Well, this is more like it--more what I hoped for from a Beethoven concerto. More like Beethoven, I would even say. I mean, if Beethoven had died in, say, 1802, when he had written only the first two symphonies and the first two piano concertos, he would certainly have been remembered, but he wouldn't be Beethoven, the giant we know. I don't feel that I'm listening to that giant in the first two concertos, but I do in this one, though he's just getting started. The first two seem to me as if they could have been written by Mozart, but not the third. 

I guess, now that I think about it, it's especially the first movement that makes me say that. I think its structure is unusual: there is a long (several minutes) orchestral introduction in which a strong, but not bombastic, theme alternates with a more sweeping, almost pastoral one--a march alternating with a dance, and this introduction closes with something that sounds very much like a finale to me.

For a naive listener like me who doesn't understand or appreciate much of what's going on technically, a work in sonata form stands or falls on its principal themes--they have to touch me in order for me to find the changes wrought on them interesting. This movement certainly makes the grade in that respect. It's a vigorous and varied piece of music, not on the awe-inspiring level of the works that would come later, but certainly one that I'll want to hear again from time to time. I especially like the way it closes: the cadenza* is pretty close to the end, and is as spectacular as one could wish, closing with quiet trills that fade into equally quiet orchestral stirrings that quickly rise toward a fairly typical movement-closing resolution of loud chords. The transition takes only just over a minute and the effect is striking. Personally I would have preferred the fadeout, but the power chords seem to have been close to obligatory for a century or more.

The cadenza is apparently Beethoven's; the notes on my recording seem to assume so. The pianist, Alfred Brendel, makes these remarks:

In most of his cadenzas, Beethoven the architect turns into a genius running amok; almost all the principles of classical order fall by the wayside.... Breaking away in an alien manner from the style and character of the movement does not bother Beethoven at all, and the most adventurous harmonic detours are made with relish. No other composer has ever hazarded cadenzas of such provoking madness.

And right on, I say.

The second movement is mainly a lovely melody that seems almost hymn-like. The third is high-speed and high-spirited, even light-hearted--not as wildly energetic or as striking as that of the first concerto, but in the same vein. 

No, this concerto did not fly up straightaway into the higher reaches of my musical favorites, but neither will it be checked off and filed away, likely never to be heard again, considering my age.

The recording was from the same 5-CD set as the other two:

I don't have anything to say about the performance, having nothing to compare it to, but I have one complaint about the recording. As you can see from the cover, it's "live" (those quotation marks make it seem as if the term were questionable), recorded in 1983 and issued on CD in 1997. And the record company decided to include the applause at the end of each concerto. It's really loud, and quite intrusive and annoying. 

* In case you don't know the term, a cadenza is a virtuoso section for the concerto's featured instrument alone.

I had planned to go, then decided not to go, then decided to go, then didn't. The reasons wouldn't interest you, but one reason for the shifts was that I wasn't all that enthusiastic about the program. There were two pieces, the first being a Concerto Fantasy for Two Timpanists, by Philip Glass.

What? Or as some online young people say: wut. Without a question mark. I really like that because  it's utterly expressionless, as if it can't be bothered with more than the bare minimum of effort needed to communicate a combination of incomprehension and indifference in such a way as to suggest that whatever is being responded to is nonsense. Three letters is the bare minimum for representing the sound; four would be far too much trouble.

And that was pretty close to my immediate reaction to the name of the piece. But Phillip Glass is quite a gifted composer, even if one thinks (or suspects) he has written too much that is too similar to other works. I've enjoyed a good bit of his music over the years--I remember especially a performance of his Second Symphony. And rhythm has always been an important element in his music, insistent but constantly shifting. So the day after the concert which I had missed, I looked for the piece on YouTube rather than Idagio, because I was curious as to how the tympani and timpanists would be positioned, and what the two players would look like in action. (I recall it being spelled with a "y," but the title of the Glass piece uses an "i." I don't know why it names the players and not the instruments--you don't say "concerto for pianist.")

And it turned out to be a very enjoyable and interesting work, well worth thirty minutes of my time, and yours I think. And I'm glad I watched it instead of only listening, because there are a lot more drums involved than I realized, and it's a visual spectacle as well as a musical one. There are several performances on YouTube and the drums seemed to be more prominent in the recording in this one.  

I admit that I had moments when I was reminded of a trend among rock bands in the late '60s: the drum solo. Cream's Wheels of Fire album gave over most of an LP side to a fifteen-minute performance of "Toad," most of which was solo drumming, accurately described by the AMG reviewer as "numbing." But the orchestra quickly dispelled that sensation.

The second piece on the program was Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet. Since it was the only other thing on the program, I assume it was the entire ballet, not a suite taken from it. As far as I can remember I have never heard this work. But my classical music consultant tells me that it's a great work, and sent me a link to this excerpt:

And I'm puzzled, because it seems very familiar. Has it been used in a movie or some other context where I would have heard it, and more than once? 

I heard a story many years ago that Mick Jagger objected to the popular impression that he had corrupted the angelic-looking young Marianne Faithfull. He claimed it was the other way around. Whether that story is true or not, she was certainly a very enthusiastic drug user for some large part of her life (at least), and just generally a mess. And as a singer and a person she became something very, very different from the teenager who sang "As Tears Go By" (which as you probably know is a rather uncharacteristic Rolling Stones song).

For years in the 1970s she was apparently lost to heroin, other drugs, and general breakdown. You can read an overview at her Wikipedia entry, and I'm sure there is no lack of obituaries online giving more details. She came back in 1979 with a dark, bitter album called Broken English which I heard once at the time--a friend brought it over, saying "you're not going to believe this"--and never since. For reasons which I don't remember and which now puzzle me, I read her autobiography, Faithfull, when it appeared in the 1990s. Most likely I saw it on the new book shelf at the library and picked it up out of curiosity; I certainly didn't buy it. It is not an enjoyable read. 

She became a sort of cabaret-style singer, with a world-weary decadent vibe and a fondness for German songs by Kurt Weill and others, as on her 1996 (?) album 20th Century Blues, which I like, but not as much as I like Strange Weather, from 1987, which includes several gloomy and sometimes ironic takes on various folk and Tin Pan Alley songs. The title song is by Tom Waits, or rather I should say Tom Waits and his wife, Kathleen Brennan. Taking out the LP yesterday and listening to it for the first time in some years, I was struck by the names of the other people involved: for instance, the jazz guitarist Bill Frisell, a name I probably didn't know at the time but who can now be fairly described as "revered." It was an all-star production--other names are Garth Hudson (also recently deceased) and Mac Rebennack ("Dr. John"). It includes a revisiting of "As Tears Go By." RIP.

1967:

1987:

***

Perhaps it seems a little odd that I've marked Marianne Faithfull's passing but not that of David Lynch, who died a couple of weeks ago and is much more significant to me. That's mainly because there is so much that I might say about Lynch that a quick and brief note seemed impossible. There was a bit of discussion on the occasion in comments on this post from 2022, about the passing of Julee Cruise.

I still have not seen several of Lynch's most famous works, including Blue Velvet, because of their reputed violence and perversity. That doesn't really make sense, because I don't think they're worse than Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, or for that matter Twin Peaks: The Return. The fact that both Lynch and Faithfull were only two  years older than me suggests that if I'm going to watch these others I'd better not keep putting them off. 

But then Twin Peaks--the whole package, including the music--really is David Lynch for me. I can't remember whether I've posted this picture before: in 2019 I actually visited the Double-R Diner in North Bend, Washington. The waterfall (Snoqualmie Falls) and the lodge are not far away. You could call it a pilgrimage, I guess. 

Goodbye, Agent Cooper.