Withholding Our Inner Music
As I have extended the invitation to join the MLUC Choir for Musaic (Music Sunday) on Sunday, June 1 to more and more of you, I have enjoyed countless conversations around musical aptitude. It still surprises me to learn of the life circumstances or perceptions of "talent" that discouraged some of you from pursuing a musical hobby. And it's true that we tend to compare ourselves to those whom we perceive as "talented" or whose musical opportunities or careers appear idyllic on the surface.
Beyond my typical crusade (with which you all have become perfectly familiar) to break down these misconceptions of accessibility, I have a particular affinity for sharing the stories of legendary composers—to reveal that they were mere mortals with self-doubt, sometimes crippling perfectionism, debilitating maladies, or who simply never fit in. This Sunday, Jodie and I will share a handful of my favorite short compositions for violin and piano; and not a single composer on the list was exempt from the same feelings or afflictions that can befall any of us. We begin with the opening movement of J. S. Bach's "Sonata for Violin & Harpsichord No. 4 in G." Bach is ubiquitous, for sure; but he died believing his music to be "outdated" and irrelevant. He would remain virtually unknown for the next 80 years. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, whose fiery Scherzo from "Souvenir d'un lieu cher" ("Memory of a Dear Place") we will play for the Interlude, may very well have ended his own life (debated) due to crippling depression that he experienced throughout his life. Béla Bartók, one of the world's most famous Unitarians and composer of the "Six Romanian Folk Dances"—our Postlude—forged his career as a composer, ethnomusicologist, and pianist in the face of staggering medical adversity, suffering from both tuberculosis and leukemia.
But one of my favorite stories is that of Antonín Dvořák's iconic "Humoresque," this Sunday's Offertory piece. (Even if you don't know it by name, you know it.) Though the details vary by telling, Dvořák lay on his deathbed when violinist/composer Fritz Kreisler came to visit. Noticing a crumpled sheet of manuscript paper in the trash, Kreisler procured the page, immediately dismissed by Dvořák as worthless. Identifying the genius at sight, Kreisler kept the music, which of course was the sublime melody of the Humoresque. Published in Dvořák's name, but most famously arranged for violin by Kreisler, this piece remains to this day one of the most ubiquitous melodies on earth. Dvořák believed his composition to be worthless, but—thanks to the right opportunity through Kreisler—the world is more beautiful because of it.
As you experience the music this Sunday, I invite you to reflect on your own art or artistic curiosities—and your own circumstances and apprehensions. How might you persevere to create something in spite of anything or everything else? And might the world become a more beautiful place for it? Bach, Tchaikovsky, Bartók, Dvořák, and countless others made music in the face of doubt or adversity. Will you? Together we will sing hymns #108: "My Life Flows On in Endless Song" and #146: "Soon the Day Will Arrive."
See you Sunday!
Beyond my typical crusade (with which you all have become perfectly familiar) to break down these misconceptions of accessibility, I have a particular affinity for sharing the stories of legendary composers—to reveal that they were mere mortals with self-doubt, sometimes crippling perfectionism, debilitating maladies, or who simply never fit in. This Sunday, Jodie and I will share a handful of my favorite short compositions for violin and piano; and not a single composer on the list was exempt from the same feelings or afflictions that can befall any of us. We begin with the opening movement of J. S. Bach's "Sonata for Violin & Harpsichord No. 4 in G." Bach is ubiquitous, for sure; but he died believing his music to be "outdated" and irrelevant. He would remain virtually unknown for the next 80 years. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, whose fiery Scherzo from "Souvenir d'un lieu cher" ("Memory of a Dear Place") we will play for the Interlude, may very well have ended his own life (debated) due to crippling depression that he experienced throughout his life. Béla Bartók, one of the world's most famous Unitarians and composer of the "Six Romanian Folk Dances"—our Postlude—forged his career as a composer, ethnomusicologist, and pianist in the face of staggering medical adversity, suffering from both tuberculosis and leukemia.
But one of my favorite stories is that of Antonín Dvořák's iconic "Humoresque," this Sunday's Offertory piece. (Even if you don't know it by name, you know it.) Though the details vary by telling, Dvořák lay on his deathbed when violinist/composer Fritz Kreisler came to visit. Noticing a crumpled sheet of manuscript paper in the trash, Kreisler procured the page, immediately dismissed by Dvořák as worthless. Identifying the genius at sight, Kreisler kept the music, which of course was the sublime melody of the Humoresque. Published in Dvořák's name, but most famously arranged for violin by Kreisler, this piece remains to this day one of the most ubiquitous melodies on earth. Dvořák believed his composition to be worthless, but—thanks to the right opportunity through Kreisler—the world is more beautiful because of it.
As you experience the music this Sunday, I invite you to reflect on your own art or artistic curiosities—and your own circumstances and apprehensions. How might you persevere to create something in spite of anything or everything else? And might the world become a more beautiful place for it? Bach, Tchaikovsky, Bartók, Dvořák, and countless others made music in the face of doubt or adversity. Will you? Together we will sing hymns #108: "My Life Flows On in Endless Song" and #146: "Soon the Day Will Arrive."
See you Sunday!
Posted in Music Notes