La Campanella

If you looked down, you would see "the greatest pianist of this or any other century," as one of his students called him. Known for hundreds of years now, he is still looked up to as one unlike anything else we've ever seen. Merely looking at him strikes fear into the hearts of pianists (but apparently not music researchers). So, this time only, I hope you have never played a piano, or this will remind you of your inferiority to him all over again.

(I do have a recording. I just moved it down so viewers on my home page will have to click the button first.)

I hope you're ready for it.

.

.

.

Flour?! What does that have to do with playing the piano? Will your hands crumble into flour if you don't use them properly?

Perhaps if we looked at this brand sold in Budapest, Hungary, we would understand.

That actually isn't a lot of flour. Does that mean it's "little Liszt"? Image from shoppingliszt.wordpress.com

Haha, are you pianists feeling it now? Sometimes we want a break from the composer puns we always hear, such as getting Bach to the point, Haydn behind a tree when someone will soon be Chopin it, and indeed, grocery Liszts. As an alternative, I'm using my recent discovery that in Hungary (where the composer was born), "Flour" is "Liszt"! This led to an interesting experience when I was on the website of the Liszt Society in Hungary. Instead of realizing that there was a small English flag in the corner, I relied on Google Translate, and I soon found that I was reading about the "Flour Francis Company."

Perhaps if I ever record a Liszt album, I will take a picture of myself holding one of these flour bags. But I think you would like to hear the recording I really made, so here it is:

Listen to the song here
(Can't see an audio player? It might not work if you're viewing this in an email client. If you are on teawithliya.blogspot.ca, you may need to try a different browser.)

 

And -- caught you off guard! -- here is the real portrait as well.

He's 27 in this painting. Do you believe it? (Thanks to Wiki Commons for providing me with this.)

Moving on from the literal meaning of Franz Liszt's name, La Campanella wasn't actually his original composition. It was derived from a composition by the Italian violinist Niccolo Paganini: his Violin Concerto no. 2, movement 3. Paganini named it after the "little bell" in the orchestra that rings each time the main melody returns.

In 1832, Paganini, so skilled that people claimed there was real sorcery behind him, put on a grand show in Paris. A young pianist, "barely out of childhood" as he would later describe himself, saw the performance and was changed. Paganini had shown him a new level of music, a level where performers could play what had previously been established as unplayable. 

The pianist, our very own "Flour," was determined to improve his skills, learning from as many keyboard players in Paris as he could. (I tell myself that he practiced so much that he ran out of time to cut his hair, and, liking the new style, decided to keep it for the rest of his life. Remember that hair and you'll recognize him in any picture you find.) In a few years, Liszt would become the musician who gathered the attention of all of Europe.

Based on Paganini's concerto, Liszt published 5 different versions of his Campanella arrangement, some being quite faithful to the original melody, and others deviating significantly. The last revision, appearing in 1851, is the version you'll hear in most recordings, including this one. For some reason, Liszt decided to add some extra high notes in the right hand, creating the hand jumps this piece is famous for. (You can see me playing those here. I have to admit that bringing in the little bell sound was the right idea.)

Carl Lachmund, the student who made the "greatest pianist" comment (not sure how he can see today's pianists, but I digress), wrote an account of the composer playing the piece without looking at the keys – and went on to say "Liszt never practiced in those years." Reportedly, the composer also thought the final section could be simplified, stating that "When I wrote that I did not teach so much as I do now."

It's almost as if Liszt was thinking of making an 1882 revision. We never got to see that, though. I assume that 5 versions were enough, or he had more important projects to work on than those he had started while "barely out of childhood." (This quote came from a book, "Reflections on Liszt" by Alan Walker. Liszt said this to criticize his own performing style in the 1830s.)

Flour, bells, piles of revisions, and long flowing hair – we have all of it today. Are those all reasons to keep filling your teacup?
~Liya