Looking forward to the podcast. Classical music has always been present in my life but I could never really express or understand why I enjoyed it. It was only fairly recently that I started taking it seriously, listening closely and actively looking to expand my horizons and investigate my artistic sensitivity. And discovering your blog was an immense help.
I take issue with your comments about writing/language and music. You seem to start from the premise that writing about music should somehow mimic the effect of listening to music. I find that assumption questionable at best. Writing that attempts to do that almost always falls far short. The late, great Whitney Balliett often took a metaphorical approach to writing about jazz, and approach far different from, say, Nat Hentoff, but I enjoyed read both and gained much. I have read several biographies of Beethoven as well as critical writings on his works by Joseph Kerman, Maynard Solomon, and Charles Rosen, to name just a few. All have contributed to my appreciation of the music. But, above all, Theodor Adorno's writings on Beethoven's Opus 11 piano sonata and Missa Solemnis were revelations and changed forever my understanding of these works and hence my appreciation for them. I hear hem differently, feeling their profound subtlety and historical significance in ways I missed before my encounter with Adorno's writings.
I read a lot of music biographies. On the classical side, I loved Jan Swafford’s Brahms and Beethoven volumes in particular. In pop I’ve read a ton of Beatles/Joni/Dylan books, and in Jazz, Coltrane Miles Mingus Bird Monk Rollins, plus many others in all categories.) These make me feel closer to the artists and their time, and I love the cultural context, but I rarely feel closer to the music itself, even when I’m listening alongside what’s being written about. My reactions are so personal and intuitive, which spurs my interest of “how did they do that”…
I have not read Adorno on Beethoven, which I will check out on your recommendation.
As I read your reply, I noticed some typos in my own comment. The most important one was my reference to "Opus 11." That should have been Opus 111. Duh!
Adorno also wrote an instructive essay on Bach’s music as well as his “progressive” place in history, entitled “Bach Defended Against his Devotees,” published in a volume called “Prisms.”
Adorno often gets a bad rap because of his writings on jazz. Even his defenders (including me) will acknowledge that he very much missed the boat on jazz. That said, it must also be stated that two of Adorno's three essays on jazz were written in very particular contexts that shaped their meaning. The first was written in Germany in the 1920s, and Adorno was objecting to the racial exoticism that was part of the reception of jazz in Europe at that time. Jazz was often viewed as a kind of "primitivism," and black American musicians were encouraged to play to that demeaning perception. Adorno's next essay on jazz was really not about "jazz" so much as it was about radio music in 1930s America. He was working on a sociological study of radio at Princeton. All that said, I can only reiterate that Adorno clearly got jazz wrong even in the late essay include in "Prisms."
Yes Adorno was clueless about jazz, misunderstood it and baselessly attacked it (“a false utopia”). That essay is a real disservice and I too was repelled and disappointed by it. Hard to reconcile with his brilliant take on Bach but I suppose we all have blind spots, or should I say deaf spots..
Yes, the Bach essay is fascinating—and important. Adorno corrects the perception of Bach as a composer best understood in the context of the Church. Adorno shows Bach to be very much a figure of the Enlightenment.
Loved being along for the ride last year, and super excited to see — or, rather, hear — what you have in store for us on the podcast. Great work, Evan!
I might have to circle back and read more of your posts. Thoroughly enjoyed every cent of this. I’ve been so captivated by the Gold. Variation #25. It doesn’t matter what volume it’s on, or if it’s on a cell phone speaker (which is easy to lament) the notes speak above it!
I came late to your Substack, so starting in 2026 I want to follow/explore your Year of Bach (2024).
Sincere thanks for sharing with those of us who not only appreciate Bach’s genius but who also experience his glorious music as a manifestation of God’s divine presence.
I wrote earlier this year: "Bach devoted his life to God and to expressing the gift that God granted to him. That he has touched so many people in the centuries after his death is perhaps itself a sideways proof of God’s existence."
"This is music." If he asked next, "What does it mean?" the answer would be there, overwhelmingly, in us, but exceedingly difficult to articulate externally. Asked just this question of one of his compositions, Schumann played it again.
I'm a month late, but I'm excited you decided to give YoB a second year. It was interesting to read these takeaways. On #13, I suppose this comment could be taken many ways, but I take it to mean that Bach was both inherently gifted (a Titan born into a highly musical family) and consistent, adhering to the his way of composing music even as the style of music around him evolved.
A joke: Mozart dies and goes to the Pearly Gates. He looks at the large man there and the man says, "We want you to be the Concert Meister of the Heavenly orchestra." "Me," Mozart says, "what about Bach." "I am Bach," the figure responds. Another: A famous violinist is asked if all musicians believe God. "Perhaps not, but all musicians believe in Bach," the violinist responded.
Yo Yo Ma and Lorin Maazel were in an elevator together. Ma asks, “are you heading to lunch”? maazel reples “I will be communing with God.” Ma says, “ah, dining alone again.”
You might be interested in an article from the May 2025 issue of Atlantic Magazine by Matthew Aucoin wherein he wrestles with the question of what classical music is - I found it very thought provoking. I'm looking forward to your podcast.
Thanks - I enjoyed that article earlier this week.
I was surprised that the author didn’t use the phrase “through-composed” music which I thought was more commonly known and sort of self-explanatory, but I may be off on this.
Thanks to some sort of Substack algorithm this came across my inbox, I've a recent migrant to this service (Twitter refugee). Bummed that I came at the end of the party but still enjoyed going through some of your posts. We share an appreciation for Richter, Argerich and Olafsson. I'm surprised to not see Starker (my gateway to Bach) and Ruzickova (first to record all the keyboard works and has quite the life story). While I'm not a podcast enthusiast (reading is faster), hearing from other Bach fans has me interested.
I love Starker’s recordings with Sebok — they were both special players of Bach and otherwise.
Ruzickova I haven’t listened to that much because I’d always preferred listening to piano over the harpsichord. Leonhart and Hantai have taught me to reconsider, and I should expand my harpsichord ears more.
Glad you're enjoying your years with Bach. As an historian, I'd just like to register the observation that most of the people who are performing the music you've been listening to are engaged, in one way or another, with music theory, criticism, and history. There is a world out there to discover and it's not all irrelevant. As @williamrhackman272431 says, the purpose of most of that writing is not to mimic experience. Maybe start with Donald Tovey: he galvanized a generation of listeners. And then maybe Busoni's essays on music (as you know, he was a spectacular Bach advocate).
Thanks for these recommendations, and I grant you all your points!
I enjoy and learn a lot from biographies of composers and performers across genre - the historical and musical contexts deepen my listening experience, especially as we move deeper into the past. (Swafford's Beethoven volume was great in teaching about the shifting social and political systems that governed B's life.) It's all interesting, but everything I've read feels orthogonal to the music itself.
This book on Shostakovich's string quartets was great on the man and the political pressures he was subject to, but did not deepen my relationship to the quartets at all. In that way, I think it failed!
When I take a swing at writing about the music, I'm aiming to get my readers to listen and say, 'I feel that, too', in the same way that the great fiction writers say things that you know intuitively but never could name. This is where I think music writers have almost always fallen short.
You might also like Mark Mazullo's book on Shostakovich's 24 Preludes and Fugues. It's a magnificent and eloquent close reading. (You'll need the score in hand as you read.)
You might also be interested in the history of your doubt -- i.e., the history of the idea that words cannot express what is felt in music and literature. As an historian I'm often skeptical of my own ideas if I feel I'm the only one who has them, or if I can't find any good books on my subject. Some of the history of the idea that words cannot express art is here for example: https://jameselkins.substack.com/p/a-very-late-romantic-book-on-language
Looking forward to the podcast. Classical music has always been present in my life but I could never really express or understand why I enjoyed it. It was only fairly recently that I started taking it seriously, listening closely and actively looking to expand my horizons and investigate my artistic sensitivity. And discovering your blog was an immense help.
That's wonderful - glad to be part of your discovery. Just keep following what you like and you'll find thousands of records to enjoy.
I look forward to your podcast, Evan.
I would love to hear you and your guests dig deeply into both Martha Argerich and Sviatoslav Richter.
Me too! Thanks Al
I take issue with your comments about writing/language and music. You seem to start from the premise that writing about music should somehow mimic the effect of listening to music. I find that assumption questionable at best. Writing that attempts to do that almost always falls far short. The late, great Whitney Balliett often took a metaphorical approach to writing about jazz, and approach far different from, say, Nat Hentoff, but I enjoyed read both and gained much. I have read several biographies of Beethoven as well as critical writings on his works by Joseph Kerman, Maynard Solomon, and Charles Rosen, to name just a few. All have contributed to my appreciation of the music. But, above all, Theodor Adorno's writings on Beethoven's Opus 11 piano sonata and Missa Solemnis were revelations and changed forever my understanding of these works and hence my appreciation for them. I hear hem differently, feeling their profound subtlety and historical significance in ways I missed before my encounter with Adorno's writings.
Thanks for this.
I read a lot of music biographies. On the classical side, I loved Jan Swafford’s Brahms and Beethoven volumes in particular. In pop I’ve read a ton of Beatles/Joni/Dylan books, and in Jazz, Coltrane Miles Mingus Bird Monk Rollins, plus many others in all categories.) These make me feel closer to the artists and their time, and I love the cultural context, but I rarely feel closer to the music itself, even when I’m listening alongside what’s being written about. My reactions are so personal and intuitive, which spurs my interest of “how did they do that”…
I have not read Adorno on Beethoven, which I will check out on your recommendation.
As I read your reply, I noticed some typos in my own comment. The most important one was my reference to "Opus 11." That should have been Opus 111. Duh!
Adorno also wrote an instructive essay on Bach’s music as well as his “progressive” place in history, entitled “Bach Defended Against his Devotees,” published in a volume called “Prisms.”
Ah - Ive read the Jazz essay from Prisms which I deeply disliked. I’ll
Check out the Bach
Adorno often gets a bad rap because of his writings on jazz. Even his defenders (including me) will acknowledge that he very much missed the boat on jazz. That said, it must also be stated that two of Adorno's three essays on jazz were written in very particular contexts that shaped their meaning. The first was written in Germany in the 1920s, and Adorno was objecting to the racial exoticism that was part of the reception of jazz in Europe at that time. Jazz was often viewed as a kind of "primitivism," and black American musicians were encouraged to play to that demeaning perception. Adorno's next essay on jazz was really not about "jazz" so much as it was about radio music in 1930s America. He was working on a sociological study of radio at Princeton. All that said, I can only reiterate that Adorno clearly got jazz wrong even in the late essay include in "Prisms."
Yes Adorno was clueless about jazz, misunderstood it and baselessly attacked it (“a false utopia”). That essay is a real disservice and I too was repelled and disappointed by it. Hard to reconcile with his brilliant take on Bach but I suppose we all have blind spots, or should I say deaf spots..
More for my pile. Thank you.
Yes, the Bach essay is fascinating—and important. Adorno corrects the perception of Bach as a composer best understood in the context of the Church. Adorno shows Bach to be very much a figure of the Enlightenment.
p.s. I’ll look for his Beethoven writings, and your typo correction -- op. 111 not 11 -- suddenly makes a lot more sense!
Yes, he hears Bach’s motivic technique as proto-modernist, as you indicated -- thanks.
Bach held the most delicate things in the firmest grip.
Loved being along for the ride last year, and super excited to see — or, rather, hear — what you have in store for us on the podcast. Great work, Evan!
Thanks Michael — glad you’re keeping up your melancholy music roundup!
I might have to circle back and read more of your posts. Thoroughly enjoyed every cent of this. I’ve been so captivated by the Gold. Variation #25. It doesn’t matter what volume it’s on, or if it’s on a cell phone speaker (which is easy to lament) the notes speak above it!
Thanks Kevin! There's plenty to explore. I'd recommend sorting through the most popular posts on the home page of the blog.
I love this so much. Keep it up.
I came late to your Substack, so starting in 2026 I want to follow/explore your Year of Bach (2024).
Sincere thanks for sharing with those of us who not only appreciate Bach’s genius but who also experience his glorious music as a manifestation of God’s divine presence.
This is lovely, thank you.
I wrote earlier this year: "Bach devoted his life to God and to expressing the gift that God granted to him. That he has touched so many people in the centuries after his death is perhaps itself a sideways proof of God’s existence."
Quoting George Steiner:
"This is music." If he asked next, "What does it mean?" the answer would be there, overwhelmingly, in us, but exceedingly difficult to articulate externally. Asked just this question of one of his compositions, Schumann played it again.
Now that’s good music writing (about the impossibility of good music writing).
I'm a month late, but I'm excited you decided to give YoB a second year. It was interesting to read these takeaways. On #13, I suppose this comment could be taken many ways, but I take it to mean that Bach was both inherently gifted (a Titan born into a highly musical family) and consistent, adhering to the his way of composing music even as the style of music around him evolved.
Thanks! I agree with your takeaway here, and also adding that his quality is consistently high, very few throwaway pieces, etc.
Absolutely! (Though I haven't heard it all).
Of course, Blackbird.
A joke: Mozart dies and goes to the Pearly Gates. He looks at the large man there and the man says, "We want you to be the Concert Meister of the Heavenly orchestra." "Me," Mozart says, "what about Bach." "I am Bach," the figure responds. Another: A famous violinist is asked if all musicians believe God. "Perhaps not, but all musicians believe in Bach," the violinist responded.
I heard this story from a friend.
Yo Yo Ma and Lorin Maazel were in an elevator together. Ma asks, “are you heading to lunch”? maazel reples “I will be communing with God.” Ma says, “ah, dining alone again.”
You might be interested in an article from the May 2025 issue of Atlantic Magazine by Matthew Aucoin wherein he wrestles with the question of what classical music is - I found it very thought provoking. I'm looking forward to your podcast.
Thanks - I enjoyed that article earlier this week.
I was surprised that the author didn’t use the phrase “through-composed” music which I thought was more commonly known and sort of self-explanatory, but I may be off on this.
Thanks to some sort of Substack algorithm this came across my inbox, I've a recent migrant to this service (Twitter refugee). Bummed that I came at the end of the party but still enjoyed going through some of your posts. We share an appreciation for Richter, Argerich and Olafsson. I'm surprised to not see Starker (my gateway to Bach) and Ruzickova (first to record all the keyboard works and has quite the life story). While I'm not a podcast enthusiast (reading is faster), hearing from other Bach fans has me interested.
Thank you Salvador! Glad you found your way here.
I love Starker’s recordings with Sebok — they were both special players of Bach and otherwise.
Ruzickova I haven’t listened to that much because I’d always preferred listening to piano over the harpsichord. Leonhart and Hantai have taught me to reconsider, and I should expand my harpsichord ears more.
Glad you're enjoying your years with Bach. As an historian, I'd just like to register the observation that most of the people who are performing the music you've been listening to are engaged, in one way or another, with music theory, criticism, and history. There is a world out there to discover and it's not all irrelevant. As @williamrhackman272431 says, the purpose of most of that writing is not to mimic experience. Maybe start with Donald Tovey: he galvanized a generation of listeners. And then maybe Busoni's essays on music (as you know, he was a spectacular Bach advocate).
Thanks for these recommendations, and I grant you all your points!
I enjoy and learn a lot from biographies of composers and performers across genre - the historical and musical contexts deepen my listening experience, especially as we move deeper into the past. (Swafford's Beethoven volume was great in teaching about the shifting social and political systems that governed B's life.) It's all interesting, but everything I've read feels orthogonal to the music itself.
This book on Shostakovich's string quartets was great on the man and the political pressures he was subject to, but did not deepen my relationship to the quartets at all. In that way, I think it failed!
https://www.amazon.com/Music-Silenced-Voices-Shostakovich-Quartets/dp/0300169337
When I take a swing at writing about the music, I'm aiming to get my readers to listen and say, 'I feel that, too', in the same way that the great fiction writers say things that you know intuitively but never could name. This is where I think music writers have almost always fallen short.
You might also like Mark Mazullo's book on Shostakovich's 24 Preludes and Fugues. It's a magnificent and eloquent close reading. (You'll need the score in hand as you read.)
You might also be interested in the history of your doubt -- i.e., the history of the idea that words cannot express what is felt in music and literature. As an historian I'm often skeptical of my own ideas if I feel I'm the only one who has them, or if I can't find any good books on my subject. Some of the history of the idea that words cannot express art is here for example: https://jameselkins.substack.com/p/a-very-late-romantic-book-on-language
Thanks James - I will read your post. I have a BA in History but have spent my career in finance and real estate.
Writing about music? Try Wifrid Mellers or Donald Francis Tovey.
these names are new to me -- will check them out!