Nocturne

Olga is learning a Chopin nocturne.

He [James Abbott McNeill Whistler] was then asked for his definition of a Nocturne: “I have perhaps, meant rather to indicate an artistic interest alone in the work, divesting the picture from any outside sort of interest which might have been otherwise attached to it. It is an arrangement of line, form, and colour first, and I make use of any incident of it which shall bring about a symmetrical result. Among my works are some night pieces; and I have chosen the word Nocturne because it generalises and simplifies the whole set of them.”

When John Ruskin, a sort of pope among the art critics of the time, was faced with [James Abbott McNeill] Whistler’s canvases at the opening exhibition of The Grosvenor Gallery in 1877, he was so outraged that he attacked Whistler in a review, charging him with wilful imposture for “flinging a pot of paint in the public's face.” It seems that Ruskin's main target was Whistler’s Nocturne in Black and Gold: The Falling Rocket (1875).

“My tastes,” he said, still smiling, “incline me to the garishly sunlit side of this planet.” And, to tease her and arouse her to combat: “I prefer a farandole to a nocturne; I’d rather have a painting than an etching; Mr. Whistler bores me with his monochromatic mud; I don’t like dull colours, dull sounds, dull intellects;[…].”

For all its grace, charm, and apparent simplicity, [Frédéric] Chopin’s Nocturne in E♭ major, Op. 9, No. 2, poses fundamental problems on close inspection. The fact that so many analyses of the piece – including those of Heinrich Schenker and Felix Salzer – fail to explain certain idiosyncratic aspects, in particular an unusual distribution of structural weight, gives some indication of the Nocturne’s complexities at a profound level.

The vocal nocturne, in other words, turns out to be no easier a genre to define than the piano nocturne. But its ambiguities are nevertheless helpful in making sense of those of the piano nocturne.

And finally it's time, and he's out there, under the spot, in his element. The first piece of the night is Shostakovich. Its first movement is a sedate, haunting, almost melodramatic nocturne, but before too long the concerto changes gear and becomes energetic, discordant, feral.