An orchestra from the comfort of your garden chair - did you know plants make music?

By James Chater 

Photograph: © TFL from the London Transport Museum Collection

If you go down to the woods today, you’re sure of a big surprise… No, not bears picnicking, but something perhaps as equally far-fetched. Plants that make music.

To me, the RHS Chelsea Flower Show means one thing; being subjected to an hour-long programme every evening for a week about gardens. Unfortunately, I can’t get much more excited about it than that, despite my mother’s consistently enthused accounts of the many wonderful gardens she has seen during the day. However, this time she returned with an anecdote that didn’t cause me to reach hurriedly for my noise-cancelling headphones. The anecdote was about a stall she had seen where an array of plants were, thanks to a complicated looking contraption, creating music. Music is an art that has associations with many other arts, social sciences and general hobbies but, I must admit, I had never seen horticulture as one of them. Sceptically, I began to investigate and was pleasantly surprised by the large quantity of information on a field of research I had never encountered.

The research has been centred in the Italian ‘eco-village’ of Damanhur. In 1979, 11 ‘Damanhurians’ founded the self-titled ‘Federation of Damanhur’, in an Italian mountain range 30 miles from Turin in 1979. Today, the site is known as the location of the ‘Temples of Humankind’, an enormous temple made up of several halls some 100ft beneath the mountain. It was constructed in complete secrecy from the Italian government, and without heavy construction machinery. It has to be seen to be believed. Since 1979, a team of scientists has been working to ascertain whether it is possible to communicate with plants, and whether the communication can be through the medium of music. One fascinating experiment has given real traction to the idea that plants can in fact communicate with each other. 

Capiscum Annuum

Until now it has been thought that the ways in which plants communicate was through chemical or magnetic means, but the team at Damanhur have shown that they may be able to through sound as well, just at a frequency inaudible to humans. 

“In the experiment, Capsicum annuum (chili pepper) seeds isolated in a black box that blocked all possible chemical and magnetic communication, germinated slowly when there were no other plants nearby; they did so at a normal speed if they were near other Capsicums, and did so rapidly if they were near basil plants, known to be their natural ally. Growth was even faster if there were fennel plants nearby, since fennel is antagonistic to Capsicum plants, releasing chemicals that would slow their growth. Fennel seemed to signal its presence with a kind of acoustic communication. If it was put in a plastic box that blocked all forms of chemical communication, nearby Capsicum plants were spurred into growing much faster than normal.”

How then are these sounds made audible? Electrodes are attached to the roots and the leaves, through which vibrations are sent as a MIDI signal to a synthesiser, which then plays the notes. Differences in electric potential within the roots and leaves cause changes in pitch and rhythm. The result is quite extraordinary.

However, the question that arises is whether, even if the plant creates these sounds, it necessarily becomes music. If they are sounds that are the result of a biological change in the plant’s surroundings, there isn’t much that differentiates it from human speech; it is functional. Not many people would label a conversation as music, apart from maybe John Cage. In a sense, to be called music, there needs to be evidence that the plant makes these sounds spontaneously, ‘for fun’, if you will.

Photograph: © NOTCOT

Damanhur has the answer… “Countless tests and re-workings of the basic technology have refined this device [the device which changes the signals into sound]. These forty years of experimentation seem to tell us that plants realise that it is they who are determining the sequence of notes emitted by the device, and therefore they modulate it intentionally. They do not just react to stimuli from their surroundings but can be ‘trained’ to use the device increasingly well, to respond to the human voice or to someone playing an instrument. Plants ‘remember’ their training, and over time learn to interact in an ever more sophisticated way with their audience.”

So there you have it, a brief introduction to the musical world of plants. I have only scratched the surface here, and if you would like to find out more there is a whole website dedicated to this field of research, an album compiled by Damanhur of different plants’ ‘songs’, and even the opportunity to go and see the ‘plant concerts’ first-hand. The device that creates the sounds is even on sale to the general public. So forget Beethoven, you could soon be conducting your very own orchestra from the comfort of your garden chair.

Southern Sinfonia is very excited about the final of our Newbury Young Musician of the Year Competition; click here to find out more and purchase tickets. 

To find out about other upcoming events, click here to visit our website, Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. 

Szymanowski - a shining light from the shadow of Chopin

By James Chater 

This weekend, as well as a performance of Bach’s St John Passion with the Bournemouth Symphony Chorus in the wonderful Bath Abbey, Southern Sinfonia are extremely excited to be performing Rossini and Syzmanowski’s settings of the ‘Stabat Mater’ with the Exeter Festival Chorus in Exeter Cathedral. Szymanowski is one of a few shining lights of Polish composers from the late 19^th and 20^th centuries. The other is Lutoslawski, whose centenary was celebrated last year, albeit slightly overshadowed by Verdi, Wagner and Britten. What is it about Szymanowski that made him stand out from the preceding 60 years of Polish music and composers?

If you were put on the spot and asked to name the first Polish composer you could think of, I bet that name would be Chopin. A pianistic giant of the early 19^th century (and so celebrated in his home country today that Warsaw’s International Airport is named after him), he became prolific for, well…being different to Beethoven. He wrote almost exclusively for the piano, and it is by comparing the piano works of Chopin and Beethoven that one sees clearly the polarity in compositional style.  Take the final, apocalyptic piano sonatas by Beethoven and then the serenely melodic Nocturnes by Chopin, the first of which was written only 3 years after Beethoven’s death; they are both Romantic in essence, yet of unquestionable difference. On top of this, Chopin was the first major proponent of the Polish-originating forms of the Mazurka and Polonaise. So why is it that Chopin didn’t ignite a rich heritage of Polish composers that reached the same level of recognition as him?

Well, it isn’t that he didn’t. It’s just that many of his Polish contemporaries held strictly conservative musical tastes, and in the socially and artistically progressive climate of the Romantic era being musically conservative was not the way to ensure European fame. It is wryly ironic then, that Chopin, famed for escaping the “shadow of Beethoven”, as Brahms once put it, created a type of shadow of his own for his compatriots to battle with. The latter half of the 19^th century is a relatively barren time in Polish musical culture, perhaps in part due to the political circumstances in which Poland found itself. It was not an independent state until 1918, and composers had to battle with this, as well as the might of Chopin, in their search for a truly contemporary Polish identity within their music.

Karol Szymanowski was born in 1882 in what is now Ukraine, but was educated at the Warsaw Conservatory. His early works are very much rooted in the Late Romantic tradition, influenced by the likes of Wagner and Scriabin. In fact, it is his early works that are some of his most enduringly popular, the Op.1 Preludes and the Op.4 Etudes, to be exact. Think the expanse of Rachmaninoff crossed with the harmonic experimentation of Scriabin; a wonderful concoction. However, it is the more mature works of Szymanowski which really dust the shadow of Chopin from his shoulders, as he develops a truly individual Polish style. It was in 1918 that Poland finally gained independent sovereignty, and perhaps it is that sense of his nation’s unity that spurred him to produce more nationalistic works. These were nationalistic in the celebratory sense, not the imposing one, and his Stabat Mater, written between 1925-26, is very much of this ilk. 

The most immediate characteristic of this work is the use of the Polish language throughout. Combined with the use of Polish folk melodies and rhythms, it is hugely effective, and that only emphasises its individuality. In terms of chronology, this piece was written when Szymanowski had begun to move more towards atonal harmony, and therefore the music has an unnerving quality to it – apt, when one considers the nature of the text. However, do not be mistaken into thinking this is esoteric music; it is challenging yet immediately beautiful. The opening epitomises this, being ethereal, unpredictable and achingly beautiful all at once.

Szymanowski, although now recognised as one of the greatest Polish composers, is still very much neglected in the concert hall. His name is a rarity on an orchestral programme despite his four symphonies and two violin concertos, and although his piano works are more popular, are still by no means canonical. Perhaps that is part of his appeal, though: it is always a welcome surprise to find great music from the lesser-known composers. If you have never heard Szymanowski before, I would strongly recommend making a trip down to Exeter this weekend.

The rather better-known Bach’s St John Passion in Bath will also be performed with The Bournemouth Symphony Chorus, a wonderful alternative for those that can't make it to Exeter!

To find out about further Southern Sinfonia concerts click here to visit our website. You can also find out more through Facebook, Twitter and Instagram!

“Hear his faith within" - A look at choral music and religion

By James Chater 

This weekend, Southern Sinfonia is extremely excited to be performing Mendelssohn’s oratorio ‘Elijah’ with the Pangbourne Choral Society. Completed in 1849, it is a large and powerful work, and so popular that it has remained in the standard choral repertoire ever since its first performance (at the then Birmingham Festival). Like many religious works, or any work with a text for that matter, the strength of it lies not solely in the music itself, but more so in its ability to elucidate the text. The extent of Mendelssohn’s religious beliefs is contentious, but it is likely that he was a practising Christian, albeit aware of his Jewish ancestry. Is it possible that Mendelssohn’s religious convictions are present in this work? Is the work better off for the fact that Mendelssohn was conscious of the potency of the text? Or, in other words, does a composer require strong religious beliefs in order for the work to be effective?

Before answering this, it is worth bearing in mind a little history. Prior to circa 1650, a large portion of music was written exclusively for the voice, and was largely sacred vocal music. Take a handful of the major Renaissance composers: Josquin, Byrd, Tallis, Palestrina, Lassus. All of them are renowned for their sacred vocal music, and it is fairly certain that they were all religious men too. Does it correlate then, that all their religious music is convincing, owing simply to their belief? This seems unlikely.

And yet, when I list some of the most powerful works I can think of (despite not being a chorister in any way, shape or form) I am inexorably drawn to choral works. The haunting beauty of Lauridsen’s ‘O Magnum Mysterium’, the majesty of Mozart’s Requiem, or the mellifluous Requiem by Fauré. Fauré is perhaps the key to this question: his Requiem is arguably his most popular work, despite evidence suggesting he was not enamoured with the Christian faith. Fauré “was regularly seen stealing out during the sermon for a cigarette” and was fired from his post as organist at a Church in Rennes, Brittany when “he turned up to play at Mass one Sunday after arriving still in his evening clothes.” Albeit not conclusive, it is perhaps fair to say that Fauré was not as pious as someone such as Bach. But still, his Requiem never fails to move me and many others to this day; the final movement, ‘In Paradisum’ was even part of Baroness Thatcher’s funeral last year. Perhaps this is a testament to religious texts themselves; an indication that they are so ripe for musical interpretation, that a composer only needs to be relatively skilful to create a successful musical work.

I have mentioned Bach, one of the most prolific composers of all time. His sacred output is enormous with, over 200 cantatas, motets, the St John Passion, the St Matthew Passion and the Mass in B minor all to his name. This huge amount is due in part to his employment at St Thomas Church in Leipzig, where he was ‘Kappellmeister’; a position which, at times, demanded him to write a cantata per week. It is often questioned how Bach maintained such a high level of productivity throughout his time in Leipzig, and many answers centre around Bach’s faith. Bach was a devout Christian, and it is his faith that is said to have given Bach the tenacity to create this extraordinary body of works. Furthermore, it is often said of Bach’s music, that you can “hear his faith within it”; this may sound bizarre on paper, but if you do listen to some of Bach’s sacred works, you become oddly convinced by this. There is an indescribable sense of otherness about the works that is quite amazing to experience.

Of course, one thing I have ignored throughout this short piece is this question; by whose standards is it convincing? Surely everyone has varying religious beliefs and musical tastes? And you’d be right - an endless discourse could ensue as to why or when or how we are affected by sacred works, but ultimately it comes down to the individual. This however, I think is not a ‘cop-out’ answer; it is just testament to the fact that atheists can be moved by, and even write, music that would bring the most devout Christian to tears.

To find out more about tomorrow's concert, click here. 

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Cricket, concerts and a Christmas Down Under

By James Chater

Over the Christmas break, I was lucky enough to visit Perth, Australia. However, I was not so lucky in that my stay coincided with one of the worst Ashes defeats in history. Being half Australian, I have always found the vehement rivalry between Australia and England amusing. Propaganda-like ‘pom-bashing’ in KFC television commercials was an affirmation of that. However, for many, this rivalry is not a joke. In a place which seems to pride itself on being opposed to English culture in every way, then, I was intrigued by what an Australian classical music concert might look and sound like.

The concert took place in the enormous Perth Concert Hall, and the work was Handel’s Messiah, a true Christmas favourite. Although the performers stopped short of coming on to the stage in swimming trunks and sunglasses, there was undoubtedly a more relaxed and informal atmosphere to proceedings. When the doors opened to the audience half an hour prior to the scheduled start, the orchestra were already in their seats, although if anyone needed to make a late application of rosin or even go to the loo they would not hesitate to leave the stage. This may sound rather pernickety, but resulted in what at times looked like a rather hilarious game of musical chairs, made even more humorous by one musician who, when arriving back to the stage, actually did sit in the wrong seat and had to be asked to move by the violinist who was meant to be seated in the row in front of her.

The riveting game of musical chairs was interspersed with episodes of full orchestral practice (still whilst the audience was filing in), which meant that the audience became acutely aware of what movements the orchestra really did find the most tricky. One rebellious violist abstained from this last minute rehearsal, as he was engaged in what looked like an arduous practice session of the 24th Caprice by Paganini.

The 7pm start time edged ever closer, yet there was still no sign of a conductor, soloists or choir. Finally, an announcement over the intercom relayed the information that the harpsichordist was running 15 minutes late (I thought the rehearsal snippets sounded a bit bare) so the concert would start at 7.15pm. The voice on the intercom assured us it was traffic; my very English mother was utterly convinced he was “probably still surfing.” Sure enough, a few minutes later a rather distressed looking harpsichordist wandered onto the stage to finally bring to a close 40 minutes of musical chairs. I could go on, but I think the type of atmosphere is evident!

Whilst mulling these happenings over during the opening bars, I realised my thoughts all shared one thing in common; none were related to the actual music. Aghast, it suddenly dawned on me that perhaps I was exhibiting the fustiness that Australians seem convinced every Englishman harbours. This confirmed to me how important all the ‘trimmings’ of a concert have come to be in conventional classical music performance; the way the performers walk on and off the stage, what they wear, how they stand. But then what is conventional performance practice? Who is to say that what I saw in Australia was the wrong way of doing things?

Both Julia and Chris, in the past two weeks, have highlighted amongst many other things how when we go into a concert, we have a set of expectations as to what might happen; both musically and extra-musically. It is possible that, on this occasion, the ‘trimmings’ had become too great a part of my opinion of the evening before it had even started. So much so, that I had almost convinced myself the music was not going to be of a high quality, when really I had no reason to expect this at all. When the music did (eventually) start, the audience was treated to a great performance; the conductor was excellent, as were the soloists, and the choir were not only of a high quality but really looked like they loved the whole event. It was safe to say that my musical expectations had been far surpassed; interestingly enough, the ‘Australian’ Messiah was one of the best I have ever heard.

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Southern Sinfonia - Lighting up 2013

 By Chris Billingham 

2013 has been a very special year for Southern Sinfonia. We have taken part in many educational projects, received amazing reviews and witnessed incredible musicians performing an array of thought-provoking and challenging pieces. The end of the year is the perfect time to reflect on these events and share some of the images associated with them. 

One of the first events of the year was a fascinating 
Café Concert with Sasha Calin (oboe) and Simon Lane (piano). With the support of our friends at Gardner Leader, Southern Sinfonia is able to provide unique lunchtime events in Newbury's wonderful venue, The Corn Exchange. As well as Sasha and Simon, 2013 Café Concerts also included a range of performances including a fascinating insight into violins from maker Phillip Brown and violinist Theresa Caudle, a stunning performance from Southern Sinfonia Leader Alexander Hohenthal and pianist Sally Goodworth, the educational and inspirational recorder ensemble The Flautadors, and a winter jazz performance from bassist Chris Hill, pianist Dave Newton and singer Heather Cairncross, as well as the always fascinating Dr Jill White who introduced performances from the stars of the Newbury Older Musician of the Year: 

This year our bi-annual Newbury Older Musician of the Year competion was held in June, at the stunning West Woodhay Garden Show. The competition was fierce but pianist Alan Fantom was our winner (with runner-up clarinettist Philip Shirtcliff), delivering mesmerising performances that had every judge impressed. The older musicians weren't the only ones given an opportunity to shine this year, with last year's stars of our Newbury Young Musician of the Year competition giving performances in our October concert, 'The romance of Brahms meets Britain's Britten': 

 

The concert featured powerful performances of Brahms' Fourth Symphony and Tragic Overture, as well as our young stars dazzling the audience with movements from Britten's piano and violin concertos. This concert was a personal favourite of mine, being only slightly eclipsed by June's 'Magical Mendelssohn and More!' which also took place in St Nicolas Church. The orchestra performed with Downe House Junior Choral and two local actors... Arguably, this concert is memorable for me because I was one of those actors! 

                                                                 

Downe House Junior Choral and I weren't the only performers with whom Southern Sinfonia performed this year. A number of other concerts with talented individuals and societies also took place, including, amongst others, the City of Bath Bach Choir, Exeter Festival Chorus, the Old Royal Naval College Chapel Choir, Bournemouth Symphony Chorus, Henley Choral Society, Southern Voices, Romsey Choral Society, Windsor & Eton Choral Society and Newbury Choral Society.

With renowned conductors including David Hill, Howard Goodall and Ralph Allwood, the concerts took place in a number of spectacular venues including St. Nicolas Church, The Lighthouse, Poole, Southwell Minster, Winchester Cathedral, Wells Cathedral and the School Hall at Eton College. We performed to large audiences and received wonderful feedback:

Education is always at the heart of Southern Sinfonia's work.. Amongst many events in 2013, our touring education project 'On Dover Tracks' saw Luke Daniels (melodeon) and John Dipper (fiddle) joined by musicians from around the country. Together they created 12 contemporary folk songs with composer Anna Rice. These songs celebrated the historical and cultural history of the many drove roads in Wiltshire and West Berkshire. As well as this, Helen Fitzgerald (cello), Richard Smith (violin) Bruce Wilson (viola) and Katie Neaves (violin) also entertained and inspired the many children who watched their recital as part of the Portsmouth Music Hub. 

In the wider musical world, 2013 has celebrated a number of anniversaries of many great composers. These include Wagner, Verdi and Britten, the last of whom we remembered in our October concert (above).
We at Southern Sinfonia attended some wonderful concerts too, including The Proms 2013, the Sao Paolo Symphony Orchestra at Royal Festival Hall, the Music for Youth Schools Prom and much more. 

Next year looks set to be just as busy; events include our Newbury Young Musician of the Year competition and a Café Concert season to look forward to. It includes Winds Exposed, an insight into the work of our wind principals, and a thrilling recital from one of the country's most exciting young pianists, James Sherlock. Southern Sinfonia will also join Bath Choral Society in the beautiful setting of Bath Abbey for a performance of Mozart's Mass in C minor and Pangbourne Choral Society for Mendelssohn's Elijah. 

Thank you to everyone who has, over the course of this year, performed at a concert, took part in an educational programme, read this blog or attended one of our many concerts. We can't wait to see what 2014 brings. Before that, however, we want to wish you a...

Happy New Year from Southern Sinfonia! 

We recently launched an appeal for the victims of Typhoon Haiyan, which ripped through the Philippines on Friday 8th November.To donate and find out more, click here.

To get in touch with us, comment below or join in the discussion on Facebook or Twitter. 

To find out more about Southern Sinfonia, please visit our website or Instagram page.

Why does music bring us together?

By James Chater 

Directors of ensembles such as the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra or the World Orchestra for Peace often make the claim that music has the power to “bring people together”, both in the literal and metaphorical sense of the word. The name ‘World Orchestra for Peace’ is a fortunate one in that it appears, at first glance, to make total sense; much more sense than say, a ‘World Bird Watching Group for Peace’. Music’s ability to draw people together is of course, not limited to the world of classical music. You could easily ask why 200,000 people annually descend on Worthy Farm in Somerset, for Glastonbury Festival. If you did ask them, I bet they wouldn’t say it is due to the high standard of hygiene and accommodation. Why is it then that music can make living in a field for five days with 200,000 other people worthwhile? Is it naïve to think that music really can “bring people together”? Or could a ‘World Knitting Group for Peace’ be equally as effective?

So how do these orchestras purport to do it? It is a rather large claim after all, that music can bring about world peace. It seems each orchestra has their own unique manner in which they go about it. In the ‘ World Vision’ on the website of the World Orchestra for Peace, director Charles Kaye states, “[The players] must also accept that positions will be rotated after every work, and therefore there is no room for even one player to say, “But I am concertmaster of my orchestra at home – so I must sit first desk.” In this way we ensure there is no hierarchy.” An admirable sentiment, but I would question this message’s ability to translate to people outside of a musical culture. Would someone with no knowledge of classical music be compelled to act after finding out the person sitting half way back normally sits at the front?

I am a huge fan of Daniel Barenboim as performer, conductor and writer so I may be a little biased. However, his and the late Edward Said’s West-Eastern Divan Orchestra seems to hit upon a concept that is much more easily perceived by a majority. This orchestra brings young musicians together from warring nations all across the Middle East: Israel, Palestine, Iran, Jordan and Syria all feature. The power of this orchestra is not solely the fact that these young people are able to come together in peace; it is what they are able to create together. Truly amazing performances, their cycle of Beethoven Symphonies at the Proms 2011 is evidence enough of that. Yet the unification of these two ideas is where music’s ability to bring people together is crystallised. As an observer, you can’t help but watch in admiration and slight guilt, thinking “as if they haven’t already got enough on their minds.” That guilt soon changes to joy though; you just can’t help but admire the energy of the orchestra, and the evident excitement and delight that the music is bringing them.

James Chater (left) - Photo: Richard Johnson

I recently took part in the Music for Youth Schools Prom at the Royal Albert Hall, an event which, until this year, I had never come across. I approached it with caution, unsure as to what to expect. Yet, when leaving that same night, I felt extremely guilty for ever harbouring doubt. The event brings young musicians together from across the country, between the ages of 8 and 21, for a celebration (and I mean celebration) of music. In the words of the organisation, the music ranges “from Daft Punk to Vaughan Williams, and Elbow to Tchaikovsky.” Impeccably co-ordinated and organised, I have never seen something that summed up exactly why music can bring us together, in a physical way. Everyone, without fail, left the Albert Hall with a buzz of excitement, with many unforgettable memories made. Even I, with the cold heart of one approaching the upper end of the age bracket, was stunned by the occasion. I did not think I would ever get to play ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ at the Albert Hall with a full auditorium shouting back at me, accompanied by fireworks, streamers and balloons falling from the ceiling. Music has the power to bring us together because, more so than anything else, we can create and re-create something that means so much

In this spirit, we are using the power of music to launch an appeal for the victims of Typhoon Haiyan, which ripped through the Philippines on Friday 8th November. We have established an appeal fund and have pledged to dedicate all proceeds from our recent ‘Winter Jazz to Cheer Us’ Café Concert to the appeal.

Why do you think music brings us together? To get in touch and share your thoughts, comment below or join in the discussion on Facebook or Twitter. 

To find out more about Southern Sinfonia, please visit our website or Instagram page

Is music a language?

By James Chater 

Stravinsky suggests music is not a language

“Music is powerless to express anything at all. Do we not, in truth, ask the impossible of music when we expect it to express feelings, to translate dramatic situations?”

This rather disconcerting comment gives Stravinsky’s opinion on a question that has been the subject of debate throughout the history of music; is music a language? Whilst a rather poetic little statement, is it actually true? Opposing Stravinsky is Deryck Cooke, a British musicologist, who argues, “Music is a strictly codified language…each scale degree signifies a certain emotion and permits only a single specific reading.” This is an ambiguous argument, and difficult to agree with completely.

One thing advocates of both parties are able to agree on is music’s ability to express emotion. Yet even this unearths a plethora of contradictions. What emotion is it? Is that emotion universal? If the emotion we feel is then described using language, does that not simultaneously dispel the idea that music is an independent, “universal” language? To avoid a slightly circular argument, I propose we take things back to basics.

In language, in its most basic form, words are used to correspond to a single object or idea. Grammar (words positioned in a particular order, subject to rules) can generate additional meaning. Does music have the power to perform any of these functions? The essential “building blocks” of music are notes, perhaps the equivalent of words (or maybe letters; the convolution sets in); can we say a simple middle C has a meaning that can be interpreted in the same way a word can? No. It soon becomes clear that attempting to put music in terms of language is a fairly futile exercise.

If there were an example that came close to putting music in terms of a language perhaps Wagner’s leitmotif would be it. A leitmotif is an ordered section of notes and/or harmony, a musical motif, which corresponds to a single object or abstract idea. Of course, this was Wagner’s wish, unifying his libretti and music, and shows his brilliance as a composer of drama.  However, once again, the argument that this shows music as being a universal language is flawed. If a language at all, this is only Wagner’s musical language, and given the complexity of Wagner, probably just one composer’s language for one opera. Despite Wagner’s genius, I daresay music would become rather boring if, any time a composer wished to express love, they were required to use the love motif from Wagner’s Die Walkure; just so the audience understood what emotion the composer was trying to convey.

And yet, surely, that is one of the greatest things about music; that we do not always fully understand the effect it has, and why it happens. To assign music objective meaning, as a language attempts to do (and arguably fails to do, but that subject is for another day), is to wholly detract from the purpose of music itself. Or as Charles Dobrian said, “if all meanings could be adequately described using words, then the arts of painting and music wouldn’t exist.”

Personally, whether you believe music is a language or not depends on what you want to gain from music, and so a degree of self-questioning is required if you are to reach your own conclusion. If you feel searching for an objective meaning in music, an idea which you can parallel directly with everyday life, is your sole purpose, then this is surely restricting music’s ability to transcend habitual emotion, to stretch your intellectual capacity. Conversely, to say that music occupies an exclusively transcendental part of human experience is to ignore music’s inherent connection with life. For me, a balance of the two maximizes music’s potential to affect me. Perhaps Aaron Copland sums up this opinion more eloquently: “The whole problem can be stated quite simply by asking, “Is there a meaning to music?” My answer to that would be, “Yes”. And, “Can you state in so many words what that meaning might be?” To which my answer would be, “No.” Therein lies the difficulty.”

What are your thoughts? Comment below or join in the discussion on Facebook or Twitter! 

To learn more about Southern Sinfonia please see our website and Instagram. 

Has YouTube Changed the Tone of Classical Music?

By James Chater 

It is hard to believe that the phenomenon that is YouTube has only existed for a mere eight years. In that short space of time, it has almost single-handedly revolutionised the way in which people across the planet access video footage, ranging from a montage of the weekend’s Premier League goals, to a toddler who responds animatedly to a Justin Bieber song. Some astonishing statistics published on their website proudly declare that over 6 billion hours of video are watched on YouTube every month, whilst some 100 hours of new footage is uploaded to the site every single minute. YouTube’s influence is unquestionable. But is YouTube’s effect on classical music wholly positive, or could it cause more harm than good?

Recently, I began to learn Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No.14, the “Moonlight Sonata”. Before approaching this instantly recognisable piece, I wanted to listen to a couple of professional recordings to gain insight into how the greatest artists were able to reinvent and rediscover this staple of the pianist’s repertoire. Typing the title into the search bar, a vast array of choices sprawled down the page and continued on for at least another seven. Inattentively, I clicked on the video that had the most views, (52 million of them) and naively expected the recording to be of good quality; however, and unfortunately, I was sorely mistaken.

I do not consider myself a snob when it comes to music, but I challenge anyone with a background in classical music to listen to this recording and find it a musical or even accurate interpretation. The end of nearly every bar line is languidly anticipated by a long rallentando, and instead of the melody in the right hand penetrating through the upper range of the texture, an electronically dubbed voice incessantly wails at the listener. “How can this video have so many hits?” I thought. Whilst I knew this piece was immensely popular, I couldn’t understand why this video was storming past 52 million hits, whereas the stunning interpretation by Wilhelm Kempf, a few options below, had a paltry 5 million. It then dawned on me, suddenly, that I had partly already answered my own question. Although not true of everyone, we live in a time where, for many people, personal opinion is a direct derivative of its public counterpart. Having seen that 52 million other people had watched the video meant that I automatically assumed that it would be of a high musical quality and have something pertinent to offer my own interpretation. I was wrong, but fortunately, I was soon able to find a pianist I admired with a more convincing interpretation.

To classical musicians, YouTube does have advantages yet commensurate disadvantages. It is both exciting that someone can upload a Beethoven Piano Sonata for free, but simultaneously worrying that it could be electronically created and therefore musically inaccurate. This example highlights an unpleasant paradox for the classical musician. Should we be concerned that the recording of this incredible piece that has received the most views is an appalling example, or should we be happy to be reconciled to the fact that such a large number of people have been exposed to this piece, regardless of the form it takes?

One of the biggest problems that YouTube poses to classical music, especially in relation to pieces such as the Moonlight Sonata, is that it could limit one of the greatest assets that classical music can offer; the ability for different interpretation. If everyone has been exposed to a single recording of a piece, it reduces the scope for critical discussion, debate and analysis of music, something that ultimately is crucial to each musician who wishes to better their understanding and appreciation of this art form.

However, I do believe that YouTube offers classical music a platform that is unrivalled in its ability to be accessed by the widest demographic possible, and is a tool that we should not resist but utilise in order to extend the reach of classical music. It is easy to forget that YouTube is still so young that it is impossible to analyse completely the effect that it can exert over any art form. After all, who knows how many unknowing first-time listeners of Beethoven were so enthralled by this recording that they excitedly clicked onto “Further suggestions”?

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