Concerto Conversations: With a 68-minute CD (Charles Eliot Norton Lectures)

by Joseph Kerman

Book Overview

The concerto has attracted relatively little attention as a genre, Joseph Kerman observes, and his urbane and wide-ranging Norton Lectures fill the gap in a way that will delight all music listeners.... This description may be from another edition of this product.

• Format: Hardcover
• Language: English
• ISBN: 0674158911
• Release Date: October 1999
• Publisher: Harvard University Press
• Length: 192 Pages
• Weight: 1.40 lbs.
• Dimensions: 9.8" x 1.0" x 7.8"

Customer Reviews

A short book packed with musical insights

Given the popularity of the concerto -- it isn't easy to attend a symphony concert that doesn't have one on the program -- you'd think there'd be a wider-ranging conversation in print about the musical relationships between soloist(s) and orchestra that doesn't just stop at all-purpose words like "dramatic." It's useful, though, to keep the metaphor of drama in mind as we listen, for as Joseph Kerman argues in these lectures, there's a good deal of roleplaying going on in concertos. But first, in describing the kinds of duality we hear in them, Kerman suggests the terms "polarity," "reciprocity" and "diffusion." Polarity, in which orchestra and solo play different musical material without sharing it, is typical of the early 18th century; reciprocity, in which the concerto agents share musical material between them, is typical of the Classical and Romantic eras; and diffusion witnesses the integration of soloist and orchestra in much post-Romantic music. Within these modes, Kerman anthropomorphises solo and orchestra into any number of roles the music suggests: "EAVESDROPPER, TEASE, SURVIVOR, VICTIM, MOURNER, MINX, LOVER, CRITIC, EDITOR..." It's fun, for example, to read of piano and orchestra in the third movement of Mozart's D minor concerto locked together like pitbulls, or to see Chaikovsky's (yes, Kerman spells it that way) violin concerto described as the quasi-narrative of a mistress whose servant, the orchestra, evolves into her critic and equal partner. Speaking of critics, in particular those who seem embarrassed by virtuoso display, Kerman construes virtuosity to encompass bravura (chops), mimesis (mimicry, especially vocal), and spontaneity, and argues that in the absence of display, you don't have a concerto; you have a symphony with an obbligato solo part. Spontaneity (or the ability to make through-composed music sound spontaneous) is the essence of virtuosity. He praises the Liszt piano concertos ("a hard sell," he admits) and leaves us with the wonderful reminder that "listening to flawed virtuosity is like watching college football -- a site of empathy and rapture for fans and alumni, but noplace on the scale of aesthetic experience." The CD of concerto movements that comes with this book is, of course, useless until you convert it to MP3 files. How else are you gonna cue up those musical examples when you're reading on the go?

The conversation continues

This is an exceptional book. Kerman mixes just the right amount of scholarship and anecdote to satisfy a reader who prefers either approach. His metaphor of concerto as part of an ongoing musical conversation, not just between orchestra and solo instrument but also from composer to composer and epoch to epoch, lets the reader become part of a tradition known almost exclusively to composers of concerti. By the end of this book, one has certainly cultivated something important with regards to music appreciation of concerti, be they nudge or virtuoso. I even found myself "rooting" for this musical form in the end, hoping that composers today keep the conversation alive--and before this book, I was indifferent to the whole tradition.