Falling for 1812, Staying In Love With Copland
Friday, January 18th, 2008Musical interests of a fourteen year old girl ought not to typically centre on the core of mid-twentieth Century composer of sweet Americana, but it did for me. When I was fourteen, a singular musical mind could not touch Aaron Copland. Fanfare for the Common Man, his most celebrated piece, was not for me. Instead, I favoured the pastoral reflections of Appalachian Spring.
Tracing back an affinity with the classics, I find my fifth class teacher. In a dose of rare foresight and cultural hawkishness, on of one those anonymous Winter days, most probably a Tuesday, he strode into our emerald green classroom and announced that today we’d be introduced to 1812. The 1812 Overture to be exact.
Classical music is not part of the daily diet of eleven year olds and we expelled old sighs and furrowed our brows. Expectations of the very worst flitted through our little heads. We’d probably have jumped at another Irish lesson over an hour of listening to dumb music cadged together by some dead Russian. Some dead Russian - what a way to think of Tchaikovsky.
Turning on the double tape deck, we were suddenly picking our sides. Would we deadwalk with clipped paces on the well-worn path of Napoleon’s troops ploughing scar across snowy expanses? Or would we prefer to face our eminent doom and sit amongst the Russians, painfully aware the world’s greatest military machine was slowly inching itoom way closer, ready to obliterate us all? We donned our costumes and took our places. All the while, every movement was book-ended by our teacher booming over violin waves, telling us the story of overture.
The single greatest attribute of the 1812 Overture is its ability to jump from scene to scene. Painting in a very real way the fire fights and volleys of the Battle of Borodino. The music switches from Franco march to Russian Cossack dance themes and back again, to denote the switching of contexts. The pace is almost maddening at times. We are gifted an all too teary interlude.
French and Russian, we stand beside them as they sigh in a low air and be brave. We walk in their deep, frozen footprints. And hold their bloodied hands. By the end of the piece we feel for the failure of the proud French and dance with the jubilant Russians. Bells peel so brightly and cannons boom with prickly defiance to signal the Russians success.
Tchaikovsky never loved the 1812 Overture. He believed that it was a showy and brassy piece. And it is. It’s a balls-out celebration of the brass section. It strides out into the open, and shouts in your face. As an introduction to kids to classical music, it succeeds admirably. Its rich lyrical movements tell kids a story. It’s a tale of blood, guts, suffering, agony and glory. Kids love violence. Dress it up in classical garb and you’ll unlock kids’ curiosity. Plant a seed that may grow into a natural appreciation of classical music.?A secret we learned that day. Classical music always tells a story. It’s the pop music of the past. Roll up Justin Timberlake, Rihanna, Madonna and whatever else you are having, transport it back into through the centuries and what do have? You have the Grand Masters of the Art. Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin, Shostakovich. For those of you keeping facts, Copland wrote Spring in 1944 and won the Pulitzer Prize for it the following year.
When I listen back to Appalachian Spring, it’s tinted with teenage memories. I can remember the way I listen to it. Sometimes the pieces I listened before and after it. I hear the American pioneers striking out for place to live in Pennsylvania. Newlyweds filled with hope and trepidation. Is there anything more timely for a teenage ear? Some say that music is mere mathematics. Theorems on a great scale. Intonations that breed wonderful patterns. Is there anything else as sweet to listen to? I believe not.