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Rating: All right, there are also those who resort to calling an unlikely TV advertisement to request a “fantastic ringtone” interpreted by a “singing” cow or by a “sexy tuca-tuca mouse”; but these are human cases, representing equally lost causes from the start.
Returning to normality, which, to be clear, I am not convinced represents the majority of the population, I believe skeptics can be roughly divided this way when faced with that strange thing often erroneously called “classical music.”
Some feel a sense of inadequacy, a sort of awe, probably stemming from the idea that the music in question comes from “high” circles, culturally elevated, frequented by “elite” society made up of powdered ones and snobbish noses.
Others still believe that “classical” music is that relaxing music to be listened to as background, and to the question “what music do you like?” they quickly answer: “I really like Vivaldi, especially the Four Seasons!” not realizing that this answer is dictated solely by the fact that, at least in Italy, the opera and the artist, not necessarily better known, but certainly more directly relatable, are precisely Vivaldi with his “Four Seasons.”
This review/invitation is directed at people who identify with the description made above. I am not interested in taking into account the group of the singing cow, permit me a bit of free intolerance: this summer has certainly not started in the best way, add the heat, or rather, as they say in empty conversations, “it's not so much the heat but the humidity!!,” add the fact that if you drink one too many glasses it means sweating for six days, and finally add that ham and melon are not among my favorite dishes. In short, allow me to snub these people without too many justifications without necessarily being labeled as the chic type who listens to classical music to show off, and even if that were the case, you’ve just created a third group to which the review is addressed.
Well, the invitation begins...
Take half an hour for yourself, preferably at dusk, after a day of work or emptiness has deposited a good dose of weariness, yet despite this, you are still potentially open to something new, at least to give a chance to a breeze of emotional freshness.
By now you should have procured the CD with the concerto for piano and orchestra in G major, K. 453, No. 17 by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, wonderful the recording with Pollini on piano and conducting, and the Wiener Philarmoniker (the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra).
To help alleviate some initial embarrassment in hearing such mysterious expressions, let me state that: Mozart is a friendly composer known to everyone, at least as a name and as delicious chocolate “balls” (sold in the best highway rest stops). In his short life, he tackled all the musical genres of his time, bringing them to the highest expressive levels. Born in 1756 in Salzburg, he left earthly life in 1791 in Vienna, reduced to poverty and oblivion: following the best tradition then.
The concerto can be generally defined as a musical genre featuring a solo instrument (in this case the piano) and an orchestra, the two parts, playing now alone, now together, give life to a kind of “musical dialogue.” It is typically divided, as in this case, into three movements, those, to be clear, where at the end of each there is always some spectator who cannot resist clumsily clapping, only to find themselves surrounded by multiple frowning, swaying looks of commiseration.
The number after the K. indicates the chronological cataloging that was done by a certain Mr. Köchel in 1886, from which the initial K. The key can be, very simply put, understood as a set of notes belonging to a certain scale within which the composer picks, following the principles of melody and harmony, what is necessary to compose a musical piece.
Forgive the brutal simplification of the topic, but it could help someone to approach this music with less apprehension.
But now is precisely the time to play this blessed CD, so that its centrifugal force can hurl a beautiful mix of Mozartian notes at you, and you, ready to catch as much as possible, I urge you!
It begins with the Allegro, where a lighthearted and graceful carefree spirit takes form, almost mimicking a whistle of optimism and the desire to share with others your joy. All this is interpreted by a “play of notes” emitted now by the orchestra, now by the piano, forming a dialogue of balance and composure of purely classical taste. Echoes of gravity, in perfect Mozartian style, accompany key changes, appearing towards the middle of the movement, only to be repeated until the end, almost as if to emphasize that even the happiest happiness cannot exist without hints of gloom.
In the Andante, the orchestra opens the dance with a melody that insinuates itself inside us right from the start, then ceding the floor to the piano, which takes up and embellishes a theme of disarming and melancholic beauty, enveloping us with a mantle of sweetness, in an embrace so intense that it makes our deposited anxieties shoot away. And the thoughts seem to take on the appearance of free galloping horses, when before they were nothing more than overloaded and enervated donkeys.
An explosion of joy is represented by the Allegretto, in which the interplay between the orchestra and the piano resumes and the discourse alternates between bursts of laughter and more serious phrases, and in managing all this, Mozart is the absolute master, making this alternation of languages, apparently so dissimilar from each other, fluid and well-blended. Trills, explosions, rapids of notes, conclude a concert that “like all the most beautiful things,” when it ends, leaves almost a sense of emptiness, of disorientation, a strange feeling between happiness for what has been experienced and melancholy for what is already somewhat missed… and if this is the case, you are well on your way to escaping the classifications made at the beginning, and my rambling would not have been in vain.
I believe any form of art can offer something to anyone, and classical music is no exception; of course, each person's level of sensitivity and knowledge will shape the form and substance of their perception, but without concepts of exclusivity. At least the emotion is attainable by everyone and denying oneself its conquest can be, at times, a real shame.
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