You might be wondering: why on earth would I choose a piece that is literally called "Dissonance" when I was looking for something a bit simpler or cleaner to talk about on the show today? Actually, Mozart's Dissonance quartet, probably his most famous and beloved quartet, was not called "Dissonance" by Mozart, and the rest of the piece is thought of as one of Mozart's most outgoing and cheerful works, though I think there's a bit more to it than that.

This quartet was part of a set of quartets dedicated to his friend and mentor Joseph Haydn, the father of the String Quartet. Upon their publication, Mozart wrote to Haydn: "Behold here, famous man and dearest friend, my six children. They are, to be sure, the fruit of long and arduous work, yet some friends have encouraged me to assume that I shall see this work rewarded to some extent at least, and this flatters me into believing that these children shall one day offer me some comfort."

The final one of this set of six quartets is the one we're going to talk about today, the one that has been dubbed "Dissonance." This single dissonance caused massive controversy in its time, which we'll get to later, but it is a fascinating insight into the rules of harmony at the time. Our sojourns into late Romanticism over the last few weeks, and especially my conversation with Case Scaglione about Wagner and the Tristan Chord, should help us understand the intensely heated debates that arose over that chord I just played you. So today on the show, we'll spend some time on that famous dissonance, then dive right into this glorious quartet, exploring Mozart's unparalleled ability to write the most glorious melodies and the most perfect harmonies.

Recording: Alban Berg Quartet

First Sight Analysis: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IctjJOMU9dk

Produced by: Charlie Koczela

Bienvenue dans cette édition spéciale du podcast Sticky Notes en français ! Aujourd'hui, nous parlons de la symphonie la plus célèbre du monde, et de la symphonie que nous allons interpréter à Lille les 21, 22 et 23 mai, la 5e symphonie de Beethoven. Et veuillez me pardonner pour toutes les erreurs de prononciation dans ma deuxième langue ! Bonne écoute ! »

Thank you to Jerry for sponsoring today's episode on Patreon!

Goethe's Faust is considered to be the greatest work of German literature. This sprawling, 2-part play occupied Goethe's life for nearly 60 years, from its original version, begun in 1772, all the way to Goethe's final revisions before his death. It inspired just about every Romantic era composer who came after it, including Beethoven, Schubert, Schumann, Brahms, Berlioz, Gounod, Mahler, and our subject for the show today, Franz Liszt.

Liszt, who was in many ways the world's first pop star, was initially skeptical of Faust, saying that he couldn't relate to the eponymous main character of the play. He wrote: "Faust's personality scatters and dissipates itself; he takes no action, lets himself be driven, hesitates, experiments, loses his way, considers, bargains, and is interested in his own little happiness."

But slowly, Liszt began to be taken in by this remarkable play and decided to try his hand at a reflection on it, writing a massive, 3-movement, 75-minute-long symphony that never attempts to tell the story of Faust, but instead reflects on the psychological nature of the 3 central characters: Faust, Gretchen, and Mephistopheles (the Devil). A lot of English-speaking listeners will know this as the story of a man who sold his soul to the devil, but for Goethe it was much more than that, and it was for Liszt as well.

I've never talked about Liszt on the show, because frankly I've never been in love with his music. But this is one of the great things that these Patreon-sponsored episodes can do — help me discover pieces that I've never come across before. So today, we're going to talk about Liszt, Faust, and then take a stab at some of the greatest moments in this symphony. We'll talk about thematic transformation, a technique Liszt essentially invented and which is a vital part of understanding this piece.

This is a free preview of my new series of mini-episodes over on Patreon all about Schubert's Die Schöne Mullerin, one of the great masterpieces of the 19th century. Each week we'll explore one song from the cycle, in a series of 21 episodes! Come join us over on Patreon.com/stickynotespodcast and thanks for listening!

This is a continuation of my new series where I learn about a new piece from a great friend/musician. This week I'm thrilled to welcome Case Scaglione, the Music Director of the Orchestre National D'Ile de France, for a discussion of the Prelude and Liebestod from Wagner's Tristan and Isolde. This is one of the most beloved pieces in the entire repertoire, and my longtime skepticism of Wagner has always kept me away. But Case has such a beautiful way of talking about Wagner that I might very well be convinced to give it another shot! This is a really fun and also philosophical episode - I hope you enjoy it!

https://open.spotify.com/track/3HcRU6WhAZ6ZON9tFhanJv?si=4cf47cfde06a4434

https://open.spotify.com/track/7AtzmeOGG4PdXcfoVklSo1?si=69034a5a52704929

The story of Lili Boulanger's life is one of the most fascinating and tragic in all of musical history. A remarkably precocious talent, Boulanger learned to read sheet music before the alphabet, played the violin, piano, cello, and harp, and composed regularly from a young age. Despite her talent and commitment, Boulanger suffered from chronic illness her entire life, which severely dampened her budding career and prevented her from reaching her potential. She died at the age of just 24, likely from Crohn's disease, and left behind several spectacular pieces that unfortunately were soon relatively forgotten. Boulanger's sister, Nadia, became one of the preeminent composition teachers of the 20th century, working with luminaries such as Aaron Copland, Elliott Carter, David Diamond, Philip Glass, Astor Piazzolla, and many more. But throughout the 20th century there was very little interest in Lili Boulanger's musical output. That has changed somewhat with a renewed focus on bringing the works of female composers to the stage, and this has led to an explosion of performances of a few works, specifically Boulanger's brilliant short orchestral pieces D'un Matin de Printemps and D'un Soir Triste. But there is still a dearth of performances of some of Boulanger's great choral pieces, and in particular of Psalm 130, a piece that I find to be absolutely stunning but which is almost never performed. The piece, written in memory of Lili and Nadia's father Ernest, is a lament that shows off the potential of the 22-year-old composer, writing a piece far beyond her years in its emotional maturity and technical construction. In many ways, Lili Boulanger should be thought of in the pantheon of the great musical prodigies in Western classical music. Unfortunately she should also be thought of in the pantheon of the great composers who died tragically young. Today on the show, we're going to do a brief overview of Lili Boulanger's life to orient you into her style, and then we'll go through this gorgeous piece, talking about Boulanger's influences and her creative use of those influences, and discussing whether the piece was autobiographical or not. I think you will really discover something very special with this piece, so come join us!

In a letter to Tchaikovsky's nephew Vladimir Davydov, Tchaikovsky wrote: "I'm very pleased with its content, but dissatisfied, or rather not completely satisfied, with the instrumentation. For some reason it's not coming out as I intended. It would be typical and unsurprising if this symphony were torn to pieces or little appreciated, as that wouldn't be the first time such a thing had happened. But I absolutely consider it to be the best, and in particular the most sincere, of all my creations. I love it as I have never loved any of my other musical offspring."

I'm returning to that word sincere this week for Part 2, because it's the through line that makes Tchaikovsky's music so immediately arresting. You always know exactly where you stand with Tchaikovsky, since he always seems to be speaking so honestly in his music. Well, almost always.

The last two movements of Tchaikovsky's 6th Symphony are among the most fascinating in the entire Western classical repertoire, and the reason for their fascination (beyond simply being wonderful movements) is the order in which Tchaikovsky places them. In a typical symphony, the third movement would be either a fast scherzo or a slow movement, depending on what the second movement had been. Since the second movement of this symphony was a waltz, audiences would have expected a slow third movement followed by a fast finale to send them home with some energy. But that is not what Tchaikovsky does. Instead, we hear a thrilling, exhilarating scherzo followed by a devastating slow movement, a choice that completely upended the form of the symphony as a genre, and was revolutionary for its time.

Why did Tchaikovsky do this? And why did this decision, in part, fuel massive controversy surrounding his death, just nine days after the symphony's premiere? We're going to explore all of that today, including the many theories about Tchaikovsky's death, before examining the 3rd and especially the 4th movements of this masterpiece in detail, unpacking the nuances of these profoundly contrasting movements.

The great and somewhat controversial conductor Leopold Stokowski said this about Tchaikovsky: "His musical utterance comes directly from the heart and is a spontaneous expression of his innermost feeling. It is as sincere as if it were written with his blood." I couldn't agree more with Stokowski, because I think he hits on a word that has made Tchaikovsky's music so powerful to almost every audience that encounters it: sincere. Tchaikovsky's music is so profoundly moving because you feel as if there is no gap between the music and Tchaikovsky's emotions. It's as if he is earnestly speaking to you through his music. But paradoxically, this ability that Tchaikovsky had made him a punching bag of critics and cynics throughout his career and even into today. Even though Tchaikovsky remains one of the most popular composers in the Western Classical canon, his name is still not treated with the respect of a composer like Beethoven or Brahms or other luminaries. I understand that, but I also think Tchaikovsky's skills as a composer are extremely underrated, which brings me to Tchaikovsky's 6th and final symphony, nicknamed the "Pathetique."

Tchaikovsky's 6th symphony essentially rewrites the traditional symphonic form. It is one of the few 19th century symphonies that end quietly, and that ending is one of the most extraordinary and daring in the entire repertoire. It is a piece of remarkable complexity and brilliant construction, and it packs an emotional wallop that leaves you walking out of the hall slightly changed from the way you walked in. In fact, this piece is so multi-layered that I wanted to devote some extra time to it, so I've decided to make this a two-part episode. This week, we're going to talk about the controversies over Tchaikovsky's emotional state as he composed this symphony, and the first two movements of the piece: a massive, 17-minute first movement that ingeniously melds multiple different symphonic forms into one long breath, and a waltz with a twist. We'll get into a lot more detail than we usually do, giving us a chance to really give Tchaikovsky the respect he deserves.

I'm always tickled by composer trivia questions, like which standard canon works begin in a major key and end in a minor key? I'll give you one, but please comment others below: Mendelssohn's 4th Symphony. Well, how about this one: how many of Beethoven's 16 string quartets end in a minor key? The answer? Just one, Op. 59, No. 2, the subject of today's show. And that minor key is hugely important to this darkest of the three Op. 59 quartets, three towering achievements that changed the string quartet repertoire for good.

Beethoven, as I've said many times on the show, was a revolutionary within limits, always expanding, rethinking, and reshaping what was possible without breaking anything beyond repair. But make no mistake: the Op. 59 quartets were revolutionary works. No one had written anything like them before in terms of scope, emotional intensity, difficulty, and complexity. In fact, like a few of Beethoven's greatest works, they were received with confusion and, in some cases, anger by musicians, audiences, and critics. Famously, the cellist of the first string quartet to receive the parts of Op. 59, No. 1 saw the Morse code-like, one-note theme of the second movement, threw the music aside, and stomped on it!

These quartets were Beethoven going out on a limb, applying the intensity and drama of his Middle Heroic Period to a genre that had been at least partly the province of amateur musicians, but not anymore. Op. 59, No. 2, as I said, is the darkest of this group: four movements all centered around the key of E, and with the exception of the glorious second movement, all in minor, presenting a seriousness and directness of purpose that is powerfully compelling. This might be my favorite of the Op. 59 quartets, and so I'm very excited to dig into it with you today. We'll discuss the enigmatic and ecstatic aspects of this quartet, as well as Beethoven's own philosophical views on life, which come to light in the second movement, one of Beethoven's greatest creations.

Recording: Cleveland Quartet

Brahms spent much of his adult life battling with his ambition to write the next great symphony and his terror at the shadow of Beethoven standing behind him. Brahms tortured himself for 14 years with his first symphony, and only published it when he was 49 years old. But when that symphony finally came out, it was a relative success for a new work, and with immense relief, Brahms quickly turned out another symphony in just 4 months. Brahms' first symphony was quickly dubbed "Beethoven's 10th" something that annoyed Brahms to no end. When told that the main theme of the last movement resembled the Ode to Joy, he notoriously responded, "any ass can see that!" But all the same, Brahms had been re-anointed as Beethoven's successor with the symphony, and so therefore his second symphony would also be given a Beethovinian name, Pastoral. The question since the symphony has been written has been this: just how pastoral and idyllic is this symphony? Many commentators see an unadulterated joy and gentleness in the piece, with some melancholy moments to be sure. But overall, the piece is as sunny as it seems on its surface, with just the typical battles between happiness and sadness that mark every symphony. But there's another school fo thought with this symphony, and that is that it is marked by shadows and tremors that go way beyond simple sadness and happiness, and that these shadows and tremors leave a mark that can't be ignored. I tend to believe in the second theory, but we're going to discuss this symphony with this framework in mind; whether this piece is as sunny as some people would have you believe, or if the shadows are the lasting impression we get as we walk away from the concert hall. We'll also discuss Brahms' innovations with form, and his evergreen ability to write some of the most stunning melodies on the planet. Join us!

The story of Alexander von Zemlinsky's The Mermaid begins with a passionate love affair and ends in heartbreak of the most unabashedly big-R Romantic kind. In 1900, the young, fabulously talented, and famously beautiful Alma Schindler came to Zemlinsky's home to study composition. Wildly passionate feelings soon developed between them, and Alma wrote the following in her diary: "I would gladly be pregnant for him, gladly bear his children. His blood and mine, commingled: my beauty with his intellect. I would gladly serve him in his professional life, live for him and his kith and kin, breathe [for him], attend to his every happiness, serve him with a gentle hand. God give me the strength and the willpower to do so."

The relationship lasted a little over a year, until one night when Schindler attended a party that happened to be frequented by a brilliant conductor and composer twenty years her senior: Gustav Mahler. The rest is history.

Zemlinsky was devastated and poured his energies into a tone poem based on Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid. The source may seem surprising, but as we'll see later on, it proved to be the perfect vehicle for Zemlinsky to exorcise the tortured memories of this turbulent relationship. For a long time, however, the score was lost. It wasn't until the 1980s that the full work was reconstructed, and it has since become one of Zemlinsky's most frequently performed pieces.

And it's not hard to see why. The Mermaid is a forty-minute tone poem that, from start to finish, overflows with fin-de-siècle romanticism, very much in the vein of Schoenberg's Verklärte Nacht (Transfigured Night). It is a work of irresistible beauty and passion, and it is being played more and more as Zemlinsky's name begins to take its rightful place in the standard canon of composers.

Today on the show, I'll tell you a bit more about Zemlinsky in case you're not familiar with him, read more of the unbearably passionate letters and diary entries from both Zemlinsky and Alma Schindler, and, of course, walk you through the heartbreakingly beautiful music of The Mermaid, showing how Zemlinsky balances narrative and abstract form, and how he created this opulent, lush, and profoundly moving score. Join us!