Episode 2: The Wonders of the Human Voice and some Euphoria

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Do you think that classical music is not for you and you don't know where to start? Or maybe you're a fan already and would welcome a fresh approach. You've come to the right place. Perfect pitch is for everyone, beginners or experts, whatever your age. Lend Nick Healy Hartinson your ears for his weekly dose of classical music that will enrich your life.

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We're going to start this week with Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. And where better to start than this? Anticipation is in the air right from the first notes. Played by the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House Coffin Garden, conducted by Antonio Papano. By the way, I should mention that all the recordings I choose are a matter of personal choice and are selected because I think they reflect best the music I'm playing. So they aren't in any way random. The Marriage of Figaro would certainly come high on my list of choices for your first visit to the opera. I'd be the first to admit that the first time I heard an operatic voice, I just laughed out loud. I never heard warbling quite like it before. But the voice is an instrument in itself, and it's one we can all play to varying degrees of success, as well as being considerably more portable than a double bass or a harp. Some, of course, have that little bit extra, which we can only marvel at. So while we're with Mozart, let's listen to one of my favourite singers, Anne Sophie von Otter. I'm going to go with a slightly less familiar aria called Parto from La Clemenza di Tito. I'm not going to trouble you with a plot here, because this is really all about the singing. This is one heck of a voice in a piece which demands extraordinary breathing skills, as you'll hear in the closing minute when von Otter rolls out the notes with an apparently effortless clarity. The icing on the cake is that she's in this gorgeous dialogue with a bass clarinet, and the combination is a complete delight. Be patient, the acrobatics are worth it. Papagaino is a simple fellow, and like most men, seeks only food, drink, and a wife. Here he is singing about the wish for a woman in his life and playing a Glockenspiel for accompaniment. There are in fact only two of these left in the world now, so Celeste is what is usually used instead. Apparently, Mozart was so excited about the use of the Glockenspiel that he nipped round the back to play himself on its first performance in 1791. He was dead just two months later at the age of 35. The magic flute is another ideal opera starter, not least because it's not all sung, but has spoken words as well. So it's technically called a Zingspiel. It may have dark undertones here and there, but on the surface it can come over as a sort of pantomime, with goodies and baddies, but littered with wonderful tunes throughout. Here is just one of them, and a really joyful one too.

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Dann schmeckte mir trinken und essen, dann könnte ich mich fürsten nicht messen, des Lebens, was weiß ich mich räumen und wie im Melusium sein, dann könnte ich mit Fürsten nicht messen, des Lebens, was weiß ich mich rum und im Elusion sein, im Elusion sein, im Indusion sein, ein Mädchen oder weitergicht, wo so ein samtes Teufel der Sich. Wer Seligkeit will ich, wer Sinnlichkeit für mich. Ach, kann ich dem keiner von allen den reizenden Menschen gefallen. Helf einem mir nur aus der Not, sonst krem ich mich wahrlich zu tot. Ach, kann ich dem keiner gefallen. Helf einer mir nur aus dem Not, sonst grem ich mich wahrlich zu tot. Mich wahrlich zu tot, mich wahrlich zu tot. Ein Mädchen oder weibend nicht, ab mag die muss sich, wo so ein sanftes Teufel der Seeligkeit, versehigkeit, wer seellig. Wird keiner mir Liebe gewähren, sonst mich die Flamme verzieren. Doch küss mich, ein weiblicher Mord, so bin ich schon wieder gesund. Doch küss mich, ein weiblicher. Doch küss mich ein weiblicher Mord, so bin ich schon wieder gesund. Schon wieder gesund. Schon wieder gesund.

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I'm Mädchen Oder Weibchen, sung by Simon Keenleyside from Mozart's opera The Magic Flute. I hope by now that you're getting the gist of what these podcasts are trying to do, and how even the most doubtful among you are stumbling across something you like. Whether you're a newcomer to classical music or not, the chances are that there are names alone which have the ability to spook. In my experience, Gustav Mahler was one. It took me ages to be brave enough to listen to a whole symphony of which there are ten. A number of them were given names The Titan, The Resurrection, Symphony of a Thousand, and they are big pieces. Some of them are so long that it prompted a journalist, Peter Simple, writing in the Daily Telegraph many years ago, to give them alternative names along the lines of interminable, insufferable, unendurable. But if, like me, you occasionally want a really loud sound, and I mean a tumultuous sound, then this guy is for you. No one before him, and I have just who since has been able to combine melody and weight quite like this. Marlo was an Austrian composer who lived between 1860 and 1911, and thus bridged the late Romantic period with a beginning of modern music. One of fourteen children, of whom eight died in infancy. He was of humble origins, and during his life was acclaimed more as a conductor than composer. Barely five foot tall, he had some spectacular risks with a number of orchestras falling out with many because his exacting standards were so demanding that players just landed up fearing him. As a German-speaking Jew, his own music, which was almost all symphony and song focused, was banned in much of Europe, coming to prominence only in the second half of the last century. And my hunch is that his music is perceived today much the same way as it was in its own lifetime. With a mixture of huge enthusiasm and some disdain. But it's nevertheless firmly established in the concert repertoire now. So you can take it or leave it. But not without trying it first. Here are the last three minutes or so of his first symphony, The Titan. Imagine for a moment turning up to a concert hall in 1889 for the first time, to be confronted with a huge orchestra of a hundred players or more. Standard enough now, but nearly twice what you would have been used to then. And then being hit with this wall of sound. It wasn't a success as it happens. There are ten horns playing in these final bars, Marler expressly requiring them to stand for maximum effect. He may not be indispensable for everyone, but there are times when you just want to wind the window down in a car, crank up the volume, and scream for the sheer joy of life. In its entirety, this final movement epitomizes exactly that. It's a jubilant and thunderous sound, so brace yourself. These closing moments of Allen's Symphony Number One are played by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra conducted by Claudio Obado. Now that is quite something, isn't it? And staying with Marla, but by way of giving you a complete contrast, here is the second movement in full of its second symphony, the so-called resurrection. All of us at some point spent time in quiet reflection, whether reminiscing of bygone days or recalling loved ones no longer with us. This is where music can step in and add value to our lives. One of its functions, as the conductor Thomas Beecham said, is to release us from the tyranny of conscious thought. This second movement is a reflection of happier times in the life of the deceased whose funeral is depicted in the dramatic first movement. It's delicate and simple, with a gorgeous tune at its heart. As such, it is supremely comforting music, clothed in tenderness, but also has a strong sense of pining and nostalgia. Listen out especially for the way Marla mingles violins and cellos towards the end. It just sings. It's utterly enchanting, and you'd have to have a heart of stone not to be touched by it. It's played here by the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by Zubin later.

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