What the Music Does Not Tell Us
When I was at school, my music teacher organised small concerts for the parents twice a year. I played The Swan at one of them. It remains my favourite cello piece.
When you play it, its beauty is not simply there. It depends on restraint, control and the ability to sustain a long musical line without forcing the emotion.
I loved the piece before I knew much about the life of its composer.
The Life Behind the Work
In 1878, Saint-Saëns lost both of his young sons within six weeks. One died in an accident; the other from pneumonia.
Eight years later, he composed The Carnival of the Animals, the work that contains The Swan. There is no evidence that one arose directly from the other, and a life should not be used as a convenient explanation for a work of art.
Still, knowing changes the way we listen.
The Carnival of the Animals is playful, witty and full of life. The Swan moves through it with an entirely different composure.
Beauty does not always disclose what its creator has endured.
When I hear The Swan now, I still hear what I loved when I played it as a pupil. But I also hear what the music does not tell us.
Rooted in Depth. Radiating Light.
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