Upstart

Hello All,

I wrote these synopses after hearing the piece(s) and deciding i was (decidedly) moved by them enough to write about them. My musical theoretical knowledge is quite limited, so I encourage anyone to either correct me or add to what I've experienced. Its personalized, so if you experienced something else from listening to these pieces, please comment such that I may compare. That's all from me,

Regards
Pravin

P.S
Have I posted this in the appropriate forum? Moderators, anyone?

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Nocturne in C Sharp Minor - My advice is to listen to this piece in a darkened room, at relatively light volume, and with your eyes closed. If you did not begin listening to the piece with your eyes closed, you will find yourself closing them involuntarily - there is something so dreamy, almost precognitive (if such a word could be used to describe music) about this melody, in the sense that it immediately stirs memory and longing, even from the very first chord. The mood throughout the first section carries a stillness with it - there is a yearning and searching intermingled with loss, and a hint of resentment or regret. The initial trill and flourish a few bars later seems to lift some invisible latch, from which there is an outpouring, if not of tears, then an inexplicable, deep personal sadness; If this isn't the case for you, perhaps it is only distinguishable for the sensitively tuned heart.

The melody and the accompianment vary - the accompianment seems almost unaware, or disconnected from the lament of the right-handed melody. There are times where they seem to communicate to one another, but this dissociation I feel adds to the alienation of the piece, and the pervading sense of loneliness.

There is a change in tone, and I believe there is a key change (I'm yet to see the score for this piece) which brings some hope into the picture - Still, there remains a nervousness, or trepidation - each legatoed note seems quickly stopped by an accent, or a sudden crescendo, seemingly siphoning away from a brighter and more hopeful mood by returning to the tonality of the first section. The piece slows, suggestive of emotional exhaustation - I'm left with the image of a man both physically and emotionally tired of unrequited love.

The central theme/melody returns, and it is almost too much to bear. The theme seems to build around a particular tone or note which touches a particularly sensitive nerve for me. I feel that I may have heard a similar tone in a piece beforehand - it may on the other hand, be completely foreign to me - but it carries a painful reminiscence with it (as though from a past life) which is brought into cognizance by the constellation of notes which surround it.

The piece finally ends with a series of steps (fifths, I believe) to a harmonious finish, which is an eigth seperated by several octaves (I think). The very breadth of the notes apart suggests a graceful collapse on the keyboard, the pianist (or composer) now drained of all feeling. There is a wholeness in this piece, even in its brevity, and startling poignancy.

Chopin's Etude in A Minor Opus 11 - It beguns without accompianment from the left hand - if you were unfamiliar with the piece, you would think it childish, or puerile. It is softened shortly by some chords, and appears to be entering a major chord, like the beginning of a gentle Mazurka.

Suddenly, violently, catastrophically, disonantly, the music cascades through semitone after semitone with such vigour (almost hatred) that upon my 6th hearing of the piece, I imagined the pianist strangling the piano with very large, brusque hands, or perhaps strangling another person who was spasmodically twitching around the keys on the piano. The pulsing accompianment gives a distinct sense of this (almost structural) violence, emphasising this imagery of strangling for me.

The piece then cycles through various tonalities, scales and chord progressions at such a pace that it is almost impossible to try to pick out individual notes. Instead you meet with an instable, chaotic, perpetual melody that hardly ceases for cadence of breath.

The second time I heard this piece, I listened to the music while I read over the score. It became difficult to simply follow the melody, which I occasionally looked at while following the left handed accompaniment; the pages turned so quickly, my eyes could barely keep up with my ears. When the piece finally ended, almost abruptly, I looked up from the page and I was practically shaking. Not only was I consumed entirely by the work, but it felt as though I had been in a time-capsule (I imagine it would be very different watching a live performance). Nothing around me reflected the violence which I had just been through - people continued to walk around aimlessly, nonchalantly, completely unaware to the musical trauma I had been through. I felt physically violated, as though each dissonant/minor chord was a swift stab into my sides. This piece was for me pure catharsis, a delightful (and sublime) purging of emotion.

Afterward I felt that there is something raging inside this piece, beating against the cage of tones and semitones - a wildness, an animalism in the way the pianist throttled the keys. One is left with a very raw and visceral feeling. It feels as though Chopin intended to strip his listener of all expectation, but for a thin veil of harmony and rythym. The ending of the piece is so inconspicuous, and somewhat quaint - it were though the pianist had simply folded up his music book and walked off the stage without even the slightest nod or acknowledgment.