Hilarity, of course, ensues.

(via Animal New York)

I had never heard this piece until it came as one of the preset ringtones on my Japanese cellphone. Trying to fit so much intense melodicism through that tiny little speaker didn’t really do it justice though, I have to say. For a while, it even served as my alarm clock sound in the morning since I was too cheap to buy a real clock. Waking up to this sweeping theme could be at times inspiring, but mostly it just startled the hell out of me.

Tomorrow I’m taking a test for Japanese language proficiency (that I almost certainly will dekinai) and in honor of that I’d like to share these alternate lyrics for the main theme at 3:10, translation to follow.

Ganbatte, minna sama ganbaro, minna sama ganbaro!

Shoganai da kedo minna ganbatte, minna… gaman shiyou!

Sing it to yourself, hum it. Learn it, love it. I sure do! In fact, I’ll never be able to listen to Holst’s Jupiter without hearing these words in my head! Here’s what they mean, roughly…

Try your best, everyone try your best, everyone try your hardest!

Nothing can be done, but everyone try anyway, everyone… let’s endure!

Indeed, and you can bet your amai hesusu that that’s what I’ll be doing twelve hours from now.

This is a fantastic performance of a great piece. Holst was influenced by Ravel- and you can certainly hear that in the rich textures of his orchestration. To my ear, though, what is more notable is a hint of the folksy diatonic melodicism that would characterize Aaron Copland a few decades later. This music, and especially its main theme (at 3:10), has a substance to it- it’s just so melodic… but yet Holst is careful to keep this sing-songiness balanced with sections of harsh, abrupt rhythms.

So, wish me luck on my nihongo no shiken, and I’ll mo ikkai intaaneto de kaku later on. Piisu!

Young Michael had some moves; looking over his shoulder out at a large empty auditorium is very familiar; all of them are surely imagining what the place might look like when it’s full.  Hearing the false starts and the variations of the playing gies the impression that this music as performed live was much more organic and active (and prone to error) than the stadium mega-concerts that are lip-synced today.  It makes me want to bust out a Jackson Five recording or two!

Among the violinists was the composer Ludwig Spohr (1784-1859), who was astounded by Beethoven’s conducting style, noting how he used “all manner of singular bodily movements. As a sforzando occurred, he tore his arms, previously crossed upon his breast, with great vehemence asunder. At piano he crouched down lower and lower to show the degree of softness. If a crescendo entered he gradually rose again and at a forte jumped into the air.”

…From the website of the Northwest Sinfonietta.  I can only imagine Beethoven jumping up and down, as enthusiastic as he could be — but also as unpracticed and unstudied as an overenthusiastic college freshman (or perhaps a certain wascally wabbit? Bonus points: What is the song played by Bugs on the Sousaphone?  Answer here).  Beethoven was no “conductor” in the overly-qualified sense we are familiar with today, but he was a consummate musician.  If the orchestras of the early 1800s are anything like those of today, I imagine that his prestige as preeminent composer of the half-century made the orchestra at this particular charity concert as attentive as could be.  And the audience surely was drawn tremendously into the performance.

For more information on Symphony No.7, by the way, check out this NPR story.