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Ретрокабаре „Циркус Еуропиа“
Музичко-сценски перформанс со креативна димензија која ги надминува рамките на едноставно концертно претставување на театарската музика на Горан Трајкоски
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Музичко-сценски перформанс со креативна димензија која ги надминува рамките на едноставно концертно претставување на театарската музика на Горан Трајкоски
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The phrase “Kodály school” was first used by Mátyás Seiber in a November 1926 article on Kodály as a teacher of composition: “Anyone trained in the ‘Kodály school’ can count himself lucky.” (The inverted commas indicate that the phrase was unusual.) What Seiber was referring to was not an artistic orientation but an institutional form directed by a particular individual. The expression cropped up again, about a year and a half later, in István Sonkoly’s review of Jenő Ádám’s Suite for orchestra: “[Ádám’s] composition displays all the virtues of the Kodály school. He writes concisely, favouring classical form, his orchestration is not overly dense, and he tends to treat the woodwind soloistically.” Again, “Kodály school” stands not for an orientation or trend, but for all that Ádám had absorbed in his studies under Kodály. During the 1920s and 1930s, the expression “Kodály school” is rarely used in the literature on music and exclusively in the context of education, as a reference to the totality of a composer’s academic work. This was the usage that prevailed for years, with Sonkoly employing it in this sense even in 1948: “Kodály, the composer and teacher, has founded a school” is a clear allusion to the students as a group, yet Sonkoly was concerned with how Kodály taught the craft of composition and not with the factors that united this group. As late as 1972, Bence Szabolcsi saw the feature most characterizing the Kodály school as the love of the craft of composition. [...]
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The article printed above first appeared fifty years ago, in the inaugural issue of what was then The New Hungarian Quarterly. Ever since the industrious C. F. Pohl published the first two volumes of his splendid Haydn biography around 1880, later Haydn biographies have consisted largely of no more than adaptations of the data elaborated in Pohl’s classical work. Research since then has produced few essential new additions to our knowledge of Haydn’s life and activities.[...]
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In 1761, Joseph Haydn, a young composer already highly regarded in Vienna, was appointed deputy kappelmeister by Prince Paul Anton Esterházy, the highly educated and music-loving head of that wealthy, pro-Habsburg Hungarian aristocratic family. Haydn remained in the Prince’s employ until his death on 31 May 1809, even though in the last decade and a half his employment had become increasingly formal. The surviving papers concerning more than three decades in the service of the Esterházys as well as countless documents pertaining to his activities, first in Kismarton (Eisenstadt) and then in Eszterháza, are now housed at the National Széchényi Library in Budapest. Of course, there are numerous documents, letters and scores in other European libraries and archives too, yet there is no doubt that Budapest is the international centre for sources concerning Haydn’s works. Some items from this treasure trove had been published already between the two world wars by Esterházy archivist János Hárich, yet the true extent of its richness did not become apparent until 1957. That year, in preparation for the upcoming 150th anniversary of Haydn’s death in 1959, and facilitated by the thaw that followed repression after the 1956 revolution, archivist Arisztid Valkó published some Haydn documents. Hárich, who had been imprisoned along with Pál Esterházy (no longer Prince after 1945), continued the work with unflagging energy in Austria after leaving the country in 1956 until the 1970s.[...]
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The impulse to write my three-volume biography of Franz Liszt arose from a variety of circumstances. First, there was a simple desire to do his life and work full justice. When I entered the field of Liszt scholarship, more than fifty years ago, hardly anything worthwhile existed in English. The best-known biography was Sacheverell Sitwell’s Liszt, while the most thorough book on the music itself was Humphrey Searle’s The Music of Liszt. But the first was an evangelical work, not based on original research; while the second was a slim and surprisingly dry volume containing a great many reservations about the compositions themselves. Then there was Ernest Newman’s characterassassination The Man Liszt (1934), which was reprinted after World War II and continued for many years to tarnish Liszt’s reputation in English-speaking countries. Three books do not constitute a library. Second, I had always been immensely attracted to Liszt’s magnetic personality, and in my childhood I was drawn to the legend of his piano playing as to few other topics. They say that in every biography is an autobiography trying to get out. The idea would be diverting if it were not so sobering. I have come to believe that the best biographies choose their biographers, not vice versa. The lucky biographers write their work not because they have a choice but because they have no choice at all.
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Palestrina and the “Palestrina style” as interpreted in the 19th-century The term “Palestrina style” had several different meanings in the 19th century, yet those meanings (referring to the works of Palestrina himself; the a cappella works of his contemporaries and the generation following him; strict style in general) were often blurred in actual practice. In Italy, the expression alla Palestrina designated the musical language of Palestrina and the Roman school of the 16th and 17th centuries, as represented by Felice and Giovanni Francesco Anerio, Francesco Soriano and Gregorio Allegri (who was the most famous of them all in the 19th century); it could also be used as a synonym of stile antico. “Palestrina style” could further refer to an abstract concept; the glorification of Renaissance music, with Palestrina as its emblem, implied a strong contrast with more recent musical styles. References to Palestrina by Liszt and his contemporaries reflect not only the influence of any Palestrina works that were known to them, but encompass the entire a cappella literature of the 16th and 17th centuries. In particular, Liszt often mentions Orlande de Lassus alongside Palestrina. Unlike most German contemporaries, however, Liszt did not typically use “Palestrina style” as a term for strict polyphonic writing in general.
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ër më tepër se tri dekada vazhdimisht zhvillohet debati, i mbushur me kontradikta dhe mospajtime, mbi definimin e termit “muzikë minimaliste”, term i cili besohet se është përdorur për të parën herë në vitin 1968 nga kritikët muzikorë të revistave muzikore të New York-ut*1. Kjo për shkakun se shumë vepra minimaliste kanë kohëzgjatje disa orësh dhe përmbajnë me mijëra nota: si është e mundur pra, pyesin disa, ta quajmë tërë këtë muzikë ‒ minimaliste?
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Béla Bartók’s one act opera, Duke Bluebeard’s Castle (A kékszakállú herceg vára), breaks with precedent. Before the curtain rises, even before the music begins, the ancient figure of a Prologue appears and speaks the opening text of Béla Balázs’s libretto. Why is he there? What do his words mean? All too often, opera productions, recordings, academic discussions, even the one video, avoid these questions by omitting the Prologue entirely. Perhaps worse, the published German version of the libretto by Wilhelm Ziegler—based on Emma Kodály’s first translation— imputes specific meaning to phrases left vague in the Hungarian. Similarly flawed, the English translation attempts to retain the poetic and rhythmic features of the Hungarian at the expense of rendering a literal equivalent. Even recent scholarship (e.g. Frigyesi and Leafstedt) misrepresents the text, despite the declared intent to be literal.[...]
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Alan Walker conversing with Gábor Csepregi. On the occasion of Alan Walker´s 75th birthday, Gábor Csepregi had the opportunity to interview Alan Walker who, amongst many other achievements, has written a magisterial biography of Franz Liszt.
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