Review: Dag Wirén String Quartets

Apparently, Punxsutawney Phil predicts an early spring this year. That means you only have a few weeks left to enjoy the winter with its perfect soundtrack: the Dag Wirén string quartets by the Wirén Quartet.

Dag Wirén string quartets

Dag Wirén: not a man of words

Never heard of Dag Wirén? Neither did I before this record caught my attention. Some quick facts:

Wirén already stopped composing in 1970, stating: “One should stop in time, while one still has time to stop in time.”

Dag Wirén

Luckily, his music is more memorable than his aphorisms.

Timeless craftmanship

Wirén’s style, especially in his early years, can only be described as neoclassical. To my ears: very neoclassical. Actually, he sounds like Brahms with a pair of warm woolen mittens.

But who cares that he was not hip with the times? Especially if he managed to come up with compositions such as his third string quartet, my favorite one on this record.

Its first movement starts off with a softly rocking accompaniment. Like a flower from under a snow bed, the first violin rises to the surface with the basic melody. Gradually, the other instruments join in to start a fascinating dialogue based on that motif. And just when their disagreement reaches its climax, the conversation abruptly halts and begins anew.

The second, slow movement is a romantic piece based on a pining melody that I’m sure I’ve heard before but can’t quite place. Drop me a note in the comments if you can help me out.

After the short but stirring minuet, the quartet closes with a finale where Wirén waves a tapestry out of the basic melodies of the previous three movements.

None of this would have sounded innovative in 1941. And it sounds even less so today. But the way Wirén develops and combines his musical themes bears witness to a timeless craftmanship that engages your attention while still being easy on the ears. And sometimes that’s all you need during those darkest days of the year.

Pizzicati and … er … stuff

What’s left for a composer after writing a neoclassical masterpiece such as that third string quartet? Judging from his fourth and fifth quartets, also included on this record, Wirén chose to adopt a more modern style. Not Stockhausen or Ligeti modern though, more like Sibelius and Shostakovich modern.

One thing that remains constant is Wirén’s wonderful talent for string arranging. All the quartets are overflowing with plinky plonks and zings and fiiiieuws – or whatever the technical terms may be.

It’s all immaculately performed by the Wirén Quartet. A bit too immaculately, perhaps. I get the feeling that, if they would tone down their reverence towards the composer a bit – he’s in their name after all – and let their own musical personalities shine through, this music would sound even better.

But what do I know? Do make up your own mind by listening to Dag Wirén string quartets by the Wirén Quartet on CD, Spotify or Apple Music. You won’t regret it.

 

For King, Country and Love: Handel and the Hanoverians

Last summer, I paid a short visit to London. In my backpack: a few biographies of – and a lot of music by – George Frideric Handel. My mission? To re-acquaint myself with Britain’s greatest composer. And to write a few articles about it, of course. Second stop: Buckingham Palace.

As I walked from Handel’s house to his grave in Westminster Abbey, I more or less passed Buckingham Palace. So, although I hadn’t planned to, I decided to take a closer look.

Buckingham palace

In Handel’s time, it was a lot smaller and nothing more than the townhouse of the Duke of Buckingham. Today, it’s the London residence of the British monarch and a honeypot for swarms of tourists from all over the world.

It’s fascinating to see how the monarchy has become Britain’s most successful export product. Not bad for what is essentially a German import. After all, it’s been only a hundred years since the family changed its name from ‘Saxe-Coburg und Gotha’ to ‘Windsor’.

You know who else is a piece of German import? Britain’s greatest composer, George Frideric Handel – who changed his name from Georg Friedrich Händel the moment he set foot on English soil.

Coincidence? Not at all.

“If Bach wrote music to please God, Handel was born to sing the praise of royalty.”

Long live the king

You probably know this tune of Handel’s:

It’s Zadok the Priest, an anthem Handel wrote for the coronation of George II, the second English king from the German house of Hanover. It’s played at every coronation since. And you might also recognize it from the shameless rip-off that is the UEFA Champions League Anthem.

Zadok the Priest is one of those pieces of music that you think you know, until you realize you don’t. Listen to it again and you’ll be amazed at how good it is. Yes, it’s big and solemn – just as a composition for such an occasion should be. Yet it’s also very clever and original. With its teasing introduction breaking off the rising tension for a few times before the triumphant chorus finally comes through. And the satisfying balance that comes from the alternation between the pompous ‘God Save the King’ parts in unison and the delicate ‘Hallelujah/Amen’ flourishes, set as a fugue.

Coronation of George II

Coronation of George II and his wife Caroline

If Bach wrote music to please God, Handel was born to sing the praise of royalty. Even in his most famous religious composition – Messiah – the image of the suffering savior is dwarfed by the triumphant ‘king of kings’ in the Hallelujah chorus.

Handel had every reason to be enthusiastic about monarchic power. After all, it was the generous financial support of George I and George II that allowed him the rock star lifestyle that most other musicians of his days could only dream of.

And maybe it wasn’t just money that endeared him to the Hanoverian royal family.

Made in Germany

If you have any taste in television, the first image that comes to mind when you think of the Hanoverian Dynasty is this guy from Blackadder:

Hanoverian Prince Regent from Blackadder

He’s the hilarious culmination of more than two centuries of anti-Hanoverian propaganda, which started under the Victorians and got worse – for obvious reasons – after the first world war. These German kings and princes were generally considered stupid, gluttonous and perpetually power-hungry.

The real story is very different. When the dukes of Hannover inherited the British crown, their Duchy was one of the most enlightened in Europe. And unlike their absolutist Stuart predecessors, they were clever enough to govern more by influence than by force. Most historians now think that they invented the modern monarchy.

But maybe it isn’t so much the Hanoverian men who deserve that honor.

Mädchenmacht*

George I received the British crown because his mother Sophia was a granddaughter of James II. It’s largely due to Sophia that the Hanoverian court became one of the most sophisticated in Europe. She especially took an interest in philosophy – reading Descartes and Spinoza and striking up a lifelong friendship with Leibniz.

Her daughter Sophia Charlotte married Frederic I of Prussia. She inherited her mother’s interest in philosophy and combined that with a passion for music.

Around 1696, she took an orphan princess into her home: Caroline of Ansbach. Apart from food and a roof over her head, Sophia Charlotte gave Caroline a proper enlightened education and the opportunity to meet some of the most illustrious philosophers and artists of that time, including the young Georg Friedrich Händel – on a visit in Berlin from his hometown of Halle.

* Girl power

Royal wedding

In 1705, another dashing young gentleman visited the court of Frederic I: Georg of Hanover, who would later become George II of England. After some time at the court in Hanover, she followed her husband to England to become princess of Wales and finally Queen Caroline.

Queen Caroline of England

From the moment she arrived in London, Caroline made it clear that she had no intention of limiting her new role to posing for portraits and looking good at parties. She actively interfered in politics, mainly through her husband and her close friendship with prime minister Sir Robert Walpole.

As an enlightened soul she saw it as her duty to promote modern science and the arts. One of the first persons she visited was Sir Isaac Newton. She asked him to recommend math and astronomy teachers for her children.

Of course, there was never any question about who would become the music teacher at the princely and royal courts: her old friend Handel.

People’s princess

You only need one story to realize what an extraordinary women Caroline was. In the 1720s, a promising new medical procedure against smallpox was widely discussed in England: inoculation, an early form of vaccination. To demonstrate her belief in modern science, Caroline had her own children inoculated. Thereby proving that:

  1. Inoculation is effective and completely safe.
  2. As an 18th century woman, she had more sense than an alarmingly large portion of present-day Americans and Europeans.

Queen Caroline died in 1737. Her husband realized his extraordinary luck in marrying this woman. At her deathbed, he promised her that he would not marry again but “would only take mistresses.” Apparently, that’s about as close to true love as you could get in the 18th century.

King George II

A very lucky man: king George II

Handel in love?

In his magnificent book The Lives of George Frideric Handel, David Hunter toys around with the idea that there was more to the relationship between Handel and Queen Caroline than that between a generous patron and a talented artist. Although he admits there’s no proof for his theory, he presents a powerful case by matching their timelines since their first meeting, when they were practically still teenagers.

True or false, the story of the lifelong romance between the princess and the musician is absolutely irresistible. Hollywood, if you’re reading this, don’t miss this opportunity to turn this story into a blockbuster. Personally, I’m thinking a cross-over between The Piano and Les Liaisons Dangereuses. But you’re the experts of course.

Requiem for a queen

As I said, there is no smoking gun for this theory about Handel’s love life. But there is an extremely reliable witness. And I can listen to its testimony over and over again: Handel’s Funeral Ode for Queen Caroline.

You’ll never convince me that Handel wrote this music out of respect and gratitude for a dynastic family. This is the sound of true grief for someone he greatly admired. Maybe, even, loved.

I wouldn’t call the Funeral Ode an obscure piece. But it certainly isn’t an audience favorite either. Strange, since funeral music has been a very popular niche throughout the ages. And a lot of that death music can’t hold the candle to Handel’s composition. Yes, that includes Mozart’s/Süssmayrs Requiem which, by the way, doesn’t even try to hide the influence of Handel’s Funeral Ode:

Crown jewel

Of course, monarchies caused a lot of misery throughout history. But their patronage, just like that of the church, did produce some amazing works of art. And Handel’s Funeral Ode for Queen Caroline is certainly one of the greatest jewels in the British crown.

No wonder that this work is played at every funeral of a member of the British royal family, especially if she’s female, right?

Right?!

Elton John

I see. Well then: Vive la république!

Seriously though, give Handel’s Funeral Ode a few listens if you haven’t yet. There’s an excellent version waiting for you on CD, Spotify or Apple Music.

 

Review: Schubert Unfinished by Concentus Musicus Wien

When I’m scanning the new classical album releases, I usually choose works I haven’t heard yet. As there’s still so much beautiful music to discover, why would I be interested in a slightly different version of, let’s say, Beethoven’s fifth?

There are exceptions to that rule. Those are works that I’m obsessed by – you could even say: in love with. I can’t stand the thought of missing out on the tiniest nuance of their character. And that’s exactly what a good new interpretation can reveal.

Coming of age

Schubert’s Unfinished symphony is one of those works. And I must say, the new recording by Concentus Musicus Wien, led by Stefan Gottfried, does not disappoint.

Schubert Unfinished by Concentus Musicus Wien

Funny thing about Schubert’s 8th symphony: when I was first drawn to it as an adolescent, I fell for all the doom and gloom that seem to permeate it – or at least its first two movements. And I still enjoy that all-engulfing weltschmerz. But in smaller doses.

Luckily, performance practice has been so obliging to parallel my coming of age. Recordings of the last few decades have blown away the dust that all those romantic interpretations had strewn on the surface of the Unfinished symphony.

Schubert’s Pastoral

This exceptional recording sounds to me like the high point of that evolution. Gone are the days when the beautiful but heavy tapestry of strings muffled the overall sound of the orchestra. Those strings are now a backdrop to the delicate interplay of the woodwinds and irreverent, even cheeky blaring of the brass section.

To me, it changes the character of the symphony: from the tragic to the pastoral. In fact, the biggest revelation for me was how closely Schubert’s 8th sometimes resembles Beethoven’s 6th.

The slow one fast and the fast one slow

Stefan Gottfried chooses his tempos wisely: the slow movement is relatively fast, the last movement rather slow – almost hesitant. The added bonus is the reduced character contrast between the first two movements (the Unfinished proper) and the final two. Read what that’s all about.

Meanwhile, René Jacobs and B’Rock Orchestra have started their own complete recording of the Schubert symphonies. The first installment certainly sounds promising, but I doubt they’ll be able to top Gottfried’s interpretation of the Unfinished. I’m ready to be surprised, though.

You can listen to the interpretation of Schubert’s Unfinished symphony by Concentus Music Wien on cd, Spotify and Apple Music.

David Lang’s The Little Match Girl Passion

Are you passionate about passions? Then you’ve probably spent Easter listening to Bach’s St Matthew Passion. Or, if you’re the kind of person who likes to impress people with his maverick musical taste, Bach’s St John Passion, Handel’s Brockes Passion or Beethoven’s Christ on the Mount of Olives.

And if you truly don’t care about what other people think of you: A Passion Play by British prog rockers Jethro Tull.

A Passion Play by Jethro Tull

Forgive them, for they know not what they do.

Me, I chose David Lang’s The Little Match Girl Passion this year. The piece is barely ten years old, but already a bit of a classic. I liked it so much, I’m ready to spread the word.

The story

You probably already know this fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen, about a little girl who is forced by her father to sell matches on the street, fails to do so, is afraid to go home and starts to hallucinate.

Don’t’ worry, there’s a happy ending: she’s reunited with her loving grandmother … by freezing to death.

The Little Match Girl

I never really liked this story, because I find it a bit too sentimental for my taste. Seeing as I cried when I first saw Jack die in Titanic, that’s saying something.

Of course, it wouldn’t be the first brilliant musical setting of a schmaltzy text. Besides, David Lang is a less shallow reader than I am. In the little match girl story, he sees a parallel with the passion of Christ. Not only do both Jesus and the girl suffer, they are also both scorned by the crowd and transfigured by death.

The music

This thematic parallel is why David Lang chose to compose the little match girl story as a passion, alternating between:

  • the telling of the story – an English translation of Andersen’s fairy tale text
  • poetic commentaries on the story – for which he mainly uses the libretto of Bach’s St Matthew Passion

The music is a minimalistic affair, with only four voices and percussion. Don’t expect dramatic timpani or excited drumming – we’re talking about a few accents by a lonely sleigh bell or glockenspiel.

Glockenspiel, used in David Lang's The Little Match Girl passion

Oh, wipe that smile of your face. There’s nothing funny about a glockenspiel.

The melodies and harmonies are just as sober. Lang builds his composition out of a few simple musical cells which don’t evolve but repeat themselves over and over again.

But it works. For me at least. And remarkably, the numbers where he recites the story make the biggest impression on me.

In a baroque or classical passion, oratorio or opera, these recitatives are the places where you can doze off for a moment – waiting for the next aria or chorus to come along.

In Lang’s The Little Match Girl Passion, these narrative fragments start out quite emotionless and monotonous. But soon Lang subtly raises the tension by introducing countermelodies, shifting the position of the voices so they create irregular rhythms, and so on.

To me, that echoes the girl’s descent into madness and despair. Until order returns when she’s found dead in the snow – definitely not rising again. A bitter, but beautiful climax.

Listen to David Lang’s The Little Match Girl Passion

Another great thing about this passion is that its story takes place on New Year’s Eve. So you can use it as a backdrop to your Easter and Christmas festivities. There are a few decent performances on YouTube. But the first and definitive version is the one by Paul Hillier’s Theatre of Voices, available on CD, Spotify and Apple Music. Enjoy!

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My Visit to the Handel and Hendrix Museum

Last summer, I paid a short visit to London. In my backpack: a few biographies of – and a lot of music by – George Frideric Handel. My mission? To re-acquaint myself with Britain’s greatest composer. And to write a few articles about it, of course. First stop: Handel’s house in London.

On the first floor of the Handel and Hendrix museum, you can watch a movie starring two passionate and eloquent musicians:

  • a harpsichord player who sings the praises of George Frideric Handel (1685-1759)
  • an electric guitar player who raves about Jimi Hendrix (1942-1970)

But when the movie ends with these two jamming together, it’s a bit of an anti-climax. And that’s typical for the relationship between pop (or rock) and classical music: they have more in common than they think, but when they end up in bed together, it seldom leads to fireworks. The result is usually kitschy, pretentious or both. (Except when it’s awesome.)

So why would they force Handel and Hendrix to share a museum? Because fate brought them together.

Handel and Hendrix museum stars

Fate … and a timeless fashion sense

The story behind the Handel and Hendrix museum

You see, Jimi Hendrix lived in the attic of Handel’s house! Well, in the attic of Handel’s neighbour, to be precise. So they were divided by two centuries and a supporting wall. But that’s still a remarkable coincidence, right? (If you happen to be a statistician: I don’t really want to know.)

George and Jimi shared more than their rubbish collection day. They were both foreigners who made their fortune in London. They were both addicts – Jimi to heroin, George to food and wine. They were both musicians of course, and … that’s about it.

So I was curious to see how the Handel and Hendrix museum would fit these two musical giants together.

“I would have enjoyed rummaging through Handel’s opera score collection or finding a half-eaten bratwurst on his nightstand.”

The Hendrix flat

Surprisingly, the Hendrix part of the museum made the biggest impression on me. His bedroom is decorated exactly as it was when he lived there from 1968 to 1969. Right down to the packet of Benson & Hedges and box of Quality Street next to his bed.

Handel and Hendrix museum piece

Rock and roll!

It was here that Jimi woke up one night to find Handel’s ghost walking in: “an old guy in a nightshirt and a grey pigtail”. Did I mention drugs were involved?

You can also browse through Hendrix’ stunningly diverse record collection. And yes, there’s some Handel in there. After hearing about his illustrious downstairs neighbour, Hendrix said: “I haven’t heard much of the fella’s stuff. But I dig a bit of Bach now and then.” He later went out to buy a copy of Messiah and Belshazzar.

The Handel house

Compared to that, the Handel portion of the Handel and Hendrix museum is a lot more, well, classical. You know what I mean: harpsichords in the middle of empty rooms, portraits on the walls, manuscripts in glass cases, …

Nothing wrong with all that, of course, but after the Hendrix experience (clever pun totally intended), I would have enjoyed rummaging through Handel’s opera score collection or finding a half-eaten bratwurst on his nightstand.

Of course, that’s not the museum’s fault. We just don’t know enough about Handel’s life to recreate his private quarters with any degree of historical accuracy. But it does threaten to confirm the image of classical music as a stuffy affair. Especially when fragments of psychedelic guitar sounds keep reminding you of the cool kid living in the attic.

Handel and Hendrix museum bedrooms

Visit without prejudice

Fortunately, Jimi Hendrix wasn’t so narrow-minded. Visitors to his flat remembered him playing along to his Handel records. And during the Winterland concerts, in Francisco in 1968, he inserted a musical quote from Messiah.

I’m pretty sure Handel would have returned the compliment, since at least half of his genius was due to cleverly stealing other people’s music.

So there’s at least one excellent reason to visit the Handel and Hendrix museum. It proves that – awkward bedfellows or not – pop and classical music make excellent neighbours.

Gustav Holst: Composer of The Planets (and Not Proud of It)

Are you one of those people who gets upset when Radiohead doesn’t play Creep? First of all: get over it. Second of all: take comfort in the fact that Radiohead is part of a respectable tradition of composers who despised their most beloved compositions.

Saint-Saëns hated Le Carnaval des Animaux, Ravel hated Boléro, Tchaikovsky hated the 1812 Overture, Beethoven hated Wellingtons Sieg, …

And Gustav Holst (1874-1934) hated The Planets.

The Planets composer: Gustav Holst

At the very least, its success left him in a permanent state of slight bewilderment.

The Planets: an unlikely success

The fact that The Planets was despised by its composer is strange in two ways:

  1. The Planets is the only composition for which Holst is widely remembered.
  2. Unlike the 1812 Overture or Wellingtons Sieg, The Planets is not a god-awful piece of classical music.

Holst’s orchestral suite is anything but a cheap crowd pleaser. Its musical forms are unusual, its time signatures often irregular and its instrumental combinations unorthodox.

In fact, during the first performances of The Planets, a few of the seven movements of the suite were always omitted. The idea was that the public wouldn’t be able to handle the full fifty minutes of such challenging music.

So why was the composer of The Planets later ashamed of it?

“The Planets seems to lift you up and transport you to exciting new worlds that are – at the same time – strangely familiar.”

Holst: composer in times of war

Holst wrote The Planets between 1914 and 1916 – the first two years of the Great War. You would think that such an Armageddon would have influenced his composition, but Holst always denied that. His main inspiration did come from Germany, but it was a purely musical one.

A few years before WOI, the musical world was already in turmoil. Critics and public waged fierce battles over compositions that broke with musical laws that had held up for centuries. Suddenly, listeners were deprived of:

  • melodies they could sing along to
  • rhythms they could dance or clap to
  • harmonies that helped them to make sense of it all

In 1909, Schoenberg launched his Fünf Orchesterstücke, one of the first great examples of atonal music. Holst heard it, enjoyed it and bought the score. He liked it so much that he would name one of his next compositions Seven Pieces for Large Orchestra. Only later did he change the name of his suite to … The Planets.

Another ‘scandalous’ composition that influenced The Planets – just listen to the thumping irregular rhythms in Mars, The Bringer of War – is Stravinsky’s Le Sacre du printemps, which dates from 1912.

“Who wants to be remembered for an artistic anachronism – no matter how successful?”

Delicious mix of old and new

Holst was obviously excited by all these musical innovations. But that did not make him an avant-garde composer. In The Planets, he blended all these progressive elements and poured a generous helping of late-romantic sauce over it.

Or did he write a late-romantic composition and liberally spiced it with avant-garde elements? It doesn’t matter: the result is a perfectly balanced and extremely satisfying piece of classical music.

It was also exactly what the public needed after the horrors of the war: a composition that was new and exciting but also familiar and accessible. And with its more than fifty instrumental parts and two three-part choruses, it perfectly fitted the British love for pomp and circumstance.

Successfully launched into eternal fame

The emerging record industry also jumped on the success of The Planets. Jupiter was already recorded in 1922. A complete recording – conducted by the composer himself – followed in 1926. You can listen to it here. For comparison: Le Sacre du printemps had to wait until 1928 and Schoenberg’s Fünf Orchesterstücke even longer.

And in 1983, the author of this charming article about “the new compact digital players and disks (known as CDs)”, hoped that very soon the record companies would put out something else than predictable warhorses such as the 1812 Overture, Wellingtons Sieg and … The Planets.

The Planets record sleeves

The Planets also proved to be a godsend for record sleeve designers.

The Planets: artistic anachronism …

So that’s what The Planets had quickly become in the eyes of the public and critics: a warhorse of classical music in the late-romantic style. It’s a judgment that deeply offended its composer. After all, who wants to be remembered for an artistic anachronism – no matter how successful?

It’s also a judgment that’s very unfair, inspired by the idea that ‘popular’ equals ‘inferior’ and that the only acceptable version of music history is a straight evolutionary line.

… or unintentional essay in escapism?

When you listen to The Planets, it’s hard not to be impressed by the unique sonic universe created by its composer. Because of the massive orchestra involved, its sound is big and expansive. Yet thanks to of Holst’s incredible talent as an arranger, it’s also light and transparent.

The result is music that seems to lift you up and transport you to exciting new worlds that are – at the same time – strangely familiar. It offers you a temporary escape from everyday life.

And that was not lost on an industry that specializes in such flights from reality.

From Death Star to Middle-earth

In case you were wondering, The Planets isn’t about space travel. Its inspiration is astrological rather than astronomical: Mars, Venus, Mercury, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune are character studies, not descriptions of big rocks in space.

George Lucas did not know that. Or, he didn’t care. Compiling the soundtrack for his Star Wars movies, he gave The Planets a spin. He particularly liked this fragment from Mars as the leitmotif for his main villain:

 

But he had no intention to pay any money to Holst’s descendants. So he asked composer John Williams to write something similar:

And John Williams wasn’t the only film composer inspired by Holst’s masterpiece. Echoes of The Planets also pop up in Braveheart and Battlestar Galactica.

And can you listen to this fragment from Jupiter without Middle-earth popping into your mind?

What would Holst himself have thought about all these bastard offspring versions of The Planets? Not much, probably. Though it’s safe to say it wasn’t the way he envisioned his legacy – if he had any vision of that at all.

But, as an almost contemporary of Holst – whose work suffered a similar fate – wrote: “Even the very wise cannot see all ends.”

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Can Classical Music Heighten Men’s Attractiveness? A Scientific Experiment

A couple a of weeks ago, this news came out:

Does classical music make you seem more attractive?

And it immediately drew my attention. I was particularly intrigued by this statement in the article:

“High-arousing (i.e., more complex) music affects the perception of male facial attractiveness.”

In other words, complex music is like alcohol: it will make you seem prettier than you actually are.

The researchers came to this conclusion after an experiment involving photographs and surveys. In the name of science, I decided to test this in a real-life environment. And I’m happy to share my findings with you.

Testing conditions

For this test, I first invited three blind dates over for dinner (never you mind where I got them from). As background music, I chose the most complex classical music I could find: a piano piece by Brian Ferneyhough. Mister Ferneyhough’s music is categorized as New Complexity, because – I guess – the old complexity wasn’t nearly complex enough. It looks and sounds like this:

Scientifically speaking, if this doesn’t put the ladies in the mood, I don’t know what will.

Of course, no experiment is reliable without a control group. So the next evening I invited three other blind dates (never you mind where I got them from). And his time I played piano music which is significantly less complex, by Ludovico Einaudi. It looks and sounds like this:

Good to know: to rule out any fluctuations in attractiveness, I wore the same outfit on both evenings.

Nerdy classical music T-shirt

I think it says: ‘nerdy, yet confident’.

The results

Are you ready to be surprised? The women whom I treated to my tofu-tournedos Rossini with Ferneyhough playing in the background, did not seem impressed by my attractiveness. The reactions I recorded were:

  • What the hell is that noise?
  • Maybe we could listen to some music?
  • Oh my God, you’re a serial killer, aren’t you?

The Einaudi control group, on the other hand, made encouraging comments such as:

  • Maybe we could listen to some music?
  • What the hell am I eating?
  • I think you and I could be great friends.

Still got it

Conclusion?

Best stick with alcohol.

Want to keep up with my classical musings? Then you’re very welcome to follow me on Facebook, Twitter or both.