Our critics cast their eyes over this month’s selection of books on classical music
Classical Crossroads –
The Path Forward for Music in the 21st Century
Leonard Slatkin
Rowman & Littlefield 256pp (hb) £22.20 Now in his late 70s and – after a couple of heart scares – gradually winding down from a distinguished conducting career mainly on the US orchestral circuit, Leonard Slatkin
offers us a mixture of reminiscences and practical suggestions drawn from his professional life. They are gathered into chapters under such headings as, ‘On Conducting’, ‘On Agents’, ‘On Soloists’, ‘On Media’, ‘On Audiences’ and so on. The writing is genial; much of the advice is commonsensical. But we are rather kept waiting for the hopeful vision of the musical future promised by the book’s subtitle.
It never comes. The final third of the book comprises a sequence of blogs from 2020 in which he ponders the implications for concert life of the Covid pandemic. But apart from reiterating that things must change and suggesting that orchestras should socially distance – which they have been doing anyway – it turns out he has little more idea than the rest of how musical life might be revived postpandemic. And beyond listing a few of his favourite works, there is no suggestion of the kind of future music he would like to hear.
Bayan Northcott ★★★
Silences So Deep –
Music, Solitude, Alaska
John Luther Adams
Picador 208pp (pb) £12.39
It’s difficult to imagine the existence of John Luther Adams’s extraordinary music without the ‘silences so deep’ he encountered over 30 years living in Alaska.
Yet this beautifully written, disarmingly frank memoir is as much about community as it is about the solitude, music and closeness to the earth he explored from ‘my own Walden – a rough cabin in the boreal forest.’
The title quotes Alaskan poet John Haines who, alongside conductor Gordon Wright and Adams’s wife Cynthia, were crucial among fellow outsiders, artists and environmental activists in sustaining Adams as his music evolved from being ‘about place’ to becoming ‘in a real sense … a place of its own.’
From the wood thrush song that ‘started it all’, via Iñupiaq drumming to the ecstatic ‘sonic geometry’ of
A Strange and Sacred Noise and the deep, sound-light engagement of The Place Where You Go to Listen, Adams strives not just for musical topography, but for a music that ‘resonates with the inaudible and the invisible’. It’s a powerful, richly human creative journey – for which we too surely owe Alaska thanks. Steph Power ★★★★★
The Soul of the Journey –
The Mendelssohns in
Scotland an Italy
Diana Ambache
Birlinn 160pp (pb) £14.99
The close relationship between the Mendelssohn siblings, Fanny and Felix, lies at the centre of this attractive exploration – as does, quietly but surely, the equal billing that Diana Ambache accords to both composers. She has homed in on their travels, which produced a fount of music, paintings and letters; it makes a suitable focal point for an exploration that spotlights such gems as Felix’s Hebrides Overture and Scottish Symphony and Fanny’s piano cycle Das Jahr. The siblings’ personalities come bowling out of the pages, which include a section devoted to some of their letters. Felix overflows with energy and enthusiasm, while Fanny’s intelligence, humour and warmth won’t entirely surprise those who admire her music.
Occasional editorial infelicities sometimes trip one up – snippets of repeated information within a few pages or a non sequitur here and there – but apart from that, Ambache’s writing is clear and wellhoned. Beautifully produced and lavishly illustrated, with pictures including sketches and paintings by Felix himself and by Fanny’s husband, the artist Wilhelm
Hensel, this would make a fine gift. Jessica Duchen ★★★★
A Sound Mind – How I Fell in Love with Classical Music (and Decided to Rewrite its Entire History)
Paul Morley
Bloomsbury 624pp (pb) £12.99
Any book that claims to ‘rewrite [classical music’s] entire history’ is going to have a lot to prove.
Does Paul Morley, a former NME rock music journalist, writer and producer, succeed? The short answer is no. In fact, inside this hybrid memoir/ music history, he embarks on a slightly different quest, trying to choose the soundtrack to the last moments of his life. And after a midlife conversion to classical music, Morley was having to rethink exactly what that might mean.
And boy, does Morley think a lot. At nearly 600 pages, this narrative could have benefited from a firm edit. Not that it would have been an easy job. Morley’s distinctive style relies on digression and circling back, drawing on his enviable roving knowledge of all sorts of subjects. Insight or information overload? Here we have both. Observations about the art, industry, history and aesthetics of classical music were both interesting and infuriating. Morley loves playlists, and these pepper the pages, with a selection of articles, reflections and interviews. Does he find his musical Last Supper? The final word goes to Harrison Birtwistle: ‘I’ve said enough.’ Rebecca Franks ★★★