Bruckner's Abbey

[Cato]

Cato, do you know if Allan (toledobass) is still a member of the orchestra?

Sarge

I assume so: I just checked and Allan has been active here up to 3 weeks ago.  So I sent him a message.

[jlaurson]

Brilliant, thanks very much for that.  I will watch it shortly!

Performances by Kempe and the... hmm... I would guess the MPhil.

And Kubelik / WPh (B4, 1971)... and Jochum with... also the WPh, I think.

[TheGSMoeller]

I've been listening to Bruckner for almost 20 years now, but just recently began to actually explore his extensive library of recorded symphonies. For example, I've only heard 3 versions of the 6th up until the last few months. I have now heard 10 versions. I have always considered the 5th and 7th to be Bruckner's greatest achievements with the symphonic genre, and although I have always respected the 6th (mostly the majestic first movement and transcendent Adagio), I never placed it high among these others.
But I'm starting to recognize the pull of Bruckner's music, the absolute enthrallment that forces the listener to return over and over, and it's simply to explore as many recordings as possible!
Let me explain, my recordings of the 6th I've lived with for many years have been Dohnanyi, Barenboim and Lobos-Cobos. I love Dohnanyi and Barenboim's performances equally. Dohnanyi and Cleveland are precise and progress-through swiftly with ease. Barenboim and Berlin are gutsy. I've been very satisfied with these 6's. Recently, thanks to Spotify (no, I'm not being paid by them for this) I was able to listen to Norrington's 6th, then one from Wand, and Haitink, Eschenbach, Colin Davis, etc...and found that the more I listened to the 6th, and its many interpretations, the more I realized it's more than just the symphony between the 5th and 7th.
I would think that most here would agree with me, that Bruckner's symphonies are a whole, and that the experience of listening to an Adagio by itself is minuscule compared to it in the context of the surrounding movements. With that said, I'm finding the 6th to be one of Bruckner's most well structured symphonies. By listening to it repeatedly with different interpretations, I'm discovering that all of these performances are locked in to the grandiose association of the movements, all containing a consistent current throughout despite tempi choices. Perhaps a stronger association than many of his other symphonies.
I'm having difficulty finding the one recording that I find immaculately translates Bruckner's 6th better than any other, and this is not a bad thing. This has been a journey that I hope does not end anytime soon.

Happy listening!

[Cato]

I've been listening to Bruckner for almost 20 years now, but just recently began to actually explore his extensive library of recorded symphonies.

Now that's what I would call a rookie!   0:)

But I'm starting to recognize the pull of Bruckner's music, the absolute enthrallment that forces the listener to return over and over, and it's simply to explore as many recordings as possible!

We welcome all      to the Bruckner Experience, be it ever so late!   

Listening to Bruckner can become a principle of Life.

...and found that the more I listened to the 6th, and its many interpretations, the more I realized it's more than just the symphony between the 5th and 7th.

From my (as yet) unpublished novel The Seven Souls of Chaos: a young organist named Tom has adapted for his instrument the last minutes of the Adagio from the Sixth Symphony for the Requiem of child killed in a bicycle accident.

     So then Tom began to play the Bruckner excerpt.  The first two bars seemed more tragic than in practice, and he had to ignore an impulse to cut the repetition of the opening four-bar theme that he had interpolated into the piece.  The next two bars rose and evoked more of a cry of anguish than any hope!  What was happening?  Those two bars were supposed to argue with the first ones, not commiserate!  When the repetition came, Tom quickly changed the stops and made the music softer.  That was better.  Now a short dialogue in the upper register ensued, followed by a chorale that gave a distant angelicity to the opening.  Then an upward struggle with sixteenth notes, ending in a huge, slow, climactic descent in eighth notes.  But this was no descent into hopelessness, rather it was an affirmation of a foundation and of a connection between heaven and earth, a Jacob's Ladder being extended downward to all those who had the faith to take the first step.  And then the farewell most serene, the flute-and-clarinet melody slowly hovering on high, waving good-bye, as it fades away into the blissful otherworld.

[Brahmsian]

The 6th has also grown on me a lot over the last number of years. 

[Mirror Image]

The 6th has also grown on me a lot over the last number of years. 

Thumbs up! One my own personal favorites. I like the lighter textures of this symphony. That Scherzo movement has got to be tricky to play with those off-kilter rhythms.

[mahler10th]

I would think that most here would agree with me, that Bruckner's symphonies are a whole, and that the experience of listening to an Adagio by itself is minuscule compared to it in the context of the surrounding movements.

Yes.  The net result of all his symphonies stacked together in their entirety makes the scope of Bruckners musical vision a wee bit broader than that of his idol, Richard Wagner.   

[TheGSMoeller]

From my (as yet) unpublished novel The Seven Souls of Chaos: a young organist named Tom has adapted for his instrument the last minutes of the Adagio from the Sixth Symphony for the Requiem of child killed in a bicycle accident.

     So then Tom began to play the Bruckner excerpt.  The first two bars seemed more tragic than in practice, and he had to ignore an impulse to cut the repetition of the opening four-bar theme that he had interpolated into the piece.  The next two bars rose and evoked more of a cry of anguish than any hope!  What was happening?  Those two bars were supposed to argue with the first ones, not commiserate!  When the repetition came, Tom quickly changed the stops and made the music softer.  That was better.  Now a short dialogue in the upper register ensued, followed by a chorale that gave a distant angelicity to the opening.  Then an upward struggle with sixteenth notes, ending in a huge, slow, climactic descent in eighth notes.  But this was no descent into hopelessness, rather it was an affirmation of a foundation and of a connection between heaven and earth, a Jacob's Ladder being extended downward to all those who had the faith to take the first step.  And then the farewell most serene, the flute-and-clarinet melody slowly hovering on high, waving good-bye, as it fades away into the blissful otherworld.

Very touching, Cato. Thank you for sharing.

[jlaurson]

From my (as yet) unpublished novel The Seven Souls of Chaos: a young organist named Tom has adapted for his instrument the last minutes of the Adagio from the Sixth Symphony for the Requiem of child killed in a bicycle accident.

     So then Tom began to play the Bruckner excerpt.  The first two bars seemed more tragic than in practice, and he had to ignore an impulse to cut the repetition of the opening four-bar theme that he had interpolated into the piece.  The next two bars rose and evoked more of a cry of anguish than any hope!  What was happening?  Those two bars were supposed to argue with the first ones, not commiserate!  When the repetition came, Tom quickly changed the stops and made the music softer.  That was better.  Now a short dialogue in the upper register ensued, followed by a chorale that gave a distant angelicity to the opening.  Then an upward struggle with sixteenth notes, ending in a huge, slow, climactic descent in eighth notes.  But this was no descent into hopelessness, rather it was an affirmation of a foundation and of a connection between heaven and earth, a Jacob's Ladder being extended downward to all those who had the faith to take the first step.  And then the farewell most serene, the flute-and-clarinet melody slowly hovering on high, waving good-bye, as it fades away into the blissful otherworld.

As your literary agent (appointment pending), let me help you re-write this, to ensure commercial success:

Fifty Shades of Counterpoint


     Tom felt the enormous bellows of the organ pumping all around him. The shiny pipes emitted a storm of music, to which no one could deny him- or herself. From his stern brow fell a salty drop onto the keys in front of him. Tom didn't know whether it was sweat or tears. He shook his head with vigor, to move that black comma of hair back, that had fallen before his steel-green eyes. He enjoyed the sense of contained strength as he flexed his muscles quickly, before he delved into the excerpted Bruckner Adagio. The music sounded more tragic than ever before as he moved through the theme that he remembered so well, having composed it in the sauna, that night when Gaby had stayed with him. But as the music rose and evoked a cry of anguish, more than any hope, he banished the thoughts of her nubile body, those pert breasts covered, almost imperceptibly, by a peach-fuzz of hair. What was happening to him? To the music he was playing? The section he played now was supposed to argue with the first one, not commiserate!  Repeating the section, Tom stretched his muscular left arm to the console and pulled and pushed vigorously on those long, resistant knobs, the stops. He changed the color of the great organ, and the ferocious energy became softer, smoother, more seductive. Yes, that was better. He entered into a short dialogue with the music, one hand answering the other. Much like how Fiona and Bijou had done, after that champagne sodded night last week. Come to think of it, he still couldn't find the kitchen tongs. He would have to ask Bijou about them, last to have seen them, as she must have. But it was Consuela, with her thick black hair and alabaster white skin, fragile, almost too delicate for this world, and irresistible in her white vinyl boots, who reminded him of the distant angelicity of the opening, just as he played the chorale he had so carefully constructed. He struggled upward, with fast, riveting sixteenth notes before slipping into a huge, slow, climactic descent. Just. A little. Slower. It took all of Tom's strength to focus on the keys and pedals and pipes and stops in front of him, and not think of Imogen and her candle-trick. Would he ever see her again? Would he even still recognize her, after what had happened that night at the wolf sanctuary? But he had to focus... focus on the music what was pouring out of him. This was no descent into hopelessness! What his mind and body gave to the people below, collected in mourning but already transfixed with an ecstasy that was no longer just religious or filled with grief, was an affirmation. An affirmation of a foundation and of a connection between heaven and earth, a Jacob's Ladder being extended downward to all those who had the faith to take the first step.  Ladders... oh, yes, of course. The twins in East Berlin, Lilika and Liesel. He had had no idea that such things were even legal in the then communist country. And perhaps they hadn't been. But one thing was for sure: He would never look at cattle prods the same way... Tom thought, strangely aroused, as he came upon the farewell of his organ requiem: the most serene part, the flute-and-clarinet melody slowly hovering on high, waving good-bye, as it fades away into the blissful otherworld. Fade away like Yessenia did then, into the Okavango. It's not like he had not warned her of the dangers of crocoeroticism...
[/font]

[Cato]

As your literary agent (appointment pending), let me help you re-write this, to ensure commercial success:...

  Well, I could write like that, and then commit suicide out of shame.   

So is that what those books are like?  My my my!

As Samuel Goldwyn supposedly said: "Include me out!"

[jlaurson]

  Well, I could write like that,

and then commit suicide out of shame.   

I feel like you are cheapening my accomplishment. 

[Cato]

I feel like you are cheapening my accomplishment. 

  Heh heh!  A professor once used the "pop novels" of Sidney Sheldon as examples of dreadful writing, in fact writing so dreadful it satirized itself.

Sheldon laughed all the way to the bank of course!  As is the perpetrator of these "50 Shades" books.   

[Sergeant Rock]

  Well, I could write like that, and then commit suicide out of shame.   

So is that what those books are like?  My my my!

No, Jens' Fifty is too well-written  ...plus, his protagonist doesn't "blush" after each recollected encounter; nor does his breath "hitch." In the original, the heroine blushes at least twice per page, and her breath hitches every other page. Also Jens doesn't mention how the guy's pants hang, fall from his hips. This is repeatedly mentioned in the original (at least 30 times). I didn't realize that odd fact turns women on. Apparently if you are the most beautiful man on earth, young, have millions in the bank and wear pants well, you'll get all the chicks...even though you stalk them and beat them up on occasion.

Sarge

[Cato]

No, Jens' Fifty is too well-written  ...plus, his protagonist doesn't "blush" after each recollected encounter; nor does his breath "hitch." In the original, the heroine blushes at least twice per page, and her breath hitches every other page..

Sarge

Perhaps those are meant to be literary leitmotifs a la Wagner!  0:)

[Sergeant Rock]

Perhaps those are meant to be literary leitmotifs a la Wagner!  0:)

Sarge

[Karl Henning]

Even when singing hocket, I don't permit my breath to hitch.

And when on duty, I don't permit my breath to hooch, either . . . .

[jlaurson]

From my (as yet) unpublished novel The Seven Souls of Chaos: a young organist named Tom has adapted for his instrument the last minutes of the Adagio from the Sixth Symphony for the Requiem of child killed in a bicycle accident.

     So then Tom began to play the Bruckner excerpt.  The first two bars seemed more tragic than in practice, and he had to ignore an impulse to cut the repetition of the opening four-bar theme that he had interpolated into the piece.  The next two bars rose and evoked more of a cry of anguish than any hope!  What was happening?  Those two bars were supposed to argue with the first ones, not commiserate!  When the repetition came, Tom quickly changed the stops and made the music softer.  That was better.  Now a short dialogue in the upper register ensued, followed by a chorale that gave a distant angelicity to the opening.  Then an upward struggle with sixteenth notes, ending in a huge, slow, climactic descent in eighth notes.  But this was no descent into hopelessness, rather it was an affirmation of a foundation and of a connection between heaven and earth, a Jacob's Ladder being extended downward to all those who had the faith to take the first step.  And then the farewell most serene, the flute-and-clarinet melody slowly hovering on high, waving good-bye, as it fades away into the blissful otherworld.

As your literary agent (appointment pending), let me help you re-write this, to ensure commercial success:

Fifty Shades of Counterpoint


     Tom felt the enormous bellows of the organ pumping all around him. The shiny pipes emitted a storm of music, to which no one could deny him- or herself. From his stern brow fell a salty drop onto the keys in front of him. Tom didn't know whether it was sweat or tears. He shook his head with vigor, to move that black comma of hair back, that had fallen before his steel-green eyes. He enjoyed the sense of contained strength as he flexed his muscles quickly, before he delved into the excerpted Bruckner Adagio.
     The music sounded more tragic than ever before as he moved through the theme that he remembered so well, having composed it in the sauna, that night when Gaby had stayed with him. But as the music rose and evoked a cry of anguish, more than any hope, he banished the thoughts of her nubile body, those pert breasts covered, almost imperceptibly, by a peach-fuzz of hair. What was happening to him? To the music he was playing? The section he played now was supposed to argue with the first one, not commiserate! 
     Repeating the section, Tom stretched his muscular left arm to the console and pulled and pushed vigorously on those long, resistant knobs, the stops. He changed the color of the great organ, and the ferocious energy became softer, smoother, more seductive. Yes, that was better. He entered into a short dialogue with the music, one hand answering the other. Much like how Fiona and Bijou had done, after that champagne sodded night last week. Come to think of it, he still couldn't find the kitchen tongs. He would have to ask Bijou about them, last to have seen them, that she was.
     But it was Consuela, with her thick black hair and alabaster white skin, fragile, almost too delicate for this world, and irresistible in her white vinyl boots, who reminded him of the distant angelicity of the opening, just as he played the chorale he had so carefully constructed. He struggled upward, with fast, riveting sixteenth notes before slipping into a huge, slow, climactic descent. Just. A little. Slower.
     It took all of Tom's strength to focus on the keys and pedals and pipes and stops in front of him, and not think of Imogen and her candle-trick. Would he ever see her again? Would he even still recognize her, after what had happened that night at the wolf sanctuary? But he had to focus... focus on the music what was pouring out of him. This was no descent into hopelessness! What his mind and body gave to the people below, collected in mourning but already transfixed with an ecstasy that was no longer just religious or filled with grief, was an affirmation. An affirmation of a foundation and of a connection between heaven and earth, a Jacob's Ladder being extended downward to all those who had the faith to take the first step. 
     Ladders... oh, yes, of course. The twins in East Berlin, Lilika and Liesel. He had had no idea that such things were even legal in the then communist country. And perhaps they hadn't been. But one thing was for sure: He would never look at cattle prods the same way... Tom thought, strangely aroused, as he came upon the farewell of his organ requiem: the most serene part, the flute-and-clarinet melody slowly hovering on high, waving good-bye, as it fades away into the blissful otherworld. Fade away like Yessenia did then, into the Okavango. It's not like he had not warned her of the dangers of crocoeroticism...
[/font]

So is that what those books are like?  My my my!

No, Jens' Fifty is too well-written  ...plus, his protagonist doesn't "blush" after each recollected encounter; nor does his breath "hitch." In the original, the heroine blushes at least twice per page, and her breath hitches every other page. Also Jens doesn't mention how the guy's pants hang, fall from his hips. This is repeatedly mentioned in the original (at least 30 times). I didn't realize that odd fact turns women on. Apparently if you are the most beautiful man on earth, young, have millions in the bank and wear pants well, you'll get all the chicks...even though you stalk them and beat them up on occasion.

Sarge

aw. chucks.

[Sergeant Rock]

aw. chucks.

I'm serious. That was brilliant, Jens. You have a future as a parodist 

Sarge

[jlaurson]

I'm serious. That was brilliant, Jens. You have a future as a parodist 

Sarge

And to think that I've not read even a paragraph of the original... (the press release of the EMI compilation "50 Shades of Gray" was quite enough).

I'll take parodist, if I finally give up hope on originalism.

[Sergeant Rock]

And to think that I've not read even a paragraph of the original... (the press release of the EMI compilation "50 Shades of Gray" was quite enough).

I'll take parodist, if I finally give up hope on originalism. Care to see the NSO in Frankfurt (w/Steinbacher & Eschenbach), btw? I could swing a ticket or two for you and the Missus.

Steinbacher, Eschenbach? Wow...I so want to go. Unfortunately, I'm in worse shape than I was at the Rott concert. I'm in the process of getting into the Schmerzklinic Mainz...hoping they have a Dr. Haus who can finally cure me. I appreciate the offer but I'm not sure I'm up to it. When is the concert?

Sarge