How could I forget to shout, from thousands of miles away, GO CHARGERS!!!

I haven't watched a single game, and I may not have been the best fan this year, but I have never forgotten you entirely, and will have you in my thoughts this coming Saturday.

Wrapping up 2008

To the haggard, worn-down, catatonic remnants of a group that, much like all the European Superpowers on the brink of World War I, set out jubilantly and confidently on a journey without ever imagining the consequences of their fateful decision,

Thank You.

Thank you for following me down the boot, all the way to the tip. Thank you for patiently recognizing the fact that I have already made it past Palermo and am only just now wrapping up Calabria. Thank you for believing in me. For the doubters, thank you for secretly rooting for a volcanic explosion that so far has not arrived. Thank you Cheryl (and pretty much only Cheryl, excepting a brief stint by my sister) for all the comments, which have shown me that you care. Seriously though, thank you for reading.

No, I'm not done, haha. There will be a similar email when I do finish, or more accurately, a few weeks after I finish, since I will finish this trip like I started: a few weeks behind on the blog.

Oh, and for those of you who thought that my bus trips back and forth in Campania meant that I was taking the bus instead of walking, please let me clarify: I have walked every step of this trail from start to finish, even so far as to return to the exact place where I was standing when I finished the day before. Well, not quite. There is one small exception of about .75 miles back in Piedmont, and I will take care of that later. Stay tuned.

I am in Reggio Calabria, where I have passed the last eight days along with my good friends, whose mugs you will see in my next posts. For those of you who know me well, you will enjoy the fact that I managed to lose my voice two days before New Years, and am just getting it back, only to surely lose it again tonight. Let's just hope I don't have to operate once again on my worn out vocal chords.

Okay, Pat, stop talking so much.

Happy New Years, please know that I miss you all, but am also doing just fine here at tip of the boot, getting to relive with each day the excitement of having reached the tip of the boot.

I depart back to the Western front on January 2. I will let the map at top left do the talking for how much distance remains between me and the fulfillment of the greatest challenge I have ever undertaken.

Love,
Pat

A Minor Victory

12/6 – Scilla to Reggio, the tip of the boot – 16 miles

It was rough waking up at 8:30 for the train to Scilla, but this was my last walk on the Italian mainland, and the natural excitement made it easier for me to find the energy to get out of bed. After a change in Villa S. Giovanni, I hopped a train for Scilla, struck up a conversation with the woman across from me (I’m not sure if I have changed, or if it’s just easier to talk to people, especially women, here), and in a few short minutes, found myself where I had left off yesterday evening.

With a few parting glances at the town built on the protruding rock, I began this important stretch, only to run into Alessandro, one of Enzo’s friends, as he rode to Scilla on his bicycle. We both stopped to greet one another, and when he rode off, he promised to stop on his way back. So, thirty minutes later, Sandro dismounted, and walking in single file, we chatted for an hour or so.

Whether he wanted to or not, he had encountered me on a particularly contemplative day, which meant dispensing with the small talk and really getting down to the nitty-gritty. Sandro, a web designer / graphics artist, shared with me his dreams and aspirations, his thoughts on Reggio Calabria, and his desire to learn English and travel a few years. I shared with him many of my unfulfilled dreams, described the fulfilment process of this current dream (for how often are our dreams fulfilled?), and before I knew it, an hour had passed and it was time for him to bike home for lunch. Feeling as though we had covered a lot of friendship ground in just a bit more than three miles, I let him go, and continued on my own.

It had been a novel and delightful experience to be able to bounce ideas back and forth with such a gentle, intelligent, and sensitive person, but this next stretch was better undertaken alone, as it covered the last steps to the corner of the toe of the boot. Deciding that a protruding jetty was the furthest point I could reach, I stepped onto the pebbles and shells of the beach, climbed onto the huge cubical blocks of stone that formed the jetty, and walked out toward the looming form of Sicily, just a stone’s throw away. I could have swam this, I thought with a tinge of regret, but this moment was about victory and closure, not disappointment and emptiness, so I surveyed instead the long coastline of Calabria, and imagined the looming forms of mountains, the splendid beachs, and bustling hilltop towns of the past 1400+ miles. That was a lot of land to cover.

Still, this was not the end, not even of the day’s walk, so I did not find myself stripping naked, shrieking, and driving into the frigid waters of the strait of Messina. Maybe when I reach Trapani… Instead, I burned all of it into my memory: the wind, the fine mist heavy with salt, the color of my shoes against the rough stones, the colors of the many pebbles, the fisherman who kindly obliged my request for a few photographs , the fact that nature called forcefully at such an inopportune moment, Sicily and the water and the clouds, seagull screams and the bustle of maritime commerce, the sound of waves hitting the cavities between stones, and the faint smell of fish and algae.

What a satisfying feeling, and at the same time, how human it all was; here I was, having torn my way down the peninsula, only to find that the rest of the world was business as usual. In the distance, someone cleared his throat, another shouted an obscenity at his buddy, and I smiled with the realization that I could wait all my life for the fireworks celebration, reporters squabbling for the privilege of asking me the first question, a key to the city, and a four-day seafood banquet, and even if those things never came, still be perfectly content. This was between me and the land, and I had received all the fanfare I wanted.

So, sniffling a bit as I thought of all my friends, old and new, and my family, who had constantly supported me, I walked the rest of the way to Reggio Calabria.







What else can I say? I saw the Riace Bronze warriors, a pair of well-preserved statues I had previously regarded as unreachable (why would I ever go down to Reggio Calabria, I thought, in my naïveté), caught up with Enzo, went for a stroll down the Corso, and partied with him and the boys until 4:30, an hour later than the night before

A beautiful day to (almost) wrap up my walk along the boot

12/5 – Palmi to Scilla – 19.67 miles

As if he had not done enough already, Paolo picked me up at the hotel the next morning and drove me to the bar where I had left off the evening before. In the car, I thanked him for giving me so much fruit, bread, and salami, and he responded “it doesn’t matter how much I gave. I gave what I could.” His response immediately reminded me of one of my very favorite Marcus Aurelius quotations:

“one man, when he has done a service to another, is ready to set it down to his account as a favour conferred. Another is not ready to do this, but still in his own mind he thinks of the man as his debtor, and he knows what he has done. A third in a manner does not even know what he has done, but he is like a vine which has produced grapes, and seeks for nothing more after it has once produced its proper fruit. As a horse when he has run, a dog when he has tracked the game, a bee when it has made the honey, so a man when he has done a good act, does not call out for others to come and see, but he goes on to another act, as a vine goes on to produce again the grapes in season.”

There is a difference between goodness given for hope of a reward or recognition, and goodness given without a second thought. My last eight years have been spent trying to live the latter and landing somewhere in the middle, but this response struck me as firmly in the “unconscious giving” category, and I will never forget it.

My first part of the trail was all uphill, all the way to Monte S. Elia, where I added two miles to my walk to follow Paolo’s advice and check out the amazing view from up top. From here, it was possible to see from Capo Vaticano all the way to Messina, in Sicily (see the photo below of me posing with my first confirmed sighting of the island). I have said this before in one from or another, but there is nothing more satisfying than looking at a 180 degree view and knowing that you crossed EVERY INCH of it, as far as the eye can see in either direction, on foot. Satisfying, and at the same time, humbling. How small and insignificant we are.

After meeting a Swiss couple and sharing some of the fruit I had been given (firmly in the selfish camp, if we are to use Marcus Aurelius’ standards, as I was straining under the weight of all that produce, and needed to unload), I left the mountain, and back on the road to Scilla, passed a few ancient-looking stalls selling their wares in the middle of nowhere. I yearned to take a picture, because this was truly a unique thing I was seeing, but I refused to demean these people by playing tourist where tourists were not supposed to wander.

Descending toward Bagnara Calabra, I saw I had two missed calls, and when I called back, I spoke with Enzo, from Reggio Calabria. He had heard about me from his sister, and was wondering where I was, and whether I wanted to spend the night at his house. I said of course, thank you, we agreed to talk later, and I let my only care of the day blow away in the breeze. There is nothing like knowing where you’re going to sleep that night. But you might ask: who is Enzo and why did I agree so readily to sleep in a stranger’s home?

I think you’ll like the answer. Enzo is the brother of Rita, who is the friend of Iris, who is the girlfriend of Jonathan, who is the eldest son of Nancy, who is the family friend of Gaia, who is the friend I met four years ago at Penn. Six degrees separated us, and here he was offering me to stay with him and his mother. Of course, I said.

Reaching Bagnara Calabra was a lot of steps down, a pretty boardwalk, and a wind strong enough to blow the constantly streaming water fountain in a fine mist over me as I ate my lunch of apples, oranges, bread, and salami (sound familiar?) under the oh-so-welcome sun of this Calabrese afternoon. Life is good.

Next stop was Scilla, where legend had it that Odysseus had some trouble, having to pass by the dreaded sailor-gobbling monster Scylla and the typhoon Carybdis (which is the modern-day Strait of Messina, which has a strong current). Of course, I knew all about that, and gave some thought to starting an Odyssey Cruise, which would follow all the mythical wanderings of the hero, with the epic poem recited at night during banquets. Good idea, right? You can definitely sign me up. Anyhow, I was only in Scilla a few moments, long enough to appreciate its beauty, and then I hopped at train for Reggio Calabria, to meet Enzo and his friends and family.

Enzo picked me up at the train station on his friend’s moto, and soon I was riding, backpack strapped tight, my first moto of the trip. We sped along Reggio’s boardwalk to meet up with Antonio, his good friend, and after a quick coffee, took a short whirl around the city. I could tell I was going to be friends with these guys from the beginning: they were Italian versions of my friends back home, and I immediately felt like one of the gang, thanks to their warmth. Enzo and I had a lot in common: he too was a world-traveller, having left everything for London only a few years ago in order to find a job and learn the language. Furthermore, he was always laughing, full of energy, and stubbornly possessed of certain principles which I could tell had been developed, tested, and put into practice many times before. Of course, I didn’t learn all of this right then and there, but over a few days. Just the fact that he was so open to hosting a complete stranger based only on the fact that I was a fellow traveller, however, spoke volumes for his character, and our eventual friendship.

The next stop was to his mother’s house, where she had prepared a delicious meal for us, and encouraged me to eat, eat, eat. And so I did, always thankful for a home-cooked meal, and eager to show by gorging myself just how delicious it was. We put my rags in the wash, I took a shower, and after laying down for ten minutes, Enzo gave me a choice, either to take a nap for a few hours while he went to visit his Dad and some friends, or to come with him. I was tired, but there would always be time to sleep later.

So it went, visiting friends, checking out bars, and milling around near the castle, until 3:30 in the morning. I met the other members of the crowd: Pasquale, Alessandro, another Antonio, and a third Antonio, and had a blast.

The day my mind took a self-protective journey away from my body

12/4 – Nicotera to Palmi – 19.16

Each of my shoes had holes in the heel as well as the toe. The holes had slowly been growing over time, causing discomfort on rainy days. I didn’t complain from Mortilla to Pizzo, the day after Thanksgiving, because I was thankful to have shoes at all, and anyways the rain did not last all day, but only toward the end. On this day, however, the rain was heavy from the time I emerged, and worse still, it had rained heavily all night, causing major puddles and rivulets along my path.

Within 150 feet of this 19-mile day, my socks were soaked all the way through, and there was no letting up of the rain until the last three miles. At some point around mile 4, all the way until around mile 14, my mind left my body, and though my feet were immersed in cold, muddy water for around three and half hours, I remember very little of it. What I do remember very vividly was a large portion of my train of thought that day, and the awareness that I would have to record that process, or as much as is appropriate (three and a half hours of thinking would take a long, long time to read).

That, however, will feed a different blog post. Instead, we will skip to the end of my mind journey, where after a triumphant listen to Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony (my first full listen since my “Alpine Force” walk in July), I landed from my mind flight with a shattering thud. I look around: I had just passed the gigantic industrial port complex of Gioia Tauro, one of my ugliest walks to be certain, and was about to enter Gioia Tauro proper. This town, anything but a jewel (Gioia), stuck out in my mind as the place a painter near Marina di Ascea had told me to skip, as it was overrun by the local mafia.

I put away the headphones, scowled at the uneven, broken down sidewalk leading to town, and headed straight for the piazza, where I sat alone in the middle, daring anyone to hassle me. I was not in a mood for mafia tales, fear, or caution. I took my rest as needles of rain constantly pelted my face and hands, swam in my shoes for ten minutes, and continued.

My flight of momentary insanity, coupled with the ecstasy of the 3rd Symphony, had totally sapped my energy, but somehow I found it in my reserves to walk the last two hours uphill, pushing myself along with pats on the back, and with a firm conviction that I was stronger than anyone else on the planet, at least at that moment.

So, as the rain finally let up but the unavoidable rivulets constantly circulated cold water into my shoes, I pulled into Palmi, and made straight for a shoe store. I did not want to repeat this day, as interesting as it had been, and as much as it had challenged me. At 3:58 I found it closed, set to open at 4:00 (or, in Calabrese, 4:20). I needed to find lodging first, so I went around town asking for places to sleep. Reaching the end of town, I found a group of guys, who after a lighthearted chat sent me into a bar, where, brown water literally streaming from my shoes, I gave my spiel.

A girl and two guys, standing nearby, heard me ask, and soon I was telling the full story. The only hotel in my range, they said, was two miles back where I had comefrom, but Paolo, an angel in accoutant’s clothes, offered to drive me back. Not only that, but he first took me to the shoe store (where they had nothing for me), and accompanied me into the hotel to help me bargain. I think he saw me wince at the price, because he told me not to buy the dinner, as he would come pick me up later.

I really needed a friend at that point, and he came at just the right moment. When I reached the room, I immediately removed my shoes and socks, and sat on the step to the bathroom for a full fifteen minutes in swollen bare feet, collecting myself. It had been a hard day.

When I came to, I turned the heater on full blast, took a long, hot shower, napped a half hour, and when Paolo came back to pick me up, I was a new man. Amazing man’s ability to bounce back…

Paolo took me to another shoe store (they had a good pair, but I didn’t pull the trigger), then to his house, where he had invited three other buddies, Frankie, Antonio, and Antonio, to hang out. We ate pasta fasool and sausages, drank wine, told stories, and hung out till 12:30, and I can’t tell you how grateful I was for the hospitality. At the end of the night, Paolo drove me back to the hotel, and just before speeding off, handed me a heavy sack, with a dozen mandarin oranges, a dozen baby apples, bread, and a huge Calabrese salami. I’ll never forget how happy he looked when I registered what he just given me; it was the look of a child giving his mother a Christmas gift that he has created himself. Good man, that Paolo.

Onions and a Mirage-like vision of Sicily

12/3 – Tropea to Nicotera – 18.83 miles

Before heading out, I wished to give Tropea a better look, as I had not even climbed the stairs to the historic center before. I did a lightning tour, decided it would be a much nicer palce in summer, and took my leave of it.

As I passed the farms surrounding the city, I was soon immersd in the sights and smells of Tropea’s famous onions. After bathing in that sharp but slightly sweet smell for a few miles, I finally gave in to temptation and ripped of a small piece of onion leaf, and enjoyed munching on it. Even now, that smell remains imprinted in my memory.

And that’s about all I have to recount from this day. I think I caught my first view of Sicily, and was duly excited, but the day was cloudy and hazy, so it could have just been a part of Calabria.

Reaching Nicotera, I shuffled around for a good hour asking around about lodging, and finally found a B&B that fit my budget. After standing around awkwardly in the owner’s eyeglass shop for ten minutes, watching Italians stare at me with the latest models of designer eyeware at unbeatable prices, his buddy finally drove me to the B&B. Even though it was a short walk away, I appreciated the gesture, as well as his friendliness. For example, when I asked about a good, affordable family-run place, he drove me there, accompanied me to the owner, introduced us so as to show the owner that I was okay, and dropped me off again at the B&B. I mention this because it is a unique and beautiful aspect of the culture in Southern Italy, especially in Calabria and Sicily. “Bearing someone’s name” (Portare il nome) or being recommended (raccommandazione) are important traditions that secure you friendly and sometimes generous service, but also require you to be on your best behavior.

So, thanking him for the introduction, I went for my room, ate well that night at the Trattoria where I had been sent, and that wraps up the day.

Pizzo to Tropea, Back on the Road

12/2 – Pizzo to Tropea, the long way – 22.81 miles
The predawn cold eliminated any possibility of napping at the station. There was only thing for me to do, and by now I was quite good at it. After a trip to the pastry shop for a sweet breakfast and one last look around the slowly awakening and briskly silent town of Pizzo, I started to walk.

Not since the summer have I had such a luxury of time to reach my destination. As I was on track to arrive by 1 PM, I took full advantage of the sparkling Calabrese morning to nap in front of a stunning view, lounging on a comfy boulder for a good hour.

When I awoke, I decided I wanted to see the interior of the region a little, as I had hugged the coast for a lot of Calabria up till this point (as you can see from my fancy map, recently updated). I did just that: I climbed the hill, silenced the wildly beeping GPS, and took the long way.

I saw onion fields, vast olive groves, sleepy farm towns, and fully enjoyed being back in rural Italy. From this day forth, I began to look at Calabria, and indeed my whole walk, with fresh eyes. It took a three day trip to Rome, twelve hours by train, and one sunny morning to remind me that I was living my dream. And I was grateful. Of course.

Managing to fill my day enough to arrive at Tropea at dusk, I found a bungalow in an empty campground, smiled at the lack of heating (no wonder it was so cheap in an otherwise touristy town), ate two pizzas to celebrate my longest walk of the trip (still unbeaten as of 12/31), almost vomited from overeating, and entered a self-protective food coma.

My Brief Stint as a University Lecturer

12/1 – The Speech / Seminar

I prepared for about twenty-five minutes on the day I was to speak, scrawling notes on a loose sheet of printer paper as I waited for the metro. It’s not that I was brashly over-confident; in fact, I was a bit nervous, and at the same time revelling in that giddiness of pre-performance anxiety, a feeling I haven’t felt since my last piano concert. No, the reason I prepared so little was that I had given this talk many a time before to passing cars, olive trees, and street signs. Pause with me a moment and envision that: I’m giggling as I write it, because it’s not literally true, but I bet you understand what I mean.

I had it all set out straight, a logical argument that bulldozed its way with inexorable clarity toward a dazzling horizon, a brand new way to approach tourism in Italy. It was sleek, modern, and unique, easy to apply and eco-friendly, honest and culturally sensitive. And when the time came for me to speak, not a single tourism student showed up. Lots of reasons surfaced later: transit strike, rainstorm, last day of class was the day before, they had just finished exams and were anxious to get home, etc.

And you know what? I was totally 100% fine with it, even when I still hadn’t heard all the excuses. Sitting alongside Nancy, we held an academic conversation with five of her literature students and my faithful friend Carlo, who had come to support me. As these things always go, I touched on some of my points but not all of them, and not in any logical order. The Minister of Tourism did not sneak in with a recording implement, sitting in the back row to catch my pearls without being noticed. Nancy and I chatted, I watched with extreme satisfaction as the students opened up, grew more engaged, laughed at my stupid jokes, and even ventured questions. And the best part, I think, is that I got it all recorded, over 80 minutes of 25-year-old Pat speaking in Italian, nearly choking with passion as I urged these students to look around, go hiking, catch a train to a new place, and be proud of where I live. I’m just barely past wetting the bed; let’s leave speeches with large audiences for when I grow up, and actually know something.

By miracle, Carlo still wanted to be my friend after hearing me rant, and even braved three hours of disgusting transportation strike traffic to help me find new shoes. We went 0 for 2, and I still had holes in my shoes as I walked through puddles to the Metro back to Nancy’s place. But that’s fodder for a different story.

While I was out shoe shopping, Nancy had whipped up a delicious Chinese food meal using leftover turkey (oh, the ingenuity), and I savored my last family meal of the trip. Then, as I packed for my train, David, Matt, and Nancy found lightweight calorie-heavy snacks to give me. I can’t tell you how moved I was when Matt, beaming like a child, presented me with a family-sized glass Jar (with a capital J) of Nutella. Of course, it weighed more than I did, so I had to turn it down, but I was moved by his spontaneous act of generosity all the same. Good man, that Matt. We dumped the Nutella into a Tupperware container, I said my goodbyes, and Matt drove me to the station. From there, I walked, then ran, to my 11:10 train, arriving breathless and fortunate at 11:09. Did I ever mention that I love walking because the only thing you have to catch is the sunset?

I laid out across three seats, called Nancy to say I had made it (surrogate mothers worry, you know), and slept five and a half hours before pulling into Lamezia, and by regional train, to Pizzo. And that’s the whirlwind Thankgiving-blog update-University talk Rome trip, in a Nutella shell.

The Rome excursion

11/29 – Pizzo to Rome

Nancy, the University professor / American / key holder to Gaia’s apartment, had alluded to the possibility of an encounter between me and the tourism graduate program back in October at one of Rome’s public Universities. I told her at the time that I would love to participate in such an encounter, and would return to Rome for it if it worked out. A month later, I got the call from Nancy, and it turned out that the University had approved, and that I was to speak on December 1st.

After walking for nearly five months, there was a lot I wanted to say about tourism in Italy, as you faithful readers well know. With my hours and hours of good ol’ fashioned thinking time, I set it all out in order, thought it all through, and was more than prepared to speak about my ideas.

I have never been invited to speak at a University before, and even though I pictured a small audience, the very fact of a public University paying my train ticket for me to speak my mind was an exhilarating honor. Just as important to me was the fact that I got to go back to Rome, see old friends, and eat a home-cooked, authentic Thanksgiving dinner, prepared by Nancy and her friends. So, as the Calabrese sun broke through the clouds after a string of bad-weather days, I boarded a six-hour train to Rome, and after getting a meaningful and perspective-altering look at much of the land I had covered, I got off at Roma Termini, the main train station, and slowly adjusted to being back in the eternal city.

What a mess! I was country mouse visiting city mouse, staring wide-eyed at the rushing masses, flashing ads, and gigantic proportions of my surroundings. Culture shock, like I had experienced upon entering Campania about a month earlier, flooded over me as I followed the mass of bodies onto a speeding underground tube.

It only took a few stops on the metro for me to regain my bearings, and emerging in front of the Circus Maximus felt just about right. Only now, in fact, do I realize just how ridiculous that is, that a metro sped me to an Ancient Roman race track. I hope I never grow so accustomed to Rome that I forget to stand in awe of the precious art-historical footprint all around me.

I arrived at Nancy’s house soon after, and found them in the final stages of Thanksgiving preparation. After a quick change and shower, I helped in what small ways I could, but mostly snacked, sampled, and caught up with the family. Oh, family time, how I missed thee, especially when family time means watching Family Guy, as well as the Simpsons, with Matt, Nancy’s younger son. The best part? Both were in English, no dubbing. Family time also means responsibility, however, and soon it was time for the Movable Feast to travel (carefully) down the stairs (whatever you do, don’t spill the gravy) and by car to Cinzia’s house.

Cinzia hosted around 12 or 13 of us, including my friend Carlo, the half-American walker from Albano Laziale, who I had invited in order to share with him this most American of holidays. Everyone ate, I gorged, and when my second helping was larger than everyone else’s entire meal, it hit me that I was the only one in the room who had eaten more Thanksgivings in the US than abroad. They looked at me with courteously concealed awe and disgust as I did y’all proud, but luckily for me I had the whole “walking” excuse. Little did they know!

The company was as delicious as the food, a mixture of interesting intellectuals with various interests. We talked literature and travel, pored through a book of Orazio and Artemisia Gentileschi, and stuck around till midnight, when the tryptophan kicked in and everyone scattered. I went back with Carlo to Albano, and after chatting a while, we both went to bed.

11/30 – In Rome, but wouldn’t have known it

Carlo dropped me off at Nancy’s, and I sat at the computer all day working on this blog. I apologize an awful lot for not writing often enough, but if you look at my November output, you will see one post for each day of the month, with two leftover for all that apologizing. Well, on this last day of the month, I spent hours uploading photos and transcribing chicken scratch, and when I looked up, haggard and bleary-eyed, it was dark outside, and the family had gathered to watch Everything is Illuminated (in English! Huzzah!)

When the movie was over, it was time for dinner, but not for me, Matt, and his girlfriend Julia. Instead, Matt invited me to join them at a hip Rome lounge/club for an aperitivo, roughly translated as an appetizer cocktail, which in many cases turns into an all-you-can-eat frenzy. For the first time in months, I donned some fashionable going out threads: jeans, a collared shirt, and a blue sweater. Matt, who is around my size, offered me his clothes, and in doing so made me feel like a million bucks. No, clothes don’t make the man, but wear the same two pants and four shirts for five months and then come talk to me.

The crowd at the lounge was a little too hip and a little too young, so we escaped after a big meal, and made way to a chill little bar in my old ‘hood, Trastevere, which Julia had picked out. We hung out, did what young adults do, played some over-sized Connect Four and pick up stix, and after a trip to the trippy psychedelic bathroom, it was back to the house.

Part 4 - Comparative Analysis, and the whys

Why these three choices?
I picked out an obscure, average Beethoven piece that I only really heard for the first time a few weeks ago, to show that everything he wrote contains the element of his genius. You don't need to pick the 9th Symphony to make this comparison: even the piece I chose was overkill, and any bagatelle or lieder would have served the same purpose.

I picked All of Me because it's catchy, accessible, typical of the period, and I've always loved that particular version.

I picked an early Beatles song because it serves to demonstrate the relative simplicity and infantile "music by numbers" formula that characterizes the music of the last 50 years. I could also have picked For No One, one of my favorite Beatles songs, and had a lot more to say. So yes, I picked a simple piece on purpose, but I want to make it clear that I love Twist and Shout, turn up the radio when it comes on, sign along with those boys from Liverpool at the climax, and fondly remember Ferris Bueller's antics. I will even go so far as to say that the last two songs are more dear to me than the String Quartet.

It would be far too simple to point out the complexity, ingenuity, subtlety, creativity, and inspiration that decreases with each example. In the end, doing so would be counter-productive. Feeling assailed, many of you pop listeners will grow even more firmly entrenched, and begin to resent and despise the music that you now simply scorn and ignore. So...

Why this exercise?
My hope is that one of you (besides my Dad, who is already on board) will actually play these pieces, follow along with the second-by-second analysis I have so painstakingly recorded, and really listen to this music. After the Beatles, a light bulb may go off, at which point you'll play a few more songs, start to hear the pattern, and understand better why you like certain pop songs more than others. Don't worry: it won't ruin pop music for you when you see how simple it is, because it is simple on purpose, so that it's accessible to everyone, down to the lowest common denominator. You gotta reach the largest customer base possible in order to make the most money, right? Like it or not, we all find ourselves humming the crap that they force into every second of our summer vacation.

If you listen to the Jazz piece, that idiom will grow more familiar to you; this is a good thing, since it is the Daddy of Rock n' Roll, and therefore very similar to you, once you give it a chance. Since you'll quickly learn the structure, as it is intuitive, you can then focus on the artistic creativity and talent of the musicians, and realize it's not just for beatniks and old farts. Jazz is so wonderful exactly because it is simple, because it takes that simple something and decorates it so much that you barely recognize it (kind of like a Sicilian Caretto, which after all is just a horse cart)

If you listen to the classical piece, or even just the first movement, my ardent hope is that by understanding the basics, you can start to enjoy Classical music on more than just a superficial aesthetic or stylistic level. You'll see that pauses, delayed gratification, and unfulfilled expectations can be thrilling and deeply satisfying. I am heartsick at the common assumption that Classical music is elitist, too complicated for leisurely listening, archaic, or impossible to understand. It is none of those things. All it takes is a little discipline (run for the hills!) and some time. And don't tell me you don't have time: most of you spend hours each week watching commercials, checking out fantasy football stats, not to mention working like plough oxen, head bowed and shoulders straining. And whatever you do, don't tell me that after work all you want to do is chillax, drink a beer, and zone out with your most important signifcant other, TV. This means that work has stolen the only active moments of thinking in your entire day, leaving you a zombie when the time comes to think for yourself! No! Take back your thoughts, make the effort, please!

Why this large 4-blog-post tangent, this waste of your precious personal internet time?
I have noticed that many people ask what I think about when I walk. Well, that's a difficult question to answer, and I've given it some thought (haha), and have even prepared a response in the form of a future blog post, still to be written. However, I spend about three hours a day listening to music, and my mind is often (though not always) focused on the music during that time. Therefore, a large chunk of my thinking time while I walk is devoted to music, and it seems right that I should share that element of my voyage with you. It is not hard to see that music is my true life's passion, so I wanted to share my thoughts about it while I have this convenient (though shaky) soapbox at my disposition. Very few of you, even among my closest friends, have ever asked me to go into detail in this way.

On one particular day, I thought of all the musicians that my friends have introduced to me, and whose music I now love and listen to frequently: Bob Dylan, G. Love and Special Sauce, Jimi Hendrix, and so on. But then I started to grow just a little resentful. Knowing how much music means to me, very few of those same friends have ever asked me to play music that I loved, and if they impatiently sat through it, they never made one fifth of the effort I did to get to know it, to really appreciate it. You might respond, well pop is more accessible, but I would disagree with that; just because it's modern doesn't make it any more accessible or pleasant to listen to. You might then respond that while they made an effort to point out the music to me, I never made the same effort to point it out to them. I could've pushed harder. Maybe so: but I can't tell you how many times I've been asked to change the music at my house or in my car, "here let me plug in my ipod, nobody wants to listen to that, we need some music to pump us up," etc. After a while, it's easier to give up than to keep pushing. Now, don't think that this is a jab at my friends, who after all are very supportive. However, realize that this is my one chance to present music in the way I've wanted to present it to all of you for so long. That, in a long answer, is the "why" for taking your precious time.

At the same time, who am I kidding. You skimmed this, saw that the blog post was really really long and that the pictures were "just" detail photos and not of a storytelling nature, closed the window, and spent more time checking out that joke email you just received. In one eye and out the other. Even if that is the case, as I fear it is, I do not feel that this was a fruitless enterprise. Simply putting these thoughts on paper has caused me to listen with more attention to detail than I have done since college, when my coursework forced me to do so. At some point, I forgot to listen in this way, and it is only in the last month or so that it has come back to me. It took one day of rough walking and deep thinking, but that one day stirred this urgent desire to approach music once more in a fresh way. Music becomes more and more moving and satisfying the more you know about it, and the closer you examine its intricacies.

I just want to enjoy classical music in the background. There's nothing wrong with enjoying music on a superficial level. It is pleasant to the ear, creates mood, fills the silence, is good for working and/or studying, etc. Why are you so insistent that we get into the details, learn to hear structure, actively listen multiple times to the same piece? Why are you so pushy?

Because enjoying music on a superficial level is like eating a delicious meal without bothering to think about the ingredients, or reading an amazing novel without bothering to think about the author's message, or the tools he employs to convey it, or glancing at a painting as you shuffle by, eyes bleary and mind floating elsewhere.

You're at the Louvre on a sweaty, crowded Paris afternoon. You've allotted all of 28 minutes for the entire collection, sure that there's no way you could see a 10th of it anyways even if you spent all day, and after all the sun is shining and there's so much to see in your 3 and a half days in Paris. What do you do with your time, then?

Following the crowds and the signs (turn left, 50 m to the right) that cater to you and the others of your ilk, you wend your way past priceless masterworks, glancing at a painting or two as you shuffle through the enormous hallways. Your feet already hurt and you kinda need to pee as you walk down one last long corridor, and you finally take a right into a densely packed gallery. Cameras are clicking, guides speaking in many different languages create a tower of Babel effect as people jostle, more like stadium fans than museum patrons, for the perfect position, so they can take that perfect shot to show to their bored dinner guests upon their return.

Standing on your tiptoes, you see her, smiling for the camera as she has for oh so long, and you think: smaller than I thought it would be. You take your picture, look at her face, and swallow your hushed satisfaction as you cross one more cultural bullet point off your list. Did you look at the landscape in the background? What kind of clothes was she wearing? Was she pretty? Was she wearing rings? Oh well, you can look at the picture in more detail later, while your friend/spouse/significant other/television/parent is in the bistro bathroom, because you can't sit still looking like an idiot while you're alone for those 90 seconds. Heaven forbid.

28 minutes have passed, time to go get a crepe and wander around Saint Michel, so you turn around and make for the exit. As you leave, you look at the wall opposite the milling crowds. It's a huge work, a gigantic painting. It looks like a feast, a table is set, and they're obviously having fun. You stop for a second, attracted by the brilliant colors, the excitement of the figures, the dynamic action of the piece. It's pretty, you think, and start to turn away.

And then you see him. He's in the center of the canvas, yet you were distracted, and you had missed it before. You look at his face, his eyes speak volumes to you, they burn right to the core of your soul, and you stop dead in your tracks, transfixed. Slowly, the other characters blur and then disappear, it's just you and him, but only for one sweet moment, and then the whole canvas fades back into your vision. This time, however, you see the whole piece in a new light. You see the classical architecture of the background and smile when you realize that this is the artist showing off his skill. You study the perspective lines and realize that the principal ones all lead to that central figure's eyes. You see the dogs in the foreground, notice how each hair is painstakingly drawn out, and remember hearing that dogs usually stand for loyalty, a delightful detail in the midst of the greater work. You see the figures fooling around, oblivious to the gravity of the momentous occasion that forms the painting's setting, and realize that the artist is sending you a life message here. You get the point, a bit guilty that you too had missed it at first, but oh so happy you caught it before missing it forever. Approaching closer, you see the name of the artist (don't bother trying to read the description, it's only in French, and it's that way on purpose), and it burns its way into your mind: Paolo Veronese, The Marriage at Cana

You turn around, shake your head mournfully at all the people who will look at this painting but never see it, and walk out of the room, maybe for the last time. You pause: you didn't take a photo! It's because you didn't need to. Now, you either see the other works, postponing that crepe for later, or you walk out of the museum, squinting at the brilliant sun and fanning yourself with the museum map, which you'll throw away soon after. Whatever you do, however, you will always have that moment, and will get butterflies in your stomach when you remember those eyes and the way they looked at you, even 500 years after they were first painted. And that one painting, that one work of art, that one moment of realization, will change the way you look at life, if only you let it.

It takes that one moment to change the lens of your vision, to open your eyes to all the details that become each of them more delightful and meaningful as they grow familiar over time. The next time you see that painting, those eyes will still transfix you, you will still appreciate all those elements you first noticed, but you will also see new ones, or understand more deeply the ones you thought you knew. Over the years, those eyes might send you a different message, the face might go from pitiful to melancholy to deadpan to all-knowing, but there is one thing that is certain: time, repeated viewing, and deeper understanding of the various details will only make those eyes more moving, never less.

And that's why I want you not just to hear, but to listen.

Part 3 - Pop Analysis

Popular Music Analysis - Twist and Shout by the Beatles (1964)
Play it here

Period - Rock and Roll, which is essentially an offshoot of Jazz. The language is similar: the rhythm is still in groups of 4, the harmony follows a similar pattern (Tonic - Subdominant - Dominant, the famous I-IV-V sequence, but I'll spare you the full explanation of that, as I am merciful), the mixture of European musical style and African trbial style is omnipresent, and so on. The difference is that there is less focus on instrumental and technical prowess, much less frequent or non-existent improvisation, and a larger focus on charisma, style, and the cult of personality. Now, I imagine you rock n' rollers are starting to bristle, fingers itching for a pithy response with dozens of examples that defy this description (Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, etc.), but you will hopefully understand that I am speaking in generalities, just as I did in my Classical and Jazz analyses. So, you will, I hope, also permit me to say that rock n' roll is a simpler, watered-down version of Jazz (grumble grumble).

This particular song (can we call it a piece?) comes from the "Early Period" of Beatles music, while they were more boy-band and less groovy trendsetters. Songs from this period are catchy, mostly very simple, and short, usually between two and three minutes. The instruments of the band consist of drums, an electric bass guitar, two electric guitars (lead and rhythm), and of course vocals.

The Lyrics are as follows:

Chorus:
Well Shake it Up Baby Now / Shake it up Baby
Twist and Shout / Twist and Shout
C'mon C'mon C'mon C’mon Baby Now / Come on Baby
Come on and work it all out / Work it all out

Well, work it on out, honey / Work it on out
You know you look so good / Look so good
You know you got me going now / Got me going
Just like I knew you would / Like I knew you would

Chorus

You know you twist your little girl / twist, little girl

You know you twist so fine / twist so fine

Come on and twist a little closer, now / twist a little closer

And let me know that youre mine / let me know that you’re mine

Chorus

You know you twist your little girl / twist, little girl

You know you twist so fine / twist so fine

Come on and twist a little closer, now / twist a little closer

And let me know that youre mine / let me know that you’re mine

Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now / shake it up baby

Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now / shake it up baby

Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now / shake it up baby

PUSH PLAY!

Here it is

0:01-:07 - The drums and the bass give us the tempo in the form of an introduction, and we hear immediately the familiar four-square rhythm:
1-2-3-4, (2)-2-3-4, (3)-2-3-4, (4)-2-3-4. The vocals lead in with "Well shake it up" on the third beat of the fourth measure, just as in All of Me, where the piano started the melody on the last beat of the fourth measure.

:08-:38 - This is the first statement of the chorus and the first verse, and it breaks up into 16 measures, with 4 separate phrases of 4 measures each. The soloist calls on the 3rd and 4th beats, and the ensemble (in this case, 2 voices), responds on the 3rd and 4th beats of the following measure. So, it's something like this, where the call is in Italics, and the response is Italics in parentheses:

[Phrase 1, Measure 1] 1 - 2 - Well 3 - Shake it 4 Up
[2] 1 - Baby 2 - Now 3 - (Shake it) 4 (Up)
[3] 1 - (Baby) 2 - PAUSE 3 - Twist 4 - And
[4] 1 - Shout 2 - PAUSE 3 - (Twist) 4 - (And)
[Phrase 2, Measure 1] 1 - (Shout)

This is classic call and response, straight from the tribal fires in Africa. The bass makes us feel the first beat of each measure to keep us on rhythm, the drum divides the phrases with a short rhythmic flourish at the end of every phrase, or in other words, at the end of every fourth measure, and the vocalists make us rock and roll on the 2nd and 4th beat. This focus on the 2nd and 4th beat, as I said in the jazz analysis, is what differentiates the rhythm from classical music, which tends to focus on the 1st and 3rd beat. 2nd and 4th = groovy, 1st and 3rd = square.

:38-1:08 – The chorus repeated, with the second verse - the only thing new here is the change in lyrics of the second verse

1:09 -1:24 - The guitars unleash an imaginative, heart-stopping cadenza that is at once lyrical and jarring, a moving tribute to humanity and the never-ending struggle with the Creator. Gotta hear it to believe it... Changed my life.

1:25-1:35 - The voices sound out the notes of the dominant seventh chord, and here we have the climax of the song. The girls pee themselves in ecstasy, everyone chants along, we all jump up and down spasmodically, and then all is released, and the piece returns to the original verse. It is noteworthy that this section is in 6 measures, not 4 or 8, and it is those 5th and 6th measures that provide that climactic moment, the excitement you feel. It is no coincidence that we feel the release: this two measure extension creates a prolonged (if only for 2 seconds) sense of tension, and since we don't expect it (the soul has heard all 4s up till now, and has come to predict them), it gives us something extra, so we jump up and down. So beautifully simple, this fact; in music, we delight in expecting something and then getting something else. It is how Wagner is able to write eternally long operas, why Mozart is a heaven-sent prodigy, and a major reason why I love Hendrix's Bold as Love, which has a false ending before rocking everyone's world. And the Beatles, in their own youthful way, catch a part of that magic here, with 2 little measures. God I love music...

1:35-2:05 – Chorus and second verse repeated

2:05 - 2:18 - Instead of 4s, we hear 2s, the drums are more active, and so we prepare for the end. Simple as that.

2:18-2:25 - They repeat that magical arpeggiated dominant chord, but without the seventh, and instead of reaching ecstasy, we find ourselves at the end.

2:25-2:32 - Drum flourish, guitar finale, and for that little gem that makes the Beatles so human and loveable, you hear one of them shout "Yeah!" at 2:28, in the distant background. They're happy with what they've done.

So, the structure is Intro-A-A-B-A-A-Finale. Pretty cookie cutter, but nobody was looking for anything different.

Part 2 - Jazz Analysis

All Of Me - Lester Young and Teddy Wilson (1956)
Listen to All of Me

The Period? Swing, though we're starting to feel the push toward a new, different sound, known as bebop

Who wrote it? I don't know, and quite frankly, it's not as important in Jazz to know who wrote the piece, but rather who is performing it. [nb: internet search later tells me the authors are Gerald Marks and Seymour Simons. Credit where credit is due.]

Who's performing it? I have seven different renditions of All of Me: Frank Sinatra, Count Basie, Billie Holiday, Charlie Parker, Charlie Parker with Lennie Tristano, Oscar Peterson and his Trio, and the one I'll be using, featuring Lester young on Tenor Saxophone and Teddy Wilson on piano. Something else about jazz that bears mentioning: there is also a drummer as well as a bassist, but as I don't have the CD with me, they remain anonymous, destined for the back seat. [nb: found out later they're named Jo Jones and Gene Ramey].

Seven different recordings? Aren't they all the same? Absolutely not. 3 feature a vocalist, 4 are purely instrumental. Two of the vocalists are female, one male, one of the instrumental versions features the piano, two the saxophone, and one an equal mixture.

The song itself is simple enough. The lyrics, for those arrangements that have lyrics, are as follows (with minor variations by verse and by performer):

All of Me / Why not take all of me
Can't you see / I'm no good without you
Take my lips / I wanna lose them
Take my arms / I'll never use them

Your goodbye/ Left me with eyes that cried
How can I / Get along without you
You took the part / That once was my heart
So why not / Take all of me

The general form of a Swing instrumental piece is a fairly straightforward statement of the verse, or in other words, the main theme. Then a solo instrument plays, with minimal accompaniment, a variation of that theme. Next comes another variation, either by the same instrument or a different one. More variations follow, until the piece reaches a climax, sometimes pushed along by the drummer, who gets a solo of his own. Then the whole ensemble repeats the theme, and the piece ends.

For the most part, and unlike classical theme & variations pieces, the harmonic structure of the theme stays the same, or in other words, does not modulate, or in still other words, does not change keys.

Boring, right? No! The reason seven different recordings can all play the same harmonic structure and yet be completely different is that the set of instruments is variable, and most importantly to understanding jazz, the melody, rhythm, and to some extent, the harmony are all improvised. How is it possible for everyone to make something up at the same time and not create pure chaos? Because the rhythm of that theme forms the backbone of the piece (and soloists stretch this rhythm, but never break out of it), and as I mentioned before, the harmonic structure remains intact. Thus, soloists can make up their own melody, and are indeed encouraged to do so, but the skeleton is always the same. The key, then, to enjoying jazz music is understanding the skeleton in order to appreciate the individual and ensemble talent of the musicians. So,

Push Play! Here it is

0:01-:08 - The drummer is giving us the tempo (or speed) of the piece, and at the same time telling us that it should be counted in 4s. So -
1-2-3-4, (2)-2-3-4, (3)-2-3-4, (4)-2-3-4 / (5)-2-3-4, (6)-2-3-4, (7)-2-3-4, (8)-2-3-4

Each group of 1-2-3-4s is called a measure, and we see that the music splits into groups of 4 measures. So, the drummer beats out two groups of these 4 measures, and on the last measure of the second group, or phrase, the piano leads us into the piece.

From now on, listen for the fact that the emphasis of the beats come on the 2nd and 4th count. This is the rhythmic basis for all jazz and popular music, as opposed to classical, which does not follow a strict rule, but usually emphasizes the 1st and 3rd count.

:08-:23 - The saxophone plays the first half of the verse in 16 measures, or 4 phrases of 4 measures. If you listen for it, each phrase is clearly separate, with a statement by the saxophone, and then a sort of answer by the piano. Think call and response, like you find in gospel music or kids' songs (who wears short shorts. WE WEAR SHORT SHORTS!!!)

:24-:39- The saxophone plays the second half of the verse, in another set of 16 measures, always in 4 groups. We see here, in this first minute, a full statement of the verse. It takes 32 measures and 8 phrases. Now, look back up at the lyrics. How many lines are there? 8, one line for each phrase.

So, now that we know that we're always working in 4s - 4 counts to a measure, 4 x 2 phrases to a verse - we have the rhythmic skeleton mapped out. It becomes easier to listen to what the soloist is cooking.

:40-1:12 - Another verse by the saxophone, this time with less intervention from the piano. The bass and drums continue to propel the rhythm, making sure we don't get lost when the saxophone stretches it a little.

1:12-1:44 - Another verse. Notice how each verse takes 32 seconds? You can literally set your watch to the rhythm, with one measure per second.

1:45 - 2:17 - The piano gets a verse, and the structure remains the same
2:18 - 2:50 - Another piano verse, different from the last
2:51-3:21 - A 3rd piano verse, still 32 seconds long

3:22-3:25 - The saxophone begins to play the verse
3:26-3:29 - But the drums break in and interrupt
3:29-3:33 - The sax persists in trying to play that theme
3:34-3:37 - And the drummer won't let him
3:37-3:41 - Another shot
3:42-3:45 - Drummer says no
3:45-3:48 - One last go
3:49-3:52 - Drummer insists

This device is called trading fours, where the main soloist plays four measures, the drummer responds in 4 measures, and back and forth. Guess how many times they trade 4s? 4.

3:53-4:25 - Saxophone gets a verse
4:26-4:54 - The saxophone plays it one last time, but instead of finishing normally, the last 16 seconds are a kind of finale.

And that's it, in a nutshell. So what is it that makes Jazz so special? The same verse is repeated over and over again, everything about the rhythm is plain jane, with 4-square phrases and no variation in the count (no 3s, no 5s). Many of you have heard (or heard of) the piece Take 5. What's so alluring about this piece? The fact that it counts 5 to a measure instead of 4. Big whoop. So why do we listen?

The reason lies in individual performance, and within the performance, the soloist's ability to improvise. The soloist must think, on the spot, of multiple different and unique ways to express the theme, and each repetition has to build off of the others, but never break out of the rhythmic and harmonic skeleton.

At the same time, the accompanying instruments (in this piece drums, bass, and piano) must all support the soloist, anticipate his creative impulse to pause, play loudly, explode, and so on, and at the same time provide an interesting layer of their own. This is why I love listening through all that jazz (if you'll excuse the expression) to that bassist, plucking his dear heart out but always reaching for interesting notes that dovetail with the harmonic skeleton but don't beat it into our heads too predictably. Only the drums have a somewhat limited creative scope, as they must keep everyone in line, and this is why we start to hear a much more active drum kit in bebop and later jazz: besides filling the necessity of keeping that skeleton in our minds amidst all that beeping and bopping by playing in a more pronounced fashion, they also fulfill their own desire to get in on that sweet improvisational action.

We have similar performance considerations in jazz ensemble music to those we find in classical. How's the drummer at keeping rhythm? Was the bassist too soft? How's Teddy Wilson at piano (answer: awesome)? Do they play well together? Are they better at certain parts of the verse? How do these selected instruments go together? What kinds of colors do they achieve? And so on.

Next we could get into the actual solos, see how the improvisational mind works, analyze the notes played to see where they fit in with the harmonic structure, on what beats the key harmonic notes fall, why this is so, etc., but doing so would be outside the scope of this exercise, and outside the realm of what is possible for me, as I don't know what notes are being played, and would need them on paper in order to analyze them.

Part 1 - Classical Music Analysis

String Quartet No. 5, Op. 18 in A Major, performed by the Amadeus Quartet

Who wrote it? Beethoven

What period? Early period

What does that mean? More "classical" sound, younger and less mature, eager to show ff. Also, little tibits of revolutionary genius to distinguish himself from classical period composers (like Mozart and Haydn)

What is the form? String Quartet - 4 movements, usually sonata form - slow ABA - menuet and trio - rondo

Anything else? Beethoven wrote 17 string quartets, this is the fifth one, and he was truly proud of them. I once heard that true Beethoven lovers will ultimately arrive at Quartets after listening to and enjoying Symphonies, Concerti, and Sonatas.

To make things easier, I have tried to locate the string quartet for free online. Here is what I could find. The timing is not exact, as each performance tends to be slightly different, but it is still close enough to follow along.

All movements
First Movement
Second Movement
Third Movement
Fourth Movement

Push Play!

First Movement - First Movement

Is it Major or Minor? Happy or Sad sounding? Happy, so Major
Is the rhythm in 2s or 3s? - 3s. When you beat the rhythm, you count 1-2-3, not 1-2-3-4 or 1-2. Hmm, this is strange for a first movement piece, especially in a sonata form movement
Is it in Sonata form? A Classical Sonata usually has an exposition, development, and recapitulation.


Exposition
1) Primary theme - the first main melody of the piece
2) a transition passage - music that takes us from the primary theme to the secondary theme
3) a secondary theme - Usually different in character from the primary theme, serves to give the composer a richer vocabulary and make things more interesting for the listener
4) a bridge passage which leads to a
5) closing theme - Can be very small or extensive, serves to give still further melodic character to a piece
People call this group PtSbk, where the k stands for closing.

So, does this movement fit?

P - 0:01-:14
t - :14-:30
S - :30-:55
b - :55-1:15
k - 1:15-1:40

Yes, this movement fits.

Think of a church. If you know the shape of a church (usually the Christian cross), know the names of its parts (nave, aisles, chapels, altar, etc.), then you can focus on the details that make it unique, splendid, mundane, and so on. What do the columns look like? Is the ceiling made of stone or wood? Are there windows? Is the altar very decorated or plain? Did the artist intend it that way for a reason? So it is with music: if we learn the shape of the movement (Sonata form) and the name of its parts (PtSbk), then we can focus on the details.

So, now that we know it's in Sonata form, what do we listen for?

0:01 - Bam! Starts with an !, which catches us by surprise
P - 0:01-:14 - Primary Theme is short, easy enough to remember - Which instrument plays the primary theme? 1st violin, with 2nd violin and viola giving harmonic colors, and the cello moving the rhythm along.
t - :14-:30
S - :30-:55 - The secondary theme is mostly different from the primary in that it is in the minor (sad) key, but resolves to major (happy) before the Bridge. This piece will be lighthearted. The Cello and viola carry this theme. Okay, he uses lower notes for minor, and upper notes for major. Got it.
b - :55-1:15
k - 1:15-1:40

How do the other instruments accompany the theme, and/or the primary instrument? Simple harmonic accompaniment? Different Rhythms? Counterpoint? Imitation?

Development - This is where composers show off their skills. Beethoven enters the development abruptly. Usually, Sonata form expositions have a repeat, but not this one? Is this Beethoven's choice or the performer's choice? I don't know, as I only have this recording, and no access to sheet music.

Assuming no repeat:
2:15 - We start to travel to a different key, and so lose our sense of home base
2:30 - Hmm, I like those colors he makes with all four instruments together
2:42 - He's bringing us back to home base now
2:52 - Ah, a satisfying homecoming, we've been here before
3:12 - Uh-Oh, this is new and scary
3:23 - Back on track, phew

Recapitulation - The composer repeats the exposition, but instead of modulating in the secondary theme, he stays in the primary theme's tonality, giving us that sense of homecoming all the way through to the end of the piece. The structure of the recapitulation, therefore, is nearly always the same as the exposition, so think PtSbk.

Okay, this is a fairly typical movement, except for the fact that it's in triple rhythm (1-2-3, 1-2-3), that there is no repeated exposition (at least in this performance), and that there is an explosive start to get the blood pumping. On repeated listenings, I also notice an awkwardly long pause around :50 that throws us into confusion. He did that on purpose, the devil.

2nd Movement - Second Movement - We're still in the major key, still in triple rhythm
We think this movement will be in ABA form, namely a melody to start, a counter melody in the middle, and a repeat or similar statement of the original melody to end. What do we get?

0:01-:15 - a - A theme is announced, simple and graceful
:15-:27 - a' - The theme is embellished slightly with the viola, but still very graceful
:27-:41 - b - We're going somewhere, especially starting around :37, and it sounds stormy
:42-:49 - c - Sounds rough, but only a false alarm. Oddly ends with a pause that does not inspire confidence
:49-1:02 - a - A repeat of a, but I think I hear a couple harmonic tones that suggest all is not okay

1:03-1:18 - a and a' varied - A canon-like passage (think a group of kids singing row row row your boat in waves) tells me we're getting some variation in the a theme
1:18-1:42 - b - Same as the b from before
1:42-1:49 - c - Same as the c from before, just as creepy
1:49-2:02 - a - Same

2:02-2:18 - a and a'
2:18-2:29 - b
2:29 - A new variation! Are we in variation form? I love variation form
2:29-3:23 - Sounds like a tango with its accents and harmonies. Less graceful, more peasant dance-ish

3:23-3:38 - a
3:38-3:51 - a'
3:51-4:04 - b
4:04-4:11 - c
4:11-4:26 - a
4:26-4:41 - a

Ok, this is not a variation movement... Since it returns to the first theme at the end, it seems we can group a-a'-b-c into one big A, and that tango sounding variation is the B in that it's different. So the movement is A, a slightly varied A (A'), a B section, and a return to the varied A' at the end. A-A'-B-A'

3rd Movement - Third Movement

Slow, singing, with a rhythm in 2s, not 3s. We count 1-2-3-4, but we start the movement on the 4th beat, so it's 4 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4, etc.

0:01-:22 - A - 8 measures
:22-:44 - A - 8 measures
:44-:54 - B - 4 measures
:54-1:06 - A' - 4 measures
1:06-1:16 - B - A repeat of the previous B
1:16-1:28 - A' - A repeat of the previous A'

This is simple enough to follow, as it's kind of slow and repeats often, so I can even think about the phrase sizes. Beethoven groups each section into a number of measures, with each measure consisting of 4 beats. So, counting 32 beats (8 measures of 4 beats), plus that first beat which starts on a 4, we can count out the first A.

What's next? This second section sounds a lot like the first one, but seems to be a variation. Yeah! So we have:
1:28-1:48 - A - 8 measures
1:48-2:08 - A repeated - 8 measures
2:08-2:18 - B - 4 measures
2:18-2:26 - A' - 4 measures
2:26-2:36 - B - A repeat of the previous B
2:36-2:44 - A' - A repeat of the previous A'

We have the same form, the same harmonic and rhythmic structure, the theme still starts on the 4th beat, but we're moving at a different clip now.

Variation 1 is finished and we know to listen for an [A] [BA':] structure, where the [BA'] is repeated.

Variation 2 - 2:44-3:52 - Now that we know the form, we can sit back, relax, and let Beethoven show off for us. Variation 2 has a solo violin playing lots of repeated notes with a very sparse accompaniment by the rest of the ensemble.

Variation 3 - 3:52-5:10 - The violin plays a continual slow trill, while the other guys trade off playing a truncated version of the theme

Variation 4 - 5:10-6:50 - We get a tinge of trouble melancholy at 5:35, at the end of the A section. Everyone is singing, with notes being held longer than we've heard in this movement so far.

Variation 5 - 6:50-8:10 - Unbridled joy, triumphant and glorious. Listen to the cello marching this variation along, with long, virtuosic trills by the violin

Variation 6 - 8:10-9:34 - At 8:31, the cello holds the melody, then the violin suggests a counter-melody. At 8:41 they switch off, at 8:55 the viola gets a shot at the counterpoint, etc.

9:20 - A big crescendo signals the climax of the movement

9:35 - Just the violin to start, then the others join in for a modified variation, and a peaceful ending.

4th Movement - Fourth Movement - We're faster now, counting 1-2-3-4 a bit quicker this time around. Experience says this is a rondo, which means a repetition of a theme, called A, with various different episodes, called B, C, D, which are interspersed throughout the piece. Am I right? Sort of. Multiple listens tell me that this rondo is also a sonata, in that it has a PtSbk exposition, a development, a recapitulation, and even a coda. Beethoven has thrown us a curveball, with two sonata form movements in one quartet. Unusual! Let's see what it looks like:


Exposition
0:01-:22 - P
:22-:34 - t
:34-:50 - S
:50-1:05 - b
1:05-1:32 - k

Development
1:32-2:40

Recapitulation
2:40-2:55 - Introduction to the recap
2:55-3:19 - P
3:19-3:34 - S
3:34-3:40 - b
3:40-4:12 - k

Coda
4:12-4:26
4:26-4:54

How is this a rondo? The primary theme keeps popping up throughout the movement, in the development, coda, etc., and not only in the statements at the beginning of the exposition and recapitulation.

So, I thought this classical period string quartet would contain: Sonata form, ABA slow, Menuet-Trio, and Rondo. It turned out to be Sonata form, ABA fast, Theme & Variations, and Rondo-Sonata.

Analysis

And that, my friends, is just the tip of the iceberg. Once I know it, am familiar with the characters (themes), plot line (forms), setting (overall structure), and so on, I can start enjoying the nitty-gritty details. Why does he have them play loudly here? Why does the violin hold the theme there? All 4 instruments play here, but not there. Why are they missing? What rhythms are present throughout the whole sonata? Does he keep starting the theme on the 4th beat throughout the whole 3rd movement? If so, to what end? What about the harmonies he uses? Any weird or revolutionary tonal relationships that foretell later musical development?

What about the performance? How's the cellist? Is the violin player on rhythm? How good is the violinist at trills? Do they play well together? Are they better at slow or fast passages? How's the sound quality of the recording? How are my speakers?

What about the abstract? What's Beethoven trying to say here? Is there a universal message, or is he just trying to show off? Is this just a shallow period piece for rich people to eat dinner over or college kids to study to, or is there humor, pathos, jubilation, anxiety, and contentment? What's the historical context of the piece? How old was Beethoven when he wrote this? What world events could have influenced his writing? Any love interests? Was he already deaf when he wrote it?