On August 7, 1829, Felix Mendelssohn took a steamer from the Scottish mainland to the grandly rugged island of Mull, in the Inner Hebrides. Later that day, the composer wrote to his sister Fanny, "To illustrate how strangely the Hebrides affected me, the following just occurred to me there." He then set down twenty-one bars of music in B minor, with indications for orchestration: a downward eddying theme in the violas and cellos, silvery chords in the violins and winds. From that sketch emerged the "Hebrides" Overture, which is sometimes called "Fingal's Cave," although Mendelssohn didn't see that landmark until the next day.
I listened to "The Hebrides" countless times when I was a kid, its surging lines and sea-spray climaxes conjuring Turneresque pictures in my mind. When, in September, I visited Mull for the first time, the island lived up to its musical archetype, looming out of the mist like a mass of gray shrouds thrown onto the ocean. Appropriately, I was on my way to see a chamber music series called Mendelssohn on Mull, which has been running since 1988. It was founded by the London-born violinist Leonard Friedman, who wished to lead master classes in an atmosphere free of urban pressures. In recent years, Mendelssohn on Mull has had a quartet in residence, which gives concerts while providing guidance to younger musicians. This year, the Maxwell Quartet, a mostly Scottish ensemble, took over from the Doric Quartet.
It's not a Mendelssohn festival.
Only three of the composer's pieces appeared in the programs, amid works by Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Dvořák, and Glazunov. Listeners were left to decide for themselves how this largely Central European repertory related to the edge-of-the-world terrain around them. Certainly, the chamber-music classics are suited to the intimacy of the island's venues-small churches and village halls-and to the informal conviviality of the audience.
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة October 07, 2024 من The New Yorker.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك ? تسجيل الدخول
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة October 07, 2024 من The New Yorker.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
YULE RULES
“Christmas Eve in Miller’s Point.”
COLLISION COURSE
In Devika Rege’ first novel, India enters a troubling new era.
NEW CHAPTER
Is the twentieth-century novel a genre unto itself?
STUCK ON YOU
Pain and pleasure at a tattoo convention.
HEAVY SNOW HAN KANG
Kyungha-ya. That was the entirety of Inseon’s message: my name.
REPRISE
Reckoning with Donald Trump's return to power.
WHAT'S YOUR PARENTING-FAILURE STYLE?
Whether you’re horrifying your teen with nauseating sex-ed analogies or watching TikToks while your toddler eats a bagel from the subway floor, face it: you’re flailing in the vast chasm of your child’s relentless needs.
COLOR INSTINCT
Jadé Fadojutimi, a British painter, sees the world through a prism.
THE FAMILY PLAN
The pro-life movement’ new playbook.
President for Sale - A survey of today's political ads.
On a mid-October Sunday not long ago sun high, wind cool-I was in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, for a book festival, and I took a stroll. There were few people on the streets-like the population of a lot of capital cities, Harrisburg's swells on weekdays with lawyers and lobbyists and legislative staffers, and dwindles on the weekends. But, on the façades of small businesses and in the doorways of private homes, I could see evidence of political activity. Across from the sparkling Susquehanna River, there was a row of Democratic lawn signs: Malcolm Kenyatta for auditor general, Bob Casey for U.S. Senate, and, most important, in white letters atop a periwinkle not unlike that of the sky, Kamala Harris for President.
