#elgar

[masonyin]

50 composers

[secretwhumplair]

The tutors

909 words | The black prince [WT] (sequel to Lessons)

Content | Just. Anxiety, power imbalance

Notes | Elgar and the royals meet their language tutors!

There's not much in this episode but I'm happy to return to their story c: I actually wrote a much tastier bit too but alas it's from the next arc and I have as yet provided 0 of the context it needs lol. Soon (maybe)

Taglist | @echo-goes-aaa @whump-blog @scoundrelwithboba @whumpcreations @neverthelass

@whumplr-reader @vampiresprite @pleasestaywithmedarling

After a few more days of travel, ever further upwards, they reached the mountain pass they had been aiming towards. It was late in the morning, and they hoped to descend from the coldest heights before nightfall.

But for now, a large valley lay draped before them, and, many miles away, upon the river meandering through it, the largest city Elgar had yet seen in Ochuria sat in it.

»Atcill!« the princess pointed out for him, and rubbed her brother across the back. »Almost home.«

At midday, they stopped at a camp they had been expected at; a handful of tents, only one fancy enough to host the prince and princess.

And from it, another Teeradian emerged.

She was dressed in fine Ochurian garb — much like him, Elgar realized a moment too late; it was easy to forget how fancy he must look now — and followed by a much younger Ochurian woman in much simpler clothes.

Both bowed to the royals, but the princess immediately hopped of her horse and hugged the Teeradian.

»Lady Hirias! Glad you could make the journey!« She spoke Teeradian, whether for the stranger’s benefit or his, Elgar wasn’t sure.

The prince next to Elgar dismounted, too, smiling and nodding at the woman; Elgar hurriedly followed.

She was awkwardly returning the princess’ hug, but her eyes were sharp, and they quickly settled on Elgar. Only when the princess let go, she turned her attention back to the royals.

»I am pleased you are well, your Highnesses.« Brief worry flickered across her face as she looked at Orafin, but he was still smiling, and she continued without comment, »This is Zizariu. State your purpose, girl.«

»I am — I am going to teach you how to sign, your Highness, if you’ll have me.« The young woman’s voice trembled a little, and her eyes were darting anxiously between the ground and the prince’s face; it was obvious she was not used to speaking to royalty.

But she was moving her hands as she spoke to demonstrate, fluidly and effortlessly.

»Her mother is deaf,« Lady Hirias explained bluntly. »She serves in the palace; a chef, I believe.«

Zizariu nodded, clearly still a little breathless from the company she was in.

»Thank you.« The princess smiled at her. »Your services — and your mother’s, I’ll say — are much appreciated.«

»Your Highness.«

»And this is Elgar.« The princess gestured at him far more dramatically than Elgar would have liked.

»I figured,« Lady Hirias said, raising an eyebrow and examining him head to toe. Elgar felt like sinking into the ground from the attention. »I hope you’re a bit quicker on the uptake than his Highness here.«

Only the slightest shadow of a smile gave away the playfulness of her tease. Orafin, though, just rolled his eyes and gave Elgar a pat on the arm.

»Lady Hirias will be teaching you Ochurian from here on out,« the princess said with a warm smile; surely his concern must be showing on his face.

»Yes, I — I figured that,« he replied weakly. »Milady,« he added quickly. The etiquette lessons the royals had been imparting on him felt an impossible bar to cross, far too many little rules to ever remember them all, but he could remember stuff like this — things that made some shadow of sense.

She cocked her head, and Elgar immediately realized she could hear, unlike the Ochurians, how lowly and peasant he sounded.

But she said nothing.

The princess chattered on as lunch was readied for them — still three meals every day, and still Elgar felt like it was a dream — and answered the burning question he didn’t dare ask.

»Lady Hirias has joined the intelligence corps when she came here, and now she’s retired, she’s teaching instead. She has rendered this country a great deal of service — kind of like you,« she added in what could only be a joke.

But something in Elgar’s mind clicked at the story. »You’re — you’re Lady Sirvi Hirias. You disappeared…«

Lady Hirias raised an eyebrow. »For a street urchin, you must have been paying close attention to court gossip.«

He hadn’t; everyone had heard of the lady’s disappearance and presumed death. The words burst out before he could stop himself. »You’re a traitor!«

Lady Hirias kept a straight face. »Kind of like you.«

Elgar was already in the process of trying to melt out of sight from the sudden bout of unexpected boldness, and now he had to reckon with being called a traitor.

Maybe he was. But Teeradia had never done much for him. The Ochurian royal family, on the other hand-

Lady Hirias nodded at him, pleased. »You see what I mean.«

The prince curiously looked back and forth between them, and Elgar wasn’t sure how to begin explaining. But then the prince just took his hand, squeezing it; he must have sensed his discomfort; and suddenly Elgar felt silly. It was nothing. What did it matter to him whether the lady had been loyal to the government of a country he had long since left behind?

What mattered was whether his efforts in her lessons would be appreciated, and he just had made it that much harder for himself. »I’m sorry,« he muttered, but of course it was too late.

Lady Hirias’ sharp eyes rested on him a moment longer, then she turned away, and the little smile he thought he caught in the corner of her mouth did not bode well.

[gasparodasalo]

Edward Elgar (1857-1934) - Serenade for Strings in e-minor, Op. 20, I. Allegro piacevole. Performed by Kenneth Slowik/The Smithsonian Chamber Players on period instruments.

[secretsmutcorner]

Commiseration

401 words | The black prince [WT]

Content | NSFWhump, explicit noncon, slavery, begging, degradation, crying, multiple whumpees, mention of: punishment

Notes | Orafin and Elgar (... mostly Elgar) are having a bad night during their captivity.

Taglist | @scoundrelwithboba

Orafin’s back was bleeding after another punishment. Everything hurt.

But that wasn’t why he was quietly weeping in his spot on the naked floor under his master’s bed. At least not the half of it.

Above him, the bed creaked with the force of Elgar being railed into it, easily for the dozenth time this night. Their master had invited some of his friends to come play with his pretty toy, and they had been at it for hours. At first, Elgar had pretended to enjoy it in a futile attempt to appease them, but he had long since given up, his moans and little whimpers giving way to sobs and cries of pain; at least when his voice wasn’t wholly smothered by—as Orafin could imagine only too vividly—another cock rammed down his throat.

It didn’t stop his tormentors from adding insult to injury. »You’re enjoying this, little whore, aren’t you?«

And Elgar, robbed of all strength to resist, could only sob out the answer that would spare him later punishment. »Yes, sir.«

Orafin had to stifle his own sobs. It certainly wasn’t his place to cry over this, even if there wasn’t the looming punishment for making himself known. He wasn’t who was suffering.

»Please-«

No. There was nothing Orafin could do, but he had so hoped that Elgar would be able to resist the urge to beg. He had been getting better at it, Orafin felt, but he couldn’t blame him for his willpower failing him.

»Please what, pretty thing?«

There was only one answer their master would accept to this question, too. Elgar had been trained too well, had suffered too much for refusing it to fight back now, and Orafin knew it.

Elgar let out a desperate wail. »Please, Master-«

»Please what?«

For a moment, there was nothing but shuddering breath. »Please f-fuck me harder.«

The jeers and laughter nearly drowned out the scream that followed.

And Orafin could do nothing but weep for the only soul that had shown him any kindness in this unending nightmare.

He reached up and pressed a hand against between the slats, where he felt Elgar’s weight against the mattress. He didn’t know whether Elgar could even feel him, nor whether the reminder of another witness to his degradation wouldn’t make him feel worse.

But he hoped he would find the tiniest shred of comfort in not being alone.

[matt0044]

My IDW Sonic Fancast Part 3:

I've had some rethinking about Surge and Jewel since I began rewatching Sailor Moon. But there are plenty of others I didn't cover before.

So... here we go:

"D.C. Douglas as Clutch The Opossum” - As a shady business man with a mug that just screams, "I'm bad news," a smooth and calm voice like that of Yoshikage Kira would be perfect. A cadence that would get people to let down their guard with him since he seems mean but sounds so refined. But like Yoshikage Kira, his dapper facade belies a heart of depravity.

Example:

“Michael Sorich as Nite The Owl” - While a live action role inspired me, Sorich’s performance as Woody in VR Troopers made me think of Nite. He’d be able to capture his jovial demeanor and would work brilliantly with the mounting horror of the Metal Virus in terms of mood shifts in the story.

Example:

“Amanda Celine Miller/Bennet Abara as Surge The Tenrec” - In Sailor Moon, Makoto Kino was kicked out of her school for defending others against bullies and is seen as a sukeban (delinquent girl) only for Usagi to find she’s good hearted. Amanda Celine Miller was a fan of the character and it shows in her performance as Sailor Jupiter’s new voice actress.

How would this shake out for Surge? Well, for me, I think Amanda’s smooth yet tough tone as Mako would lend itself well for the Tenrec when she’s unapologetically villainous. As if Mako really was the bad girl she was seen as.

However, in the event of Surge turning herself around, Amanda’s performance would be able to mellow out into something still Surge-y but also able to come off more heroic. A real punk if you will.

Examples:

“Derek Stephan Prince as Rough and Tumble” - Two for the price of one. Derek's voice for Impmon would fit Rough with his fast talking New Yorker voice. Given it's a Joe Pesci impression, it'd be a good callback to the wet bandits. Badabing-badaboom.

Meanwhile, the voice of Elgar from Power Rangers Turbo would be a perfect fit for the more slow-witted Tumble.

"Stephanie Sheh as Jewel The Beetle" - I feel like Sheh's performance as the ditzy Usagi Tsukino would transfer well into Jewel's neurotic sense of order as well as how she can get anxious pretty quick. Give it a bit of a nasally quality and it'd fit perfectly.

And that's that. Feel free to voice your agreements or disagreements.

[senfonikankara]

Edward Elgar | Sonata for Violin and Piano

Erkin Onay & Gülsin Onay

[hanselw]

Grieg&Elgar's Musiks. They're a teenage idol group managed by Handel (who is said to be Bach's old friend), competitors of ClaKla but they are privately friends.

The cane of Elgar releases Musiks by touching the ground with. The number of touches, frequency, and amount of force applied (tapping or hitting) determines the Musik that is going to be released.

[sloshed-cinema]

Tár (2022)

If Mahler stated that a symphony should be the world, then Lydia Tár’s professional symphony is crumbling around her.  This is a story of grooming and professional corruption, about using power to take advantage of others and exploit them for what you desire.  Yet Todd Field resisted the urge to make a simple Harvey Weinstein type story, opting instead to use the incredibly specific and incredibly dense palette of classical music and the orchestral industry as his palette.  The movie doesn’t hold the viewer’s hand in the least; from moment one, references and nods are flying fast and loose, calling out everyone from Furtwängler and Karajan to Marin Alsop and Michael Tilson Thomas.  Hildur Guðnadóttir plays a clever double-role, mentioned by name alongside peers such as Jennifer Higdon but also furnishing elements of the diegetic and non-diegetic soundscape.  Extended rehearsal sequences in Tár’s pidgin German play out free of subtitles.  The minutiae of orchestral union proceedings are debated time and again.  All of these references, all of this time, all of this vocabulary is necessary to establish the zealous obsession that surrounds the craft for Tár.  She has crafted her whole identity around being the next soothsayer of the Western canon, the protégée of Bernstein himself.  More importantly, it’s a veneer of legitimacy.  It’s clear from the start that the maestro is less than “politically correct”: a dressing-down of a Juilliard student regarding his opinions on contemporary art music and views on Bach steps beyond the pale of a misguided tough love approach and more into the territory of personal attack.  But this is a pattern.  Fields approaches the everyday administrative details of Tár’s life with the same meticulousness.  Insidious little instances begin to float to the surface, indicating a predatory tendency that others notice and become increasingly intolerant toward.  The camera lingers on Lydia’s assistant Francesca as she lip-syncs her boss’s plaudits during a public interview, casts furtive glances or begins to wonder why she’s being asked certain things.  Even the matter of handing over a laptop becomes a dangerous prospect.  And the conductor’s wife and colleague, concertmaster Sharon Goodnow, becomes increasingly disillusioned with Tár’s actions as a new affair begins to become apparent in newcomer cellist Olga.  In this sense, the deliberate and clinical handling of camera in many scenes begins to build a case against the maestro, feeling in beats almost akin to The Assistant.  A specific event involving a fellow for a program Tár started for women conductors lingers in the shadows, eluded to but never fully elucidated.  Krista Taylor had no prospects in the field after Tár torpedoed her career.  The maestro insists this was due to Taylor’s mental instability, but other evidence suggests that there was a revenge aspect to this.  The fantasy life of private jets and book talks can be ripped away so quickly.

And yet the fantasy of it all does have its place in the tapestry of this narrative.  As with music, there is room for ambiguity here, space to interpret.  Especially in the back half of the film, Field calls into question Tár’s state of mind through her troubled dreams and strange nocturnal discoveries.  Distorted images of the women in her life haunt her, intertwined with moments in the Amazon recalling her past ethnomusicological work.  Yet as things begin to unravel and Tár loses the thread, the nature of objective reality becomes more tenuous.  As with the scandal reveal, it’s subtle at first.  In her rehearsal home, the maestro is haunted by a persistent doorbell sound, which heartbreakingly later turns out to be the elderly woman next door in distress.  The legacy of Krista Taylor’s fallout and eventual suicide comes in the form of labyrinthine drawings which appear in gift book inscriptions, metronome faces, or formed in clay in her adoptive daughter’s room.  Just where these come from or who makes them is never made explicit, but that doesn’t make them any less haunting for Tár.  As she courts Olga, or seduces her, the cellist becomes ever more disillusioned with Tár just as she becomes more elusive.  At one point, Tár chases Olga into the seemingly abandoned building where she perhaps resides, only to find the cellist vanished, seemingly a figment of her imagination.  Descending into the basement, she instead finds a fox or a wolf, her predatory nature turning back on her.  Ghosts haunt the periphery. By the time it has all fallen away, she rushes onto the stage mid-performance, attacking her impostor, claiming the score for herself.  It’s her work, she alone can interpret it.  Utterly fallen from grace, the final sequences play out like a sort of bizarro-world fantasy.  New York is no longer a place of glamour, but an ugly outer borough rail station, everything drab and grey and muddy.  Her final gig is the coup de grace.  She is engaged to perform a Japanese work for a Southeast Asian concert hall.  The final shot is a bitterly funny punch in the gut: she’s at the bottom of the barrel, performing video game music for a rapt audience of cosplayers.  Goodbye haughty, lofty concert halls.  

Noémie Merlant, Nina Hoss, and Sophie Kauer all turn in strong, nuanced performances.  But Cate Blanchett is the obvious powerhouse here.  She’s fun as the haughty, dismissive maestro who knows just how it’s all done.  This makes her fall all the more pathetic, not even able to see her daughter.  It’s a late scene which cements just how hard this has all hit her, and a brilliant piece of acting from Blanchett.  Sitting alone at her old family home in New York with a childhood field hockey medal around her neck, Tár watches a recording of one of Leonard Bernstein’s Young People’s Concerts where he describes how music can be used to communicate ideas words cannot.  Her face says it all: this is her whole world still, but now she no longer can access it, by her own hand.  She controlled time with her baton, but she cannot control others in the same fashion.

THE RULES

PICK ONE

Select either MAHLER FIVE or the ELGAR CELLO CONCERTO and sip whenever that work is mentioned.

SIP

Someone name-drops a composer or conductor.

The narrative transitions to a new city.

Lydia calls someone a robot.

A scene contains a language other than English spoken in dialogue.

BIG DRINK

A labyrinth is drawn on something.

Tár cuts off the orchestra during rehearsal.

[falseandrealultravival]

Salut d'amour（Greetings of Love ）：Elgar　 Classic

A woman sighed, "Why do men like the song 'Pomp and circumstance'?" I feel like I understand. It's often used in boxing title fights to honor the winner. It's probably a song that men like. On the other hand, in the case of “Salut d'amour ”, she will accept the orthodox love song. Episodes of two of Elgar's masterpieces. But as a man, I prefer Pomp and circumstance.

愛の挨拶（エルガー）　クラシック

「なんで男のひとは、”威風堂堂”なんて曲が好きなの？」と嘆息した女性がいた。わからんでもない。ボクシングのタイトルマッチで、勝者を称えるときによく使われるし。男性好みの曲ではあろう。いっぽう”愛の挨拶”の場合、正統的なラブソング、その彼女も受け入れるだろう。エルガーの代表作2曲のエピソード。でも、男の私は、「威風堂堂」のほうをより好む。

[opera-ghosts]

OTD in Music History: Composer and conductor Edward Elgar (1857 - 1934) is born in England. Although Elgar is often regarded as a prototypically “English” composer, most of his musical influences were not from England, but rather from continental Europe -- i.e., Johannes Brahms (1833 - 1897), Antonin Dvorak (1841 - 1904), and Richard Strauss (1864 - 1949). Furthermore, in many ways, Elgar actually felt himself to be an outsider in British society. In musical circles dominated by academics, he was a self-taught composer; in Protestant Britain, his Roman Catholicism was regarded with suspicion in some quarters; and in the highly class-conscious society of the Victorian and Edwardian Eras, he always remained acutely aware of his own humble origins (even after he achieved an international artistic reputation and secured financial independence). Among Elgar's best-known compositions are the "Enigma Variations", the "Pomp and Circumstance" marches, concertos for violin and cello, and two symphonies. He also composed a number of large-scale choral works (most famously the "The Dream of Gerontius"), as well as a wide array of chamber music and songs. He was appointed to the prestigious position of "Master of the King's Musick" in 1924. Views of Elgar's proper stature in the world of "classical" music have varied widely in the decades since he first rose to prominence at the beginning of the 20th Century. Famed conductors like Hans Richter (1843 - 1916) and Arthur Nikisch (1855 - 1922) both rated him very highly; by contrast, however, Herbert von Karajan (1908 - 1989) summarily dismissed his "Enigma Variations" as "second-hand Brahms"... PICTURED: A c. 1910s real photo postcard showing the middle-aged Elgar seated in a formal pose.

[secretwhumplair]

Visitors

958 words | The black prince [WT] (after The tutors)

Content | Anxiety, touch of fantasy racism

Notes | Little timeskip because... hm. I'll write about the language lessons eventually probably

Orafin and Elgar have arrived at House Borrim, the countryside estate they'll recover at. They're too busy to angst much :( Better luck next episode hopefully >:)

Taglist | @echo-goes-aaa @whump-blog @scoundrelwithboba @whumpcreations @neverthelass

@whumplr-reader @vampiresprite @pleasestaywithmedarling

As much as the crown had promised the estate would be »quiet«, the prince was receiving guests every day: nobles and other rich or important people, Elgar didn’t know, all wishing to see the prince, make sure he was alright, and that he knew they were all thinking of him.

Sometimes they came »alone«, which was what the prince called it when one of them arrived with only their attendants of lesser status, regardless if there was suddenly a dozen people more in the house. Sometimes they visited by twos and threes, and once a group of five dropped in all at once. The prince had a stern word with the secretary—or whatever his position might have been called—in charge of managing the visits after, and it didn’t happen again.

Even so, it was exhausting.

Technically, Elgar hadn’t been required to stay with the prince during these visits. But he didn’t know what else to do — the thought of running into a visitor, servant or not, on his own somewhere was terrifying, and sometimes even being alone, away from the prince’s protection, made him nervous. And then, more and more, as the prince started to sign at least his greetings and such, he found himself translating for him.

It simply happened, at first. It was too awkward to bear to see the prince sign a warm welcome at another noble and be met with confused looks.

Maybe these people should learn to understand sign. Maybe they would have to. But there were always new ones, so it seemed like it would never end.

And if he was honest… he was glad to be helping the prince out, even in such a little, insignificant way. It felt like he was doing something to earn what he was getting.

»Your Highness! Permit me-«

Today’s visitor was a young man who, compared to the people who had dropped by so far, looked downright bedraggled. Fancy, still, but a bit disorderly, his hair in disarray and his clothes in creases.

But the prince had leapt to his feet when the doorman had announced one Baron Lifan Irozaen, and once he saw him, skipped past any words and threw his arms around him.

»I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier,« the visitor mumbled into his shoulder, holding him tight, and sounded like he meant it. »I was on the road, down south managing shipments, I came as fast as I could — oh, my Prince, I’m so glad you’re alive.«

The prince patted the baron’s back, and when they parted, there were tears in his eyes. But then, he quickly turned and gestured at Elgar, smiling.

They had agreed on this procedure. The prince couldn’t introduce Elgar, so he had to do it himself.

»I am… Elgar, your, uh… Baron. His Highness and I… escaped together. It is an honour to meet you.«

The baron, exchanging a quick glance with the prince, crossed the distance between them in two long strides, and clasped Elgar’s hands in his own.

»I didn’t think I’d be saying this to a Teeradian, but thank you,« he said. »His Highness has written to me about… your services. Your great courage.«

Words failed Elgar; he had no idea what to do with the nobleman suddenly holding his hands almost like an equal. He threw a desperate glance at the prince, who smiled and nodded at him, but then, sensing his distress, moved in and laid a hand on the baron’s shoulder.

The baron furrowed his brow in confusion, but chased it off with a smile as he let go of Elgar, and followed the prince to a couch.

There they sat, exchanging tales scrawled hastily on the prince’s slate, or caught between the baron’s rapid speech and exuberant gestures.

They were too fast for Elgar to follow, but he didn’t remember ever seeing the prince smile so much.

*

Another day had passed, and it was time to sup and retire. Orafin was starting to get used to it, again. At first, resuming his duties in welcoming guests had felt stressful, but it came more naturally every day.

A few of them Orafin considered genuine friends, and every one had been wonderful to see again when he had almost thought he never would. But hugging Lifan again was on a whole different level. His heart felt warm and alive.

»Who was that?« Elgar asked. He was getting more comfortable just talking to him, Orafin felt — asking questions and even making requests sometimes. The other day after dinner he had, very quietly, entrusted to Orafin that he disliked artichokes, and would prefer not to be served them again. It was such a silly little thing, but Orafin had stifled his laughter. This all had been hard for Elgar, and he didn’t want to ruin the progress he was making towards being as comfortable as he deserved to be.

»My friend,« was all he could sign yet in response, but that didn’t begin to cover it. He wrote on his slate, carefully printing each letter — Elgar was making great progress with his reading, but he didn’t need to make it harder for him. My best friend in the whole world.

Elgar read, his brows knitted together in concentration. Then, he smiled — his smiles kept coming easier, too, although there was a glint of concern in his eyes; Orafin didn’t know what for. »Ah. You must be… I mean, obviously you were very glad to see him again.«

Orafin simply nodded, smiling himself. He’d see Lifan a lot, at least for a while, and that was wonderful. The baron loved to keep busy, but Orafin had no doubt he’d make time for him.

It feels like things are going to be okay.

[the-perilous-chapel]

Without a doubt, my favourite film. Haunting, haunted, resonant. The music of Elgar echoes through the Malvern landscape, awakening a boy’s consciousness and sexuality - and manifests the ghost of Penda, the last Pagan King in England. 

“Be secret. Child, be Strange. Dark, True, Impure, and Dissonant.”

Penda’s Fen (1974) | dir. Alan Clarke

[mozart2006]

Festspielhaus Baden-Baden - Sol Gabetta e Mikko Franck

Foto ©Andrea Kremper L’ Orchestre Philharmonique de Radio France sta effettuando in questi giorni una tournée europea sotto la guida di Mikko Franck, Continue reading Festspielhaus Baden-Baden – Sol Gabetta e Mikko Franck

[senfonikankara]

Gülsin Onay & Erkin Onay 

Bilkent Konser Salonu  23 Mayıs 2024 Perşembe, 20:00

Elgar | Sonat op.82

Elgar | İzmir'de

Bartók | 7 Eskiz

Saygun | Aksak Tartılar Üzerine

Saygun | Demet