a poor family in Denmark on 9 June 1865
and went on to become one of the world's greatest composers
– and, by some margin, the most famous Danish composer who has
ever lived. But outside Denmark, his music isn't at all well known.
And we think it's about time that changed. 

Let's start with Nielsen's Violin Concerto. It was written in 1911 and is
a gorgeous piece of music that refuses to be pigeon-holed – at times
lush and Romantic, at times folk-inspired but with at least one foot in
the 20th century. 

Carl Nielsen appeared on a Danish bank note. He's (by some margin) the most famous composer Denmark has ever produced. So, as is only right and proper, they put his face on a bank note.
Until recently he graced the front of the hundred-kroner bank note (worth
just under £10). His symphonies have the best nicknames! 

Those days when you wake up feeling blue? Nielsen knows where your
coming from. Nielsen wrote a symphony about that. It's called 'The Four Temperaments' and includes movements called 'Melancholic' and 'Phlegmatic'.
'Melancholic' really does sound like Sunday-night-blues in musical form.
But here's the final movement instead, 'Sanguine' – a musical portrait of a
cheerful, contented person. Lovely. 

Espansiva‘ (Nielsen's 3rd symphony) - a hymn to work and the healthy activity of everyday life. Not a gushing homage to life, but a certain expansive happiness about being able to participate in the work of life and the day and to see activity and ability manifested on all sides around us. 
 ‘The inextinguishable’ (Nielsen's 4th symphony) is one of the best loved and most regularly performed of the great Danish composer's works. It could be because of its sweeping soundscapes, infectious melodies, rich orchestration. Or it could be because it has such a great nickname.  
His songs
Nielsen wrote hundreds of songs and they should be WAY better known. This sounds like Brahms, Bruckner and Elgar all rolled into one. You need those songs in your life…   

(by Lizzie Davis, slightly changed PB)






tirsdag den 21. august 2018

Georg Friedrich Handel - the first classical music superstar




Georg Friedrich Handel - the first classical music superstar
One of the giants of Western music died April 14th 1759. Georg Friedrich Händel, for his time, had lived a good, long life. He was 74.
Händel has been called the first classical music superstar. His operas, oratorios and instrumental music were the toast of London for more than 30 years. And over the past two and a half centuries, interest in Händel has never waned — not for audiences or for musicians like Laurence Cummings, who directs the International Händel Festival in Göttingen, Germany. Cummings is also Director of the London Handel Festival, which he has led since 1999, and is a Trustee of the Handel House Museum with deep insights into Handel research in Britain. He spans a bridge – just as Händel did – between Germany and London, a bridge linking artists and Händel devotees in Germany and England.
Händel obviously wrote wonderful melodies — memorable, singable tunes. He also wrote incredibly grand music, grander than anybody else in his time. And in the operas and oratorios, he shows a great insight into human emotions of all kinds, from deepest despair to the highest joy.
The flood of Händel recordings just keeps flowing — from favorites like Water Music, to the lesser knowns like the oratorio La Resurrezione. The past decade of years has seen all-Händel recital records by opera singers such as Danielle de Niese, Renee Fleming, Mark Padmore, Ian Bostridge, Magdalena Kozena, Marijana Mijanovic and Rolando Villazon. When the American mezzo-soprano Joyce DiDonato released her own CD she declared:
"I have learned more artistically, and even as a human being, I've learned more from performing Handel's music, probably more than any other composer."
Her recording, called Furore,  focused on arias from operas and oratorios where Händel's characters experience flights of fury and tragedy.
"As advanced as we like to think we are, we still succumb to jealousy, rage and euphoria," DiDonato said. "We're humans, and I think we have so much to learn by having the chance to explore these vivid, amazing characters. I think there's a truth in this music, and that's why it still speaks to us."
Joyce DiDonato, real name Joyce Flaherty, is an American operatic lyric-coloratura mezzo-soprano, particularly admired for her interpretations of the works of Händel, Mozart, and Rossini. She was born 13 February 1969
(origin: Tom Huizenga, updated: PB)
George Frederick Handel Biography by Rovi Staff
Perhaps the single word that best describes his life and music is "cosmopolitan": he was a German composer, trained in Italy, who spent most of his life in England.
Handel was born in the German city of Halle on February 23, 1685. His father noted but did not nurture his musical talent, and he had to sneak a small keyboard instrument into his attic to practice. As a child he studied music with Friedrich Wilhelm Zachow, organist at the Liebfrauenkirche, and for a time he seemed destined for a career as a church organist himself. After studying law briefly at the University of Halle, Handel began serving as organist on March 13, 1702, at the Domkirche there. Dissatisfied, he took a post as violinist in the Hamburg opera orchestra in 1703, and his frustration with musically provincial northern Germany was perhaps shown when he fought a duel the following year with the composer Matheson over the accompaniment to one of Matheson's operas. In 1706 Handel took off for Italy, then the font of operatic innovation, and mastered contemporary trends in Italian serious opera. He returned to Germany to become court composer in Hannover, whose rulers were linked by family ties with the British throne; his patron there, the Elector of Hannover, became King George I of England. English audiences took to his 1711 opera Rinaldo, and several years later Handel jumped at the chance to move to England permanently. He impressed King George early on with the Water Music of 1716, written as entertainment for a royal boat outing.
Through the 1720s Handel composed Italian operatic masterpieces for London stages: Ottone, Serse (Xerxes), and other works often based on classical stories. His popularity was dented, though, by new English-language works of a less formal character, and in the 1730s and 1740s Handel turned to the oratorio, a grand form that attracted England's new middle-class audiences. Not only Messiah but also Israel in Egypt, Samson, Saul, and many other works established him as a venerated elder of English music. The oratorios displayed to maximum effect Handel's melodic gift and the sense of timing he brought to big choral numbers. Among the most popular of all the oratorios was Judas Maccabeus, composed in 32 days in 1746. Handel presented the oratorio six times during its first season and about 40 times before his death 12 years later, conducting it 30 times himself. In 1737, Handel suffered a stroke, which caused both temporary paralysis in his right arm and some loss of his mental faculties, but he recovered sufficiently to carry on most normal activity. He was urged to write an autobiography, but never did. Blind in old age, he continued to compose. He died in London on April 14, 1759. Beethoven thought Handel the greatest of all his predecessors; he once said, "I would bare my head and kneel at his grave."
Händel in London
Handel may have been born in Halle but he was a Londoner through and through. The composer moved to the city in 1713 and remained here until his death in 1759. Over almost fifty years he transformed London’s experience of music, be it through his operas, his English oratorios (a genre he invented), his celebratory anthems or his charitable performances. He made his mark, and then some – and nearly three hundred years later we can still revisit some of the places he would have known.
Theatre Royal, Covent Garden
The Theatre Royal – now known as the Royal Opera House – was built by John Rich(previously at Lincoln’s Inn Fields Theatre down the road) in 1732. Handel first worked at Rich’s theatre in 1734, taking refuge after a falling-out with the managers at King’s Theatre Haymarket (down the road in the other direction). Over the next 23 years the Theatre Royal hosted the premieres of more than twenty Handel operas and oratorios, including such big hitters as AriodanteAlcinaJudas MaccabeusSolomon and Jephtha. The theatre has changed a lot since Handel’s time – the first theatre burnt down in 1808, and its replacement was also destroyed by fire, in 1856. The current theatre was opened in 1858 and became the Royal Opera House in 1892.
The National Gallery, Trafalgar Square
True, the National Gallery only opened in 1838, nearly eighty years after Handel’s death. But were he still around he might have found the frontage uncannily familiar. The columns in the National Gallery’s portico were in fact salvaged from Cannons – the magnificent country house in Edgware, built by James Brydges, first Duke of Chandos and one of Handel’s earliest supporters on his move to England. Handel was resident composer in Cannons 1717–8 and the house saw the premieres of his Acis and Galatea, as well as the Chandos Anthems. Brydges spared no expense with Cannons, but by his death his fortunes had turned and his successors were forced to raze the mansion a mere 33 years after it was built. Numerous architectural splendours were hawked off – including the columns from the house’s colonnade, which now adorn the National Gallery.
King’s Theatre, Haymarket
What we now know as Her Majesty’s Theatre is in fact one of the oldest theatre sites in the city. John Vanbrugh built the first theatre here in 1705 as the Queen’s Theatre. Handel’s association with the theatre began just a few years later in 1710, very early in his London career, when he provided incidental music for Ben Johnson’s The Alchemist. The King’s Theatre (as it became in 1714) witnessed the first flourishing of Handel’s operatic brilliance (including the premieres of RinaldoRadamistoFloridanteGiulio CesareRodelinda etc etc) and he was co-manager of the theatre 1729–34. In 1734 Handel shifted shop to Covent Garden, but the break was by no means absolute and the theatre saw numerous further premieres later in Handel’s life. As with Covent Garden, the current theatre isn’t one Handel would recognize: Vanbrugh’s theatre burned down in 1789, and its successor suffered the same fate in 1867. The current theatre dates from 1868 and has been showing The Phantom of the Opera for the last 30 years.
Westminster Abbey and St James’s Palace
London wouldn’t be London without a bit of royalty. As the leading composer of his day, Handel was called on more than once or twice to provide suitably magisterial music – including ‘Zadok the Priest’, one of four coronation anthems written to celebrate the coronation of George II in Westminster Abbey. The piece is now not only an integral part of British pomp and circumstance but is also beloved by football fans as the theme for the UEFA Champions League. Handel also wrote numerous anthems for the Chapels Royal in St James’s Palace, both for the Inigo Jones-built Queen’s Chapel on Marlborough Road and the Chapel Royal within the palace itself – in the headlines most recently as the site of the christening of Prince George.
St George’s, Hanover Square
Handel wasn’t the only one moving to London in the first part of the 18th century, and in 1711 parliament passed a decree requiring 50 more churches to be built to serve the city’s growing population. One of these was St George’s, Hanover Square, just round the corner from where Handel would make his home in Brook Street. The church was consecrated in 1725 and Handel was an active member of the parish from then on until his death, with his contributions including – as you’d expect – providing his expertise on the church’s choice of organ and organists. Handel is probably the church’s most famous worshipper, although its Mayfair location has meant it has had its fair share of celebrity, including in 1886 hosting Theodore Roosevelt’s marriage to Edith Kermit Carow.
25 Brook Street, West End
Handel called this London townhouse home from 1723 until his death. After a varied career and a brief spell in disrepair, the house was bought up by the Handel House Trust in 2000, and now hosts a museum dedicated to its illustrious first owner. There must be something about Brook Street – in 1968 Jimi Hendrix bought a flat in the house next door.
Foundling Hospital, Bloomsbury
Jamila Gavin’s novel Coram Boy has made new generations familiar with Handel’s charitable work with thFoundling Hospital, established to give a home to abandoned children. The charity was founded in 1739 and moved to a sizeable new building in Bloomsbury (then on the outskirts of London) in 1745. The day after a performance of Handel’s Messiah there in 1750, the composer was made a governor of the charity, and maintained a close link to its work until his death. There’s now nothing left of the buildings Handel would have known, as the hospital was demolished in the 1920s. Nevertheless, some its lands were retained as Coram’s Fields, a seven-acre park exclusively for children and young people, while the Foundling Museum provides a lasting tribute to the charity’s work.
St Paul’s Cathedral
St Paul’s Cathedral, one of London’s most iconic landmarks, was a relative novelty in Handel’s time, as Christopher Wren’s magnificent Baroque building was only officially opened in 1711. Then as now it was a site for very public services, including in 1713 a ceremony to celebrate the peace-bringing Treaty of Utrecht, for which Handel provided a Te Deum and a Jubilate.
Lincoln’s Inn Fields Theatre, Lincoln’s Inn
Lincoln’s Inn Fields Theatre was originally a real tennis court; its conversion in 1660 gave great joy to Samuel Pepys, who called it England’s ‘finest playhouse’. In due course the theatre was knocked down and rebuilt as a new theatre, which in 1728 hosted the premiere of John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera – itself something of a send-up of Handel’s Italian operas at the King’s Theatre. The surprise success of The Beggar’s Opera was such that the theatre’s manager, one John Rich, had enough capital to up sticks and build the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. Several Handel works were subsequently staged at Lincoln’s Inn, including the premiere of the ode L’allegro, il penseroso ed il moderato in 1740. There’s nothing left to see of the theatre, which was demolished in 1848 – although you might pop into the (not Handel-related but still interesting) Hunterian Museum on the same site.
(Rachel Beaumont 2016)