Music and Happiness is changing radically in 2016. We will no longer be sending out notices of new posts to Subscribers. In fact, we are deleting our Subscriber List.
This website will remain online, and you can still contact us here by using our Contact form. (See below for more on this.)
Music will continue to play a major role in our work, since this website will now offer descriptions and dates of courses that Josh is teaching online covering many kinds of music and musicians, like the very popular ones he offers in Lifelong Learners programs. As you know from the many years of posts here, his knowledge as a professional musicologist is encyclopedic, so if you have a burning desire to learn about something musical, contact us with your wish list in the message box.
Our new nonprofit (501c3) organization, the Ageless Mind Project, encompasses both music and other activities that research shows contribute to a higher quality of life, especially as people grow older. This Project has already established a major online presence in virtual environments as well as through in-person workshops and classes.
If you want us to contact you about our activities from now on, use the Contact Form right here on our website to give us your name and email. In the subject line simply write: “keep me posted.” We will send out personal notices only to interested individuals. And of course you can always check this website for news, so bookmark it!
We have enjoyed “meeting” so many of you and have been buoyed by your enthusiasm and interest over the years – we began Music and Happiness in 2007! – and we hope you will want to stay with us in our new, ambitious endeavor.
With deep appreciation for you and our common love of all music,
For many, Gershwin’s An American in Paris is associated with the 1951 MGM movie starring Gene Kelly, not to mention a number of Broadway revivals. But these versions are not only larded with a number of other Gershwin pieces, they also slice and dice the original work.
The 1928 orchestral “rhapsodic ballet ” was composed during what was a miraculous decade in a tragically short life—one that saw the creation of such other perennially fresh works as “Lady, Be Good!,” “Rhapsody in Blue,” and “Concerto in F,” as well as a treasure trove of songs co-written with his brother Ira.
Connected with his two stays in Paris—in April 1926 and during a more extended period from mid-March to mid-June 1928, An American in Parisis Gershwin’s most richly textured and vividly orchestrated score. For example, in the woodwinds alone, in addition to the more conventional instruments, Gershwin draws upon the seductive reedy sonorities of bass clarinet as well as soprano, alto, tenor, and baritone saxophones. And the panoply of percussion instruments is equally striking: aside from timpani, there are the snare drum, cymbals, bass drum, triangle, bells, xylophone, wood block, small and large tom tom.
But the most attention-grabbing of all are the sounds of the four taxi horns. They are a vital part of the street noises as our American visitor strolls about the city. We know that Gershwin went shopping for horns among the automobile dealers along the Avenue de la Grande Armée. As one friend reported: “We went to every shop we could find to look for taxi horns. He wanted horns that could sound certain notes.” And he reportedly ended up with some twenty taxi horns lying about his hotel room.
In a sense, Gershwin was a child of his time in using these horns. The 1920’s saw composers bring aircraft propellers and other machines to the stage of Carnegie Hall. For instance, Frederick Converse used a Ford automobile horn in his 1927 piece “Flivver Ten Million: A Joyous Epic.”
An American in Parisis organized in five large sections. Taxi horn beeps are heard first near the beginning of the work. The opening sound, however, is the “walking theme,” a “refrain” or unifying idea later heard multiple times. There is also a brief quote from one of the pop songs of the day, “La Mattchiche” (a.k.a. “La Maxixe”), parodied in the U.S. with the lyrics, “My ma gave me a nickel to buy a pickle.”
Clarinets soon pipe up, in their upper register, with a perky fresh theme. Gershwin proceeds to develop much of this material in a richly polyphonic texture. The pace then slackens as our visitor hesitates, passing what could be a church or the Grand Palais, a famous landmark.
A bridge passage –a sinuous, chromatically descending phrase in the flutes—brings us to the second section. Our visitor has presumably now arrived at the Left Bank. Much of the sound is raucous and vigorous. But calm eventually sets in as a solo violin, cushioned by lush Debussyesque chords, is heard. Some commentators suggest this represents a French girl approaching our visitor with her broken English.
Soon a similar bridge passage follows, this time played by two solo violins, bringing us to the third section. A “spasm of homesickness” has now struck our visitor, as we hear an expansive blues sound first heard on the trumpet. But, before it is picked up by the whole orchestra, there is a fleeting interlude for string quartet, attesting to the range of Gershwin’s musical antenna. This passage could have been written by Alban Berg, a composer he adored and whom he visited in Vienna in 1928.
The fourth section brings us a “second fit of blues,” energized by the rhythm of the Charleston. This section climaxes in a grand statement of the blues introduced in section three. As the excitement winds down, we hear a series of three brief bluesy solos, consequent phrases, on violin, tuba, and bass clarinet. These usher in the fifth and final section. Our American has now reached “open air” and is once again “an alert spectator of Parisian life.”
We want to share with you a wonderfully vibrant and youthful performance by Gustavo Dudamel and the Los Angeles Philharmonic.
(Full disclosure: the conductor of the St. Thomas Orchestra, with which I will be performing An American in Paris in an upcoming concert, considers this version the most outstanding he has ever heard.)
To guide your listening to the Dudamel performance, here are cues for the five sections of the piece:
Question: What makes a familiar piece of music stay fresh to the mind and ear?
One Answer: Learning something new about it.
Josh plays violin in an orchestra made up of passionate musicians who, by day, are psychiatrists, pediatricians, teachers, students, hedge fund managers, software engineers, etc. ranging in age from 18 to 80.
He writes the Program Notes for their concerts to help audiences listen with heightened awareness and pleasure. We bring you here a classic performance by Leonard Bernstein and the Vienna Philharmonic.
A suggestion: Read the Program Notes first as you watch and listen. Then just listen.
Sometime during the summer of 1817 Beethoven happened to be dining with the poet Christoph Kuffner. At one point the conversation reportedly went as follows:
K: Tell me frankly, which is your favorite among your symphonies ? ( The Ninth had not yet been written.)
B:–[in great good humor] Eh! Eh! The “Eroica.”
K: I should have guessed the C minor.
B: No, the “Eroica.”
Studying Beethoven’s creative process, I am awed by the extent to which the “Eroica” Symphony is fueled by an inspirational fire like no other.
A vital clue as to how this magnificent masterpiece came together can actually be found in its last movement. The basic material heard there can also be found in the seventh of a delightful set of dance miniatures, the “Twelve Contradances,” from around 1801. It reappears as well, in more developed form, as the finale to Beethoven’s ballet score, “The Creatures of Prometheus,” Op. 43, from the same period. It can also heard, in much more highly evolved form, in the so-called “Eroica” variations for solo piano, his Op. 35 from 1802.
This speaks to his passionate engagement with the myth of Prometheus and its association in his mind with particular musical material. Going by copious circumstantial evidence, it would be no exaggeration to say that Beethoven thought of himself as a latter-day Prometheus, that great hero of Greek mythology who defied the gods by stealing fire from heaven to bring warmth, light, and enlightenment to mankind.
Turning to the political arena, it is clear that Beethoven initially saw Napoleon Bonaparte as another Prometheus, one who would bring “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity” to not only France but all mankind. However, by the late spring of 1804, after his revolutionary work was complete, the news came to him that Napoleon had had himself crowned Emperor, ending the dream of a new epoch of Freedom. In a rage, Beethoven tore up the title page with the name “Bonaparte” in its dedication, renaming it “Sinfonia Eroica, composed to celebrate the Memory of a Great Man.” (I added the italics.) Everything about Beethoven’s “Eroica” symphony shattered the musical status quo.
[Start the video now.] The first movement, after two whiplash chords on E-flat, outlines the notes of that chord in the cellos in the four following measures, only to throw us off balance in the fifth measure with a disruptive shift to C-sharp.
A mighty struggle is now joined in this opening symphonic movement, the likes of which had never been heard before. We have to wait for the climactic coda for a full realization of this opening idea. There, two perfectly matching four-bar phrases–first heard in the French horn starting in measure 631 (16:53)–at last begin to resolve the struggle.
There are three more such statements–in violins, then in cellos, culminating in the triumphant trumpets. Beethoven’s process of reaching a resolution translates into a tortuous journey of bold key relationships, masterly motivic manipulation and counterpoint, repeated duple disruptions of what is supposed to be triple meter, dynamic contrasts, and dissonance of unprecedented intensity.
A telling dissonant moment comes at 9:26. Another can be heard at 11:54 as the recapitulation is about to begin: an impatient French horn jumps the gun, coming in sounding the notes of the home key, while hushed violins play a dominant chord–a chord built on the fifth note of the key. (11:54)
The intensely expressive second movement, the funeral march, is riveting from the moment it starts, with the dark sound of the open G string (violins and violas) and the imitation of solemn drum strokes in the cellos and basses. Its grief-stricken outer sections frame a midsection where we briefly find consolation in the sunshine of C major, only to then turn dark and tragic again in a double fugue. This fugue is followed by a series of restatements in which the main theme assumes almost apocalyptic intensity.
Beethoven introduces a clock-ticking rhythm in his coda–a hint at human mortality–which in turn brings back the main theme, now heard as a series of sobs from the violins. The ensuing scherzo, in 3/4 time, is so fleet-footed that we can feel only a single beat per measure. The Trio puts three French horns on show as they cavort heroically in E-flat.
A headlong, plunging line in the strings launches the finale; it is as though Prometheus himself has come down to earth to ignite our own fire. Beethoven proceeds to lay down a pizzicato bass line–really underpinning the earlier Prometheus melody. Two variations follow. In the third variation, the oboe introduces the Prometheus melody itself–in effect, a countermelody. What follow are eight variations of path-breaking compositional virtuosity, where Beethoven draws upon virtually every trick in his toolbox. The music ranges in scope from an earthy contradance variation to the most intricate fugal writing. A return of that headlong, hurtling line launches the Presto coda as we all surge ahead in glorious triumph. What a transcendent moment!
Program Notes for St. Thomas Orchestra (copyright J. Berrett, 2012)
**Now, listen again and discover what has changed for you. Tell us your experience by writing to us at email@example.com
This sign made us smile while we waited in a long line at the car wash recently.
Another snow day. It’s been a rough winter here in the Northeastern US. We wonder if our Butterfly Bush will survive the cold. The Rhododendron’s leaves are rolled up so tight, they look like pencils. When we shovel, there’s no place to put more snow.
What brings a sense of hope is that March has now arrived. With that more cheerful thought in mind, we bring you a visualization to music that is one of our favorites.
Visualization is a form of Meditation. It employs images to take the listener on an inward journey of personal discovery. Music adds another dimension to this process as it resonates in the body.
Click on the button below to go on your own journey.
If you’d like to listen to this atmospheric music all by itself as well–we use Claude Debussy’s Nuagesplayed by the Philadelphia Orchestra under Eugene Ormandy–click on the button below.
Josh and Lynne having fun “playing the building” in NYC
Interviewing people about the music they love to listen to is endlessly fascinating. Every story is different. Yet, a common thread runs through them: they are all stories of discovery and a deep commitment to consciously choosing the music in their lives. We find this inspiring and contagious.
We hope you can approach the music we include in these posts with a sense of curiosity and in a spirit of exploration. Perhaps you will want to share your musical preferences with us too. Perhaps you will find yourself listening to “your” own music more consciously–with even greater appreciation for its value to you in ways you have not recognized before.
So, as the last interview of 2014, we bring you the story of Frank. Now 58, Frank has been passionate about the blues since the age of eleven. He speaks of how he gets a thrill–a physical feeling–“everything starts to tingle”–as a melody gets into his heart.
Growing up in a coal mining family in West Germany during the years of the Cold War, he was always hearing music around him. His grandfather sang in a Communist choir, and his father played guitar and sang German and French folk songs. The American Music Hour broadcast by Radio Luxembourg made a lasting impression on him. He vividly remembers lying in bed at night, listening enraptured until well after midnight through his hand-held transistor radio and ear plugs while reading under the covers with a flashlight.
The death of his father when he was still quite young brought a time of great trial and tribulation. He ran away from home and ended up living with three different families. Music was his salvation during that dark period, he says.
As he grew older, and especially after coming to the States, Frank developed ever broader musical tastes, ranging from Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt, and Dvorak (he particularly loves the artistry of the great violinist Jascha Heifetz) to the music of Africa and Latin America to American icons like Jimi Hendrix, Bonnie Raitt, Robert Johnson, Miles Davis, and John Coltrane.
But the heart and soul of his musical passion is still the blues, particularly the work?of the acoustic slide guitarist Ry Cooder. Frank is in awe of Cooder?s gift for interconnecting a great variety of?musical genres. Frank has created a website to celebrate his passion for acoustic, folk and country blues in the 21st Century (http://www.thecountryblues.com).
You can find dozens of artists? profiles there, ranging from the internationally famous to more locally or regionally known musicians. He speaks with special warmth about John Jackson (1924-2002), an illiterate musician from the Fairfax, Va. area who was deeply immersed in the oral African-American tradition.
Here is a sample of Jackson?s music-making called “Red River Blues”:
Like many of our interviewees, Frank is someone with a passion for music who has other passions that are also important to him. He has been director of marketing and communications at a major manufacturer of motor speed controllers for battery-powered and electric vehicles for some twenty years–work he enjoys. Music is a vital part of his day in the office. He credits it with being a source of inspiration, sparking his mind when he writes. It is his comfort food too, helping him deal with everyday stress.
Here are two more examples from his must-have listening list:
Ry Cooder, “Chicken Skin Music” –(Hawaiian and Tex-Mex fusion)
Jimi Hendrix, “Axis: Bold as Love” (the first record Frank ever bought)
One of the more inspiring ways different generations can bond through music is described in this post. Research tells us that positive inter-generational connections are important for our well being.
Here is an exciting example of one way to create a bridge when you listen to music with someone of another generation. If each of you shares what you like about the recording, what happens?
Let us know here. Leave a comment.
Singer, Tony Bennett, now 88, has just released a duet album, “Cheek to Cheek,” with Lady Gaga, age 28, which quickly became No. 1 on Billboard.
Drawing upon the wisdom of his long and rich experience, Bennett says of his current music-making: “I’ve learned that it’s what you leave out of a performance, not what you put into it. Less is more. It’s not because of age, but it’s the right thing to do.”
The extent of his engagement with other singers, many of them half his age and more, is nothing short of astonishing. This goes back more than ten years now and includes names like K.D. Lang, Amy Winehouse, Sheryl Crow, Andrea Bocelli, and Mariah Carey. What is even more remarkable is how these collaborations have tapped hitherto unknown abilities in singers like Lady Gaga, who in the current duet album performs against type–and does so in superb fashion.
The title track,”Cheek to Cheek,” a 1935 classic with words and music by Irving Berlin, first made famous by Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, is given fresh life here by our two virtuosi. Listen to how the melodic line is developed from a simple melodic cell of adjacent notes. (If you listen carefully, by the way, you can hear a resemblance to Chopin’s Polonaise in A-flat, Op. 53!) The word painting is such that the melody perfectly matches the intimacy suggested by the lyrics.
For your listening pleasure (share it with someone younger or older, please!):
Vital cue: Track 2, 2:04 on bottom of screen, Lady Gaga sings “Heaven, I’m in Heaven…”
Tony Bennett and Lady Gaga
Vital cue: 0:42 on bottom of screen for melodic cell that quite possibly inspired Irving Berlin.
Vladimir Horowitz performing Chopin Polonaise in A-flat
From Josh: I am having a ball these days teaching a course, for mature adults, on George Gershwin for the Lifetime Learners Instituteat Norwalk Community College in Connecticut.The many people in my class are so engaged that they give me a special energy. In fact, we seem to energize one other.
One of the recent highlights of the class was my presenting one of Gershwin’s early hits, “I’ll Build a Stairway to Paradise,” a showstopper from the George White Scandals of 1922. This was an extravaganza in the mold of The Ziegfeld Follies, with girls dressed in black patent leather strutting up a glittering staircase.
More than anything else from that show, it is this music and its lyrics –Ira Gershwin had a hand in them– that live on. The exuberant introduction to the song begins with a bold leap of an octave (“I’ll…build…”), shortly followed by a juicy, bluesy note (listen to the minor sound on the word “Para…dise”). The upward leap of an octaveso often signifies great energy in music, the sense of being transported to another, better place—famously in the very first word of that classic pop song “Some…where over the Rainbow” from The Wizard of Oz. (Try singing it and you will hear what I mean.)
Listen to the catchy, bouncy rhythm of the opening verse, and the buoyant rising melodic line accompanying the words, “All you preachers who delight in panning dancing teachers….” The words that follow deliver an upbeat message to get up and move around: “It’s madness to be always sitting around in sadness, when you could be learning the steps of gladness.” Brain research these days is underscoring the importance of doing just this!
As it also underscores the importance of expanding your horizons, when the song’s chorus continues: “ I’ll build a stairway to Paradise with a new step every day.” Not only a physical step, but the openness to trying something new each day.
Vince Giordano and The Nighthawks give a rousing rendition of this old song with vocals near the beginning of the biopic The Aviator. In the plush setting of the Coconut Grove nightclub in Los Angeles the young Howard Hughes, a man of soaring ambition, is seeking backing for his aeronautic ventures to the accompaniment of Gershwin’s music—a truly vivid aural analogue to what is to be played out in the movie.
And for a snappy, irresistible fox trot version, nothing can match the 1922 recording made by Paul Whiteman and His Orchestra shortly after the premiere of the George White Scandals earlier that year. It brings back for me happy memories of listening when I was writing my book,Louis Armstrong and Paul Whiteman: Two Kings of Jazz (Yale University Press, 2004). What is also worth noting is that the George White Scandals of 1922 brought George Gershwin and Paul Whiteman together and led to a commission that forever changed music history—the writing of Rhapsody in Blue, premiered on February 12, 1924
Early in the morning of Friday, August 15, 2014, less than a week after the fatal shooting the previous Saturday of African-American teenager Michael Brown in Ferguson Missouri, rapper J. Cole ( Jermaine Lamarr Cole) posted his tribute song “Be Free” to the online audio platform SoundCloud, where users can upload tracks and share them through social media.
A little more than six hours later it had become the most talked about song on Twitter, and by afternoon it had gone viral, having been listened to over 250,000 times.
We are profoundly moved by the way the raw emotions aroused by the shooting have been sublimated and poignantly expressed in J. Cole’s song. Listen to the painful vulnerability in his breaking voice as he repeats the refrain, “All we want to do is take the chains off, All we want to do is be free.”
This certainly gives the lie to the stereotype of rap as simply loud, angry, racist gangster stuff saturated with references to misogyny and physical violence. (The complete lyrics, by the way, are available online.)
As you listen below, notice how the lyrics are greatly enhanced by the musical underpinning–an unchanging four-measure phrase stated some forty times, using three basic chords presented with a limping syncopation.
The bass line, which oscillates between the pitches of F and E, the melody itself, and two of the three chords draw entirely upon on what is called “the Phrygian mode”—a scale going back many centuries to Medieval practice.
You can try it out yourself by playing only the white piano keys from E to E. One of its distinctive features is the half-step between the first two notes, from E to F. This sound has been used by many composers to suggest the stark and the timeless.
Here is something else that might surprise you: it can be instructive to compare J. Cole’s “Be free” to two other modern examples of Phrygian- inspired music.
One is the first movement of Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms; the other, the prayer intoned by Mahatmas Gandhi in the Philip Glass opera Satyagraha.
The Stravinsky, sung in Latin, uses Psalm 39, verses 12 and 13— an expression of human frailty and mortality in the face of Almighty power: “Hear my prayer, O Lord, and give ear unto my cry; hold not thy peace at my tears; for I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were. O spare me that I may recover strength before I go hence, and be no more.”
Satyagraha (satya= truth; agraha= firmness) celebrates Gandhi’s mode of non-violent protest. The vocal of the prayer consists of an unchanging ascending Phrygian melody sung in Sanskrit, which expresses Gandhi’s firm resolve as well as a connection to the Eternal on the eve of an Indian coal miner protest march he was to lead in the South Africa of 1913.
Memory is the measure of who we are as individuals. And much of our self-identity as human beings is defined by the pieces of music we know and love. They are so often key markers of our life’s journey. Some of our first posts on this blog dealt with music and memory. At the bottom of this post we you can re-read “Music and Personal Memory.”
The power of music’s intimate connection with memory was dramatized for us recently by the documentary Alive Inside : A Story of Music and Memory. Filmed over a span of some three years, it won the Audience Award at the 2014 Sundance Film Festival. It is a remarkable testament to the regenerative power of music for patients with Alzheimer’s Disease and other forms of dementia, over-medicated people who had been languishing in a near-vegetative state in nursing homes all over the country.
Thanks to the initiative and perseverance of social worker Dan Cohen, not to mention a cadre of committed health care workers, personalized music is downloaded to iPods and brought to a wide range of nursing home patients, re-awakening in them deeply locked memories and giving them a new lease on life. Dan Cohen’s mission is bring such music to the 16,000 nursing homes in the U.S.
Speaking of numbers, it’s worth noting that there are now some 5 million in this country suffering from Alzheimer’s disease and dementia. The number is expected to double within the next 25 years, with 1 in 6 of us likely to develop some form of dementia. The current research we draw on strongly suggests that this number can be reduced by choosing a lifestyle that supports mental alertness and positive emotions. Music can contribute directly to both–which is what this blog is about!
Here is the movie trailer for Alive Inside.
And here is an early rough cut from the movie that went viral, being watched by over 6 million in just over 4 days. Henry, a 94-year-old dementia patient who was wheelchair-bound, was unable to recognize his daughter or even remember how many daughters he had. But he was “awakened” by one of his favorite musicians, Cab Calloway. You see him lighting up, singing, rocking and moving his arms, brought to life again by “his” music.
Here is one of our very first posts, on MUSIC AND PERSONAL MEMORY:
Is there any form of human expression more personal than music? How rarely, if ever, do we hear someone say, “That’s my kind of poem” or novel or play or painting?
Musical memories define so much of who we are and the many stations we pass through on life’s journey: your high school graduation, your first real love, your courtship, the first Broadway show or concert you attended, your loss of a loved one, your connection with your parents, grandparents, children, grandchildren.
For starters, think of such standards as “Memories of You,” “Memory Lane,” “Laura,” “Unforgettable,” or “Memory” in Andrew Lloyd Weber’s Cats.
Or how about the Hoagy Carmichael classic, “Star Dust,” which is “a richly layered statement about memory. It is not simply a conventional ballad of love lost, but rather a song about a song, and the evocative power of that song, as a lover, solitary and forlorn, gazes at the stars, humming it in his head all the while” (Joshua Berrett, LouisArmstrong and Paul Whiteman: Two Kings of Jazz. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2004, 166).
The list goes on and on. How many operas, musicals, and movies depend on themes and motifs to recall or identify a situation or character?
Think of John Williams’ music for Darth Vader or Princess Leia in Star Wars, Verdi and his Ethiopian princess Aida, Wagner’s Ring of the Nibelung, Bernard Herrmann and his soundtrack for Hitchock’s Vertigo, James Horner’s “My Heart Will Go On” from Titanic, and so many more.
What do you hear and feel when you listen to certain music? What music lives in your personal memory?