Sunday, December 31, 2017

Review of Curtis Cate's 1975 Biography of George Sand

I began reading “George Sand A Biography” by Curtis Cate (1975, Houghton Mifflin, Boston) in August 2017 and completed it December 30, 2017. I read it at the rate of approximately seven pages a night. The book is 732 pages of narrative, plus supplementary material (my guestimate is 307,440 words of narrative). Born in Paris, Cate held three university degrees (Harvard, and from schools in Paris and Oxford), was an editor of the Atlantic Monthly, and wrote other biographies. He died in 2006.

I found this book engrossing and informative, notable primarily for the author’s high regard of the most prolific female novelist of the 19th century, his engaging writing style, and the historical context for Sand’s works, activities, and romances. Born Aurore Dupin, George Sand lived from 1804 to 1874, largely in her family estate, Nohant, in the French province of Berry. She was the author of  60 books, most of which are still in print, and 25 plays, all of which were staged in her lifetime, as well as essays, articles, and voluminous correspondence with some of the 19th century’s most celebrated cultural icons.

While Sand is famous for wearing men’s clothing, smoking cigars and cigarettes, having many affairs, and writing under a male name, Cate wisely focuses on her life as a creative person and her role in French history (literary and political) and downplays the so-called scandalous details of her daily life. It is worth noting that some of the greatest writers, artists, and musicians of Western Europe in the 19th century—Liszt, Flaubert, Turgenev, Hugo, Balzac, Pauline Garcia, Heine, Delacroix—admired the woman and her work, and many paid homage to her as one of the greatest writers of her time. Her affairs included those with the poet Musset and the composer Chopin, and she was a leading figure in the political uprisings in Paris during her lifetime.

Cate’s biography fails, however, in an inability to make Sand come alive for the reader. What is she wearing, how does she dress her luxuriant black hair? There is a vivid description of Sand in a colorful frock, wearing a jaunty Turkish cap, early in the book. Surely, this was not an anomaly. How does she move, and what is she like when she dances? What percentage of the time did she dress in men’s clothes? I suspect it wasn’t that often. On more than one occasion, Cate quotes visitors who dismiss her as looking like a cow! (Ruminant, pensive, silent.) Surely this cannot be the exciting female presence who had 20 lovers and was synonymous in the popular imagination with Romantic-era passion and free love.

Sand does emerge, however, as a study in contradictions, and it is this complexity which kept me reading slowly and carefully, night after night. Heralded as the mother of Women’s Liberation, she  questioned the need for women to vote, a seeming contradiction. “We can’t worry about voting until we can inherit our own property,” she protested, having lost so much at the death of her father. However, Cate does capture Sand’s devotion to hard work, writing through the night for decades to support herself, her family, servants, and home. And yet there are hints of tender moments, such as an idyllic stroll and steamboat ride with the bachelor Flaubert (not one of her lovers) and his mother along the Seine. If this does not conjure up images of Impressionist painting to come, then nothing shall.

“George Sand A Biography” is well worth reading: as a story, as history, as a tribute to a writer who is currently not as popular as her more celebrated peers. But just as small, independent publishers are discovering and publishing the works of pre-Austen novelists, so George Sand’s time will come again. Read this book and be prepared! (Review by L.L. Holt, author of The Black Spaniard.)


Podcast and Playlist for WPRB Podcast on The Black Spaniard

Here is the podcast and playlist for my appearance on a Classical Discoveries radio segment titled, "Beethoven with a Twist," aired in December 2017 on WPRB, Princeton University's independent, community supported radio station. Marvin Rosen, host of Classical Discoveries, celebrating more than 20 years of continuous quality programming, was the interviewer. The program focused on my new book, The Black Spaniard. A prequel, The Reluctant Prodigy, will appear in 2018.





Tuesday, December 5, 2017

WPRB 103.3FM Princeton to focus on The Black Spaniard

I'll be on WPRB 103.3FM Wednesday, December 6 talking about my favorite topic: Beethoven!

Approximately between 10 a.m. and 11 a.m., Marvin Rosen, host of Classical Discoveries, will talk to me about my novel, "The Black Spaniard," which looks at Beethoven's life from age 21 to age 33. (Reviews of The Black Spaniard by L.L. Holt are on Amazon.com .)

"The Black Spaniard" not only follows actual events in the life of Beethoven, but also puts them in historical context, exploring the often ignored cultural diversity of Vienna, Austria, at the turn of the century (late 1700s to early 1800s). There is also a surprise twist on the possible identity of the Immortal Beloved (remember: it's fiction!).

WPRB is the Princeton University radio station. Marvin's own site, www.ClassicalDiscoveries.org , will carry the December 6 program for a period of time following the broadcast. Listen up!

www.ClassicalDiscoveries.org

L.L. Holt at Beethoven's residence in Heiligenstadt, a suburb of Vienna, Austra




Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Beethoven's Leonore - A Wonder Woman for Our Time

I had the pleasure of attending the Princeton Festival's production of Beethoven's Fidelio on June 18, 2017. (Fidelio is the name of a prison guard in this political drama, but she is actually Leonore in disguise, seeking her imprisoned husband, Florestan.) Please click the following link to read my review in the Broad Street Review (Philadelphia), photo by Jessi Franko Designs LLC:    http://bit.ly/2tH2HtD

Saturday, March 11, 2017

Thinking about Beethoven



I haven’t written about Beethoven in a while. I was thinking this morning that what impresses me most about his lifelong output (roughly from age 14 to 56) is its inevitability, the logical way it developed from those first songs and piano sketches to the almost unbearable intensity of the final symphony, quartets, and sonatas. 

It’s mythic, as though a Vedic god or goddess stood at the peak of Mount Everest and, blowing on a conch shell, filled the valleys below with this precisely ordered revelation. The peaks and valleys of his music unfold as though planned for centuries by an Immortal Being. Beethoven’s life similarly evolves like some mythic hero destined to suffer and die for his art. Even he recognized his likeness to Prometheus, the Greek titan tortured eternally for bringing fire to humankind.

I know I get a little crazy about Beethoven. But I can’t see this inevitable, logical unfolding of music and human life in any other composer or artist. Like the heroes of the great religions, Beethoven seems to take on the sufferings of the world and offers a kind of preordained musical redemption that is satisfying both in its finality and in the way it points to greatness beyond. It is more than music. It may even be more than life.  (L.L. Holt, author of The Black Spaniard)


Sunday, February 26, 2017

Music on an ascending scale

This weekend (February 24, 2017) the Philadelphia Orchestra under Yannick Nézet-Séguin completed its Brahms cycle with a performance of his Fourth Symphony. Earlier this season, he conducted the First and Second Symphonies, while Herbert Blomstedt led the orchestra in the Third a week before this concert. But you didn’t think this was going to be ho-hum, more “Brahms as usual,” right?

Of course not. Nézet-Séguin had a few cards up his sleeve with some fascinating disclosures about the German masters.

Unlikely pairing

Bach and Brahms may not be the most likely pairing for a concert program. Bach is Baroque, tethered to the church he loved, a family man from whom music poured almost effortlessly from a young age. In contrast, Brahms is Romantic, but more ponderous Victorian romanticism than Chopin or Wagner’s flight-of-fancy effusions. Brahms was a bachelor, tirelessly revised and rethought his output, and organized religion was not his cup of tea. And yet as Brahms’s life neared its end at the 19th century’s close, he drew on a lifelong regard for Bach in completing his own valedictory masterworks.

Between programs, Nézet-Séguin walked unexpectedly to the podium and revealed some links between the next work (Bach’s Cantata No. 150) and the last movement of Brahms’s Symphony No. 4 in E minor.

That last movement is a series of variations on eight chords that form part of the structure of the cantata’s own last movement. Peter Richard Conte, best known as “Wanamaker Grand Court Organist at Macy’s,” soloed on the Kimmel Center’s instrument, providing irrefutable examples from each work. Nézet-Séguin is absolutely brilliant in illuminating selections with these little side chats in some of his concerts, not only helping us understand the music, but also eliminating the stuffiness associated with classical fare.

So how was Brahms’s Fourth? Phenomenal. I haven’t heard too many performances by this orchestra more enthusiastically greeted. Perhaps this performance style was a bit free and loose, but being fast and loud brings excitement to any work. Beyond this deliberate infusion of energy, profound musical thought took place, alongside a balance of forces both subtle and sublime, and some glorious sectional and solo playing.

Darkness is holy

A wonderful first movement duet showcases the clarinet (Ricardo Morales, principal) and bassoon (Daniel Matsukawa, principal). The clarinet is sometimes the forgotten enchanter of the woodwind forest. Neither pleasantly rasping like a double reed, nor a haunting echo like the French horn (often grouped with the winds), the clarinet’s pure, liquid strains refresh, beguile, and revive. It possesses a warm woodsy quality not unlike the resonance of strings, but with the added dimension of living breath.


  Nézet-Séguin showed miraculous intensity throughout, clustering the symphony’s first and second movements as though they were tied together (they almost are, by horns), and achieving the same effect with movements three and four. This resulted in a sense of urgency and unity, propelling the work through a brass choir, flute solo, and various other oases to a strong conclusion.
The concert opened with Brahms’s solemn Chorale Preludes (a form also beloved by Bach). This performance featured a new transcription by Detlev Glanert, commissioned by the orchestra. In his spontaneous chat, Nézet-Séguin rightly referred to these hymn-based works as solemn and majestic. C.S. Lewis once observed that holy places are dark places; these preludes, some played on the organ by Conte, others transcribed for orchestra, lack the rousing charm of an overture, instead evoking sinking grandeur of twilight.

The selection I most enjoyed was Bach’s cantata. Four talented young soloists joined a much scaled-down orchestra, which despite the number 150, was possibly Bach’s first cantata. For all that, it is harmonically imaginative, loaded with vivid musical descriptions of phrases and words, sung with bright intensity by Vanessa Vasquez, soprano; Chrystal E. Williams, mezzo-soprano; Jonas Hacker, tenor; and André Courville, bass-baritone. The artists also functioned as the chorus.

It was quite a balancing act to size down the orchestra just enough to capture the lightness of an 18th-century ensemble without drowning in Verizon Hall’s cavernous recesses. This cantata is known as “Nach dir, Herr, verlanget mich” (“I long after thee, Lord”). The performance was on fire with feeling under Nézet-Séguin. It wasn’t church singing, it was real drama, drawn from the text and music by a master conductor. This augurs well for Nézet-Séguin’s future at the Met, as well as further exciting fare in local venues.

This review appeared originally in The Broad Street Review the week of February 26, 2017.   broadstreetreview.com