Beethoven and the Viennese - Sonata No 7

Many years after the death of Beethoven (1827), the municipal authorities of Vienna decided to demolish an old theater where the maestro had played the piano. It is said that at the end of the last performance, the Viennese remained standing for a while, crying, excited.
Vienna had declared him an adopted son in 1815, but around 1880, his music was somewhat extreme, or too unique for the taste of the Viennese of the time. Beethoven, on the other hand, did not have a positive impression of the Viennese, at least that was the case during the first years after having settled in the capital of the empire, in 1793. Thus, he even wrote, for example:

"These Viennese are worthless, from the emperor to the last shoeshine boy, how can one become part of this country, the Viennese are people without heart, there is not a single man honoured in the general decline of Austria, only particular circumstances hold me here, where everything is dirty and ruined, they are all thieves, from the highest to the lowest of the social scale ... "

Vienna and the Viennese
On another occasion, he expressed his disappointment with the liberal groups that greeted with great enthusiasm the French Revolution at a time when the European courts watch in horror the development of events in revolutionary France:

"these people only think about laughing, drinking and dancing ... while they have beer and sausages, there will be no revolution ..."

In apparent contradiction to this thought, in addition to the group of his students highly well chosen from among the most select and well-to-do of Viennese society, Beethoven had a small but conspicuous circle of high-line friendships. Between the years 1797-1803, among them was a senior officer of the Russian Imperial Service in Vienna, to whose wife, Anne Margaret von Browne, the maestro dedicated the three sonatas of Opus 10, composed around 1798.

Sonata No. 7, Op. 10 No. 3 Is the most extensive of the trio. It lasts around 24 minutes and is the only one written in four movements:
00:00  Presto
05:20  Largo e mesto (maybe one of Beethoven's most beautiful slow movements)
15:29  Menuetto: Allegro
18:04  Rondo: Allegro

The rendition is by the American pianist Eric Zuber.

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A. Ginastera: "Danza de la Moza Donosa"

As any respectable dictatorship would do, that of General Onganía in Argentina in the sixties did not beat about the bush to apply censorship to a wide range of cultural manifestations. In the field of music, a ballet by Béla Bártok and The Rite of Spring by Igor Stravinsky were censored. And as a fair law is not a strict law, was also banned the performance of Bomarzo opera, a work from a compatriot, a fellow, the composer Alberto Ginastera, prohibited by decree due to his "excessive reference to sex, violence and hallucination."

Ginastera (1916 - 1983), one of the most outstanding Latin American composers of the 20th century was at that time an international celebrity. He had studied with Aaron Copland (among those who had studied with him were Astor Piazzolla and Waldo de Los Ríos). But the most important Argentine composer of all time never maintained good relations with the political authorities, whether dictatorships or not.
In the year 1945, he was exonerated from his position as professor of the Military Lyceum. After a series of skirmishes with Peronism, a Guggenheim scholarship allowed him to leave the country.

Upon his return, two years later, he founded the Conservatorio de La Plata, which he was its director. The authorities forced him to give the conservatory the name of Eva Perón, which Ginastera opposed. Evita had justly promoted the female vote, but from the point of view of art she was a good reciter and very popular actress of radio drama series but nothing linked her to music. Ginastera was again exonerated in 1952, for being "anti-Peronist".

Danzas Argentinas, opus 2
An author of an extensive work of chamber music, two concertos for piano, two for cello, one for violin, three operas and many others, Alberto Ginastera became a leading figure of Argentine musical nationalism. His composition for piano, Danzas Argentinas, 1937, led to the identification of his music throughout the world as the "music of the pampas", the "gaucho" music. The Danzas... comes from an early period he called 'objective nationalism', in which he often used folk themes.
So, the three dances that make up the piece carry a title of great evocative power: "Danza del viejo boyero" (roughly translated as Dance of the old Oxen-Keeper), "Danza de la Moza Donosa" (Dance of the graceful maiden) and "Danza del gaucho matrero" (Dance of the Bandit Gaucho).
Danzas Argentinas enjoyed great popularity since its premiere and today they are part of the traditional repertoire of pianists, at least of Latin Americans.

Danza de la moza donosa
In a brilliant rendition, the first-rate Argentinean pianist, Martha Argerich, plays the second dance, "Danza de la moza donosa". A live performance in Amsterdam, when Marthita was a maiden, and also a "donosa" maiden.

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Scott Joplin, the King of Ragtime

In New York, 1913, there were plenty of wealthy black people who moved to Harlem and bought a house there. Oddly enough, among them, there was a musician: the pianist Scott Joplin, composer of ragtimes and author of two operas. He was born in 1867, a good time to be born if you were black because two years before Abraham Lincoln had proclaimed the emancipation of all slaves. That was the good news because one year after the executive order, the Ku-Klux-Klan was born.

Turned into a pianist thanks to his formidable talent and the free lessons from a German teacher, Joplin decided to follow in the footsteps of Johannes Brahms and Isaac Albéniz, and at age 20 he began to make a living playing the piano in bars and taverns, as a travelling pianist through Mississippi Valley, visiting cities that usually maintained an enviable inter-racial co-existence, to the point that there is no public record of lynchings, at least in the 1890s.

Soon Joplin began to compose his own pieces, brief, syncopated, with a "ragged" rhythm (a ragged time), in the style of the popular ragtime, which although already predominating in black music, was Joplin who took it to a higher stage. His more successful composition, Maple Leaf Rag, of 1897, got to sell hundreds of thousands of copies in the USA. According to some, Joplin received a percentage that allowed him later to buy a beautiful house in St. Louis. According to others, the money earned did not exceed 600 dollars per year, for a short period.

The Sting
Perhaps today we would not remember Scott Joplin were it not for the movie The Sting, 1973, which included as part of its soundtrack the piano piece The Entertainer, composed in 1901. The film gave rise to a renewed interest in his music; in 1974, a New York Times columnist claimed: "Hey musicologists, it's time to pay attention to Joplin" ... Nothing would have made Joplin happier than an invocation like that because from the beginning he claimed for ragtime a status similar to that of the "serious" music coming from Europe. Joplin was right. A musicologist from our days clearly maintains that ragtime is "the exact equivalent, in terms of local style, of Mozart's minuets, Chopin's mazurkas or Strauss waltzes".

Maple Leaf Rag
Scott Joplin died in New York, in 1917, closer to poverty than to abundance, notwithstanding the house in Harlem.
The rendition, allegedly, is from Joplin himself: a piano roll found by chance.

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Chopin: Nocturne Op 72 / Pachmann

In the words of the great Russian-German pianist Vladimir von Pachmann, a celebrity in his time but now forgotten, there is no better exercise to develop and maintain the deftness of the fingers than milking cows.
Vladimir von Pachmann (the particle "von" was added by himself, since his brothers, he did have them, were called simply Pachmann), was born in Odesa, Ukraine, in 1848. Early signs of his talent advised his prompt entry to the Vienna Conservatory, where he studied piano, and composition with Anton Bruckner. Even though he offered his first public concert at age 21, it was not until thirteen years later that he decided to go on tour around Europe and even the United States, gaining great acclaim everywhere as an exceptional artist.

By the time, the general opinion was that he played in an exceptional way the waltzes, preludes and mazurkas from Chopin. To respond to this distinction from the audience, he paid every year a visit to the grave of the Polish composer, to whom he asked for forgiveness for the wrong notes he might have pressed in the previous season.
At the beginning of the twentieth century, already a mature man, he chose to take his special sense of humour to the stage, applauding himself in the difficult passages already overcome, stopping the execution, kissing his hands and exclaiming: Bravo, Pachmann, Bravo! or, at the beginning of the concert, apologizing to the public for not having studied enough, and then going, calmly, revising scales and arpeggios in the presence of everyone.

Cover of one of Pachman's discs,
which he recommended buying
and then destroy  (1848 - 1933)

On one occasion, at the Albert Hall in London, the room crowded, Pachmann made his entrance, took a seat, tried to settle on the stool and then began to show signs of concern because he could not get it no matter how hard he tried. After a while, he stood up and left the stage without saying a word, before an astonished audience. After an anxious wait, after a quarter of an hour, his secretary or assistant emerged from behind the scenes, advanced towards the piano, delicately taking between his fingers a cigarette paper sheet, which he arranged with equal care under one of the legs of the stool. Pachmann returned to the stage, took a seat and after approving with a satisfied expression the perfect stability of the stool, he began to play.
It goes without saying that the public adored these witticisms and, in a way, did constitute by themselves an essential element in the success of his magnificent career.

Vladimir de Pachmann was one of the first pianists to make recordings of his work, back in 1906. In some of them, he makes comments on what he is playing. We have chosen one in which he doesn't. It is the Nocturne Op. 72, posthumous, by Chopin, who with the same spirit of Pachmann once stated: "I do not like people who never laugh, they are not serious people".

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Mozart: Piano Sonata in C major

On the morning of September 30, 1777, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart had arrived early at the palace. At ten o'clock he was standing, very elegant and erect with his arms by his sides, in a small room through which Prince Elector Maximilian III had to pass mandatorily in direction of the chapel, where the Prince went to hear mass and then go hunting, followed by his court. Mozart had been in Munich for a couple of weeks, in the company of his mother, after finally leaving the court of Salzburg and the Prince-Archbishop Colloredo, as well. The singular audience with Maximilian had been obtained thanks to a well-connected friend at the court... Mozart only had to wait for the Elector to come by.

When the Elector appeared, Wolfgang Amadeus waited until he arrived in front of him and then addressed him with these words: "Your Highness will allow me to throw myself most humbly at your feet and offer you my services." His Highness stopped, recognized Mozart and asked him if he had left Salzburg forever. Wolfgang responded affirmatively because in Salzburg there was no place for him. Then he took the opportunity to make a brief recount of his latest achievements and concluded that he was sure he had the necessary skills to serve in any court. "Although my only desire is to serve His Highness," he finished.
It was almost the last thing he said because the Elector interrupted him: "Yes, son, I know, but we do not have vacancies". Mozart assured him that he should not fail to do credit to Munich, but the Elector had already resumed his way and as he walked away he replied: "I know, I know, but there are no vacancies here for now".

The meeting was reported by Mozart to his father Leopold in full detail in an extensive letter dated the same day. It does not follow from it that Wolfgang were upset, he simply runs through the facts, although he emphasizes, in respect of the vacancies: "this he said as he walked away".
After this unfortunate mishap, Mozart travelled to Mannheim with the same result. Afterwards, to Paris. The following year he published four piano sonatas there, composed beforehand ... maybe the same afternoon when he knew that there were no vacancies for him in Munich.

Following, the Polish pianist Krystian Zimerman delights us with the first one, the Sonata in C major, K.330.

Movements:
00:00  Allegro moderato
07:00  Andante cantabile
14:18  Allegretto. At the ending of this rondo, Zimerman becomes playful and stops unexpectedly before attacking the final three chords. Nice idea, but I'd have prefered a bit more delicate chords. No offence...