Tag Archives: Ludwig van Beethoven

The Promise of Hope

Last week, the 7th of May 2024, marked the 200th anniversary of the premiere of Ludwig van Beethoven's Symphony No. 9. Today then, I want to talk with you about the hope which runs through that Ode to Joy. The recordings of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony heard in this episode came from the 1956 album by the ProMusica Symphony Orchestra and Chorus under the direction of Jascha Horenstein and are free to use under the Public Domain Mark 1.0 Universal label and can be found in full at archive.org. — Click here to support the Wednesday Blog: https://www.patreon.com/sthosdkane

Last week, the 7th of May 2024, marked the 200th anniversary of the premiere of Ludwig van Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9. Today then, I want to talk with you about the hope which runs through that Ode to Joy.


Last time on the Wednesday Blog, I wrote to you in what I hoped would appear to be an optimistic tone that still acknowledged the troubles and trials I find before me, and to an extent I think that worked. While I did not intend to write a sequel to that post, this week’s topic is one which fits well enough, and which I feel quite fervent about as to warrant mention here in the Wednesday Blog.

I began to explore the world of classical music around the time I started high school. Quite honestly, my big introductions were the music of George Gershwin and the original cast album of Phantom of the Opera. Yet around that time I was introduced to an ensemble called the William Baker Summer Singers and joined them for the 2008 season when we performed Beethoven’s Ninth in Grace & Holy Trinity Cathedral in Downtown Kansas City. I was not the best singer by a long shot, still very new to the whole experience, yet it was the start of my off-and-on tenure singing with choirs around Kansas City.


The first measures of the 1st Movement

Beethoven’s Ninth thunders into life with the opening measures of its first movement, as though the hope and joy which makes this piece so famous is born from something elemental deep beneath the ground, rising out and toward the audience with the orchestra as its first voice. This then makes the chorus out to be some even deeper root of the spirit of this work, its power growing throughout the first three movements leading up to the tremendous clamoring second movement. I’ve always imagined the second movement told the story of a fast paced and clattering horse and rider making their way through fields and farms to pass on good news to some learned recipient.

The third movement is far softer than the first, yet again it speaks to something grand as yet only being revealed to the audience. There is a sense in the third movement of a fundamental truth as of yet untold, whose voice could raise both the living and the dead to new heights of human dignity and grace. Through music, Beethoven captured the full spectrum of human aspiration and expressed our innate confidence in our own abilities to improve our lives. It reminds me of the “Et incarnatus est” movement in Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis, which is written in the Dorian mode, giving it a distinct feeling of rising from a deep ether into the light of a new day. The Missa Solemnis was also written in 1824, premiering on the 7th of April of that year.


The 3rd Movement’s climax

I hear something inherent in Beethoven’s optimism, that even with all the troubles of his life there near its end he could still dream that we might become better versions of ourselves. The tempo marker for the first movement Allegro ma non troppo e un poco maestoso (Quick but not too much and a little majestic) might well be a good motto for life; a good life ought to be taken at a fair pace, yet not too fast, and with some majesty for one’s nature. We can hope for something better because we are born with minds capable of dreaming of better tomorrows.

At the heart of the Ninth Symphony and in particular its choral fourth movement is a fairly simple melody, one that I learned quickly during my time rehearsing it. That melody has taken on a life of its own beyond Beethoven’s original composition and become something ubiquitous in many respects. There are two church hymns set to its tune in the hymnal we use in my current parish choir, “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee,” and the slightly more modern, yet traditionally formal, “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore You.” What I love about this melody is that it is easy to learn, easy to adapt, and so upbeat.


The Ode to Joy theme from the 4th Movement

The words which Beethoven set to that tune were written by the German poet Friedrich Schiller (1759–1805) in the summer of 1785. They are an outgrowth of the Enlightenment and the fervent calls for acknowledging our common humanity that grew from this reassessment of our relationship with Nature. Those words speak volumes to me, that joy makes brothers and sisters of us all, revealing our original state of nature to us amid all the nebulous fog of our lived expectations. It’s easy to forget that beneath all the mantles of identity we hoist upon ourselves that we are all the same in our life and yes in our mortality.

There is a deep promise here that with hope we can accomplish tremendous things. Hope alone will not solve our problems, we will always need to act to improve ourselves and our communities. True hope, pure and fulfilling hope, is such that it requires we all act together to our common benefit, that we think of each other more than of ourselves. I have such a hope in humanity, after all I’ve seen moments in my own life and in our history in which we’ve come together to work for a higher purpose than any one of us. Again, quoting from Schiller’s poem:

“Seid umschlungen, Millionen!
Diesen Kuß der ganzen Welt!”

            “Be embraced, all ye millions!

            With a kiss for all the world!”

This promise of hope is something that is sacred because it offers us a chance at redemption no matter how terrible the things we may have done. There is something truly divine about it, that we can become better versions of ourselves not in spite of who we’ve been but rather because we are willing to improve who we are and how we live with our neighbors.

That is a promise that I hope we can fulfill.



The recordings of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony heard in this episode came from the 1956 album by the ProMusica Symphony Orchestra and Chorus under the direction of Jascha Horenstein and are free to use under the Public Domain Mark 1.0 Universal label and can be found in full at archive.org.


Classics

This week I'm discussing what the word "classical" means to me in musical as well as historical and political terms. — Click here to support the Wednesday Blog: https://www.patreon.com/sthosdkane

During my high school years in Kansas City, I would often listen to either NPR or 1660 AM, the local classical music station, on my 30 minute drive south to St. James Academy. In those years I continued to embrace Classical Music, especially opera, as an art form that remains a particular passion of mine, even to the point of several ill-fated attempts at composing.

Still, it strikes me that our term classical has a rather complicated set of meanings and uses. In the musical sense, it’s used to refer to the most highbrow of our genres, the rare musical tradition that still sees performances of music composed within the last 400 years rather than the decade-based music that usually makes the Pop and Rock charts. Classical Music tends to embrace the trappings of old European and American elite while also providing a gateway for the rest of us to enter that refined space and hear the radiant melodies and harmonies that have been the soundtrack for generations.

I began to explore Classical Music in my middle school years, like many Americans my introduction to this wide scope of music was through jazz and Gershwin’s blending of the classical and jazz orchestras. I’ve been wanting to write a blog post all about my appreciation for Gershwin’s music, though my continuing uncertainty regarding copyright law has kept me from ever publishing it or trying to record a podcast version of it. From Gershwin I jumped backwards to Mozart, Beethoven, and the other big names before settling both in the Baroque world with Lully and in the realm of the Romantics with the likes of Johann Strauss II, Verdi, Wagner, and Mahler. Today, I still love the music from all of those composers, yet I’m also drawn to more recent works written by the likes of Debussy, film music that fits in the 20th Century late Romantic tradition embodied by Prokofiev and the German film composer Gottfried Huppertz, who longtime Wednesday Blog readers and listeners will remember is the composer of the score for Fritz Lang’s 1926 science fiction film Metropolis

In the last couple of years, I’ve returned to my first unwitting introduction to classical music through the film music of the likes of John Williams and Elmer Bernstein and found myself drawn to electronic-classical compositions of Vangelis, which inspired the theme for the Wednesday Blog, and the choral classical-crossover albums of Christopher Tin and 2022’s The Moons Symphony written by Amanda Lee Falkenberg. I’ll gladly spend an afternoon listening to Jerry Goldsmith’s themes for the various Star Trek series and Mr. Williams’s compositions for Star Wars as much as I’ll choose to hear a Mozart piano concerto or Bernard Lallement’s Missa Gallica.

I’ve long thought that classical music saw its greatest innovation in the last century when its venue diversified from the concert hall alone to include the sweeping compositions that breathe life into films. Film music to me fits in the long tradition of ballet music. This comes out of the great silent film tradition of a century ago which reached its zenith in the late 1920s with epics like the original Ben-Hur and Phantom of the Opera films as well as with Metropolis and the other great German expressionist films. Sound film took some of the storytelling need off of the music as now the characters on screen could too be heard, yet the power of music in film was already clear. I relish the chance to hear the Kansas City Symphony perform a concert of film music, because even when it’s disassociated from the pictures that score was originally created to accompany that score often holds up on its own as a concert piece.

It is interesting then to consider that within the world of Classical Music the term “classical” generally only refers to a short span of musical composition within the long history of the wider “classical” genre. The Classical Period in music matches up with the Neo-Classical Period in art, architecture, and literature that ran from around 1750 to 1820. This period includes great composers like Gluck, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert, all of whom worked in Vienna the beating heart of Europe’s music industry in this period. Yet by this definition the word classical implies a separation from the present, clear limits to its scale and span, and an air of antiquity.

In many other contexts the term classical refers to the far older Classical Antiquity of European History, the centuries during the height of Greek and later Roman civilization from around the 8th century BCE to the 5th century CE. When I write about the classics in my work, I am most often referring to people and ideas conceived during this 13-century long span of time. The classical fathers of Western philosophy––Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle––continue to be required reading in modern philosophy studies, while Aristotle and Pliny the Elder have a foundational role in my own discipline in the History of Natural History. Those two, Aristotle and Pliny, were central influences for the naturalists who defined the Americas in the sixteenth century, people like the focus of my dissertation André Thevet, as well as Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo and José de Acosta who both wrote natural histories of the Spanish Americas, and Conrad Gessner & Carolus Clusius whose works were written about distant worlds from the comfort of their own homes back in Europe.

Classical is a tricky word because it can be interpreted as something which is removed from common life. It stands apart from popular things because of its high status. I’m often struck by the adoption of mannerisms and norms from the classical music world in popular music, there was one concert I attended nearly a decade ago where the musicians on stage went from dancing in circles playing their violins to suddenly, briskly, taking chairs and sitting in a neat orchestral row in them as though playing the part yet ever with a wink and a nod about it. There has been a general loosening of expectations and normalities in our culture, a sort of reaction to the manners of past generations. I tend to see our present moment as responding to the norms of the 1980s and 1990s, politically we are in a period of unstable transition from the Reagan Conservativism and Clinton centrism of the 80s and 90s, though that needle continues to move forward in time and it does feel now that American conservativism and liberalism now seems to be working in response to the policies of the Bush and Obama Administrations as our youngest generation of voters now were born after the Millennium. I’m happy to see more classical musicians on social media releasing short videos of their performances, rehearsals, and daily practice for all to see. That’s one way for the classical to remain vibrant in the present moment. Still, it worries me that today in 2023 classical and jazz tend to be the exception in popular performance compared to pop, rock, and country.