#triple concerto

[gasparodasalo]

Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) - Brandenburg Concerto No. 5 for Flute, Violin, Harpsichord and Strings in D-Major, BWV 1050, I. Allegro. Performed by Siegbert Rampe/La Stravaganza on period instruments.

[lesser-known-composers]

Emánuel Moór (1863-1931) - Triple Concerto in D-minor, Op. 70 (1907)

Mov.I: Allegro, molto moderato Mov.II: Intermezzo. Allegro moderato Mov.III: Adagio Mov.IV: Allegro con brio

Ensemble: The Storioni trio :

Piano: Bart van de Roer,

ViolinWouter Vossen – violin, Laurentius Storioni, Cremona 1794

Cello: Marc Vossen – cello Giovanni Grancino, Milan 1700

Orchestra: Deutsche Radio Philharmonie Saarbrücken Kaiserslautern Conductor: Pablo González

[otabekisautistic]

i have enough money from christmas and credit card rewards and months of over-budgeting to get ice flys ✌🏼

[supercantaloupe]

YESSSS VIOLIN CONCERTO BRACKET START FISTFIGHTS !!! also more generally a concerto bracket would be so fun. rach piano 2 vs shostakovich cello 1. fight -lexi

the thing is if you tried to do a concerto bracket for all instruments the violins would sweep anyway no matter what LOL. so much of it is a numbers game in this case. like i remember the music festival i played one summer with a concerto competition with separate sections for "violins" "young violins" "lower strings" "literally everybody else"...maybe someone could run a bracket like that, do separate prelim brackets for violins, pianos, lower strings, and wind/brass, and then put the winners from those individual brackets together in a final? no matter what i think it would be Hilarious to see the violin players of tumblr ripping each other to shreds over like. brahms vs tchaikovsky or whatever

[corner-stories]

a certain edge

Annie Leonhardt. Armin Arlert. Triple Axels. Shit-Eating Falls. Pieck Being Pieck. Figure Skating AU. 1478 words. (ao3.)

Being an athlete nowadays requires a certain level of media presence, usually in the form of an online following. Admittedly, this is something Annie is quite unprepared for, as most of her training involves spinning around on knife shoes and not maintaining a sizable Instagram following. But in this instance she��s fortunate to have her rinkmates by her side, people who understand her plight and are willing to help. 

So a few weeks before the start of the season, when the first Junior Grand Prix assignments are looming over every skater like a mountain to be climbed, Annie is working on her social media presence, of all things. But at least she can see the purpose of such a thing, as posting a preview of her free skate is both an opportunity to drum up hype for the upcoming competitions and show off one of her shiny new jumps. 

Of all the other female singles skaters in the rink, Annie had always found herself lacking a certain edge — a little bit of sauce, a dash of spice, something that could differentiate her from the others. But from now on history can say that while Historia has the quads and Hitch has the stage presence, Annie is the one with the triple axel. Hopefully that in itself will not just push her up from third or fourth place, but to the top of the podium itself. 

Though realistically she might be relegated to second, as Annie doesn’t think Historia will be losing her “Quad Goddess” status any time soon.

With Armin playing the part of cinematographer and Pieck playing the part of DJ, Annie glides across the rink with the grace of a wayward snow spirit looking for its soul. The music of her free skate plays into every corner of the venue, the chaotic melodies of Rachmaninoff imbuing the air as she moves from element to element. She weaves through a step sequence with a kind of deathly precision, as if the blades of her skates are cutting deeper and deeper into the ice. 

Her mind is focused on her skating, but in the corner of her eye Annie can see Armin being the best boyfriend in the rink — as with his smartphone in hand he follows her every movement, making sure to keep her in frame as he records the routine. Additionally, she is able to spot Pieck near the rink stereo, only briefly noticing the look of wonder in the pairs skater’s eyes. 

Annie keeps moving forward. To have a triple axel, especially at her age, is a blessing from the skating gods — let alone one that feels like her other jumps. All the hours that Zeke spent aiding her with a harness had amounted to something. So with a deep breath Annie does a mighty leap and leaves the ice, the three-and-a-half rotations soon fading into a blur, and before she knows it she’s landed on her right leg and is gliding backwards, having completed a successful, competently rotated jump. 

Annie sees the proud smile on Armin’s face as she goes to the end of her routine. The sound of Pieck cheering from the booth mixes with the music as well. 

The choreo sequence is usually where Annie can let go, even just slightly. Her usual iciness fades for a moment, allowing her to breathe and let herself be enchanted by the melodies. Rachmaninoff’s second piano concerto continues to play as she dances like a madwoman in the attic. 

But perhaps Annie takes things a bit too far. She’s not sure exactly how it happens, but as she moves her toepick digs into the ice at the wrong place and wrong time, then before she knows it she’s been thrown off balance and is falling forward. 

Annie’s years of skating have attuned her to tripping, so thankfully she is able to take her tumble without hitting anything important. The process is messy and for a moment she feels the front of her torso touching the ice, but as long as it’s not her head she’s up almost as quickly as she fell. She doesn’t see their reactions, but she can already imagine the look of shock on Armin’s face and the look of amusement in Pieck’s. 

Sucking in a breath, Annie hops into her final element — a camel spin, then a smooth transition into a biellmann and a sit. In the final bars of the concerto she stands straight and pulls her arms to her chest, twirling faster than she ever has in her routine. Then when the music stops Annie faces one side of the rink and gets into her final pose, a sudden pastiche of the way a Renaissance painting’s subject would be positioned. 

Only a few seconds pass before Annie hears Pieck clapping. She catches her breath and looks to Armin, who stops recording to put his phone down and do the same. Despite reliving the very fresh memories of eating shit on the ice, Annie takes in faint praise as she stands up straight. She dusts the extra snow off her training clothes as she approaches Armin.

“Brava! Brava!” Pieck lauds from her spot. “Nine and three-quarters out of ten!” She sits in her chair with her legs crossed, holding herself with the confidence of someone who knows that if Annie actually wanted to slaughter her, then she would have done it long ago. 

So instead Annie shoots Pieck a glare, but takes no further action. She focuses on Armin instead, and in a familiar routine he holds up his phone and shows her the footage of her free skate. He cuts to the chase and fast forwards to the triple axel, the thing that she actually set out to record, and Annie is utterly relieved to see that she managed to keep her left skate off the ice during her landing.

“Looks great,” Armin tells her, though Annie doesn’t believe him at first.

In her years of skating she’s used to people just saying that and not meaning it, empty words only ever meant to fill time. But when she looks over and meets Armin’s kindly gaze, there’s just something about his earnest, boyish charm that makes her believe what he says. 

He puts a hand on her shoulder and pulls her towards him, quickly pressing an affectionate kiss on her temple. The notion helps solidify his words, assuring her that he means every part. 

“And don’t worry,” he tells her. “We can cut just before that one part.”  

“Wait! Wait! I wanna see!” Pieck calls from her seat, looking about to stand up and shuffle over, dirty sneakers and all.

The two blondes heed to her request, not just because they both needed a break but also because Shadis promised to start cracking skulls if people kept stepping on the ice with street shoes. 

The three end up sitting on a nearby bench, Armin in the middle as Pieck and Annie sit on both sides of him. Annie takes a much-needed drink of water as she and her rinkmates go over the video again, this time from the start. She’s used to seeing footage of her routines, as recording and critiquing herself is common during practice, but to do so without her coach feels just a bit foreign. As she watches one of her combinations — the triple flip, euler, and triple salchow — she’s already imagining all the ways Zeke will tell her that she did something wrong. 

To be in the presence of people who are genuinely enthralled by her skating, regardless of the points she can earn, feels different. So much so that she wonders if she should get used to it. 

When the ladies and Armin finish watching the free skate, shit-eating fall and all, Annie looks over to see a mischievous smile creeping onto Pieck’s face.

“Hold up, lemme just…” the pairs skater starts. The devilish way she reaches for Armin’s phone makes Annie really wish Porco was present, as Pieck’s chaotic energy tends to be more tempered with her partner around. 

She can already anticipate what’s happening, so when Pieck scrubs through every frame of the video to find the perfect image of Annie face-planting on the ice, the delighted cackle erupting from her lips feels very typical. Even Armin manages to laugh at the image, at the way her limbs are awkwardly spread out to soften the blow.

And to think that the girl going splat on the ice is the first woman at their rink to land a triple axel.

It’s very fortunate that Annie finds the humor in it as well. In her career as a skater, her movements had often been compared to a lion, swan, or a snake. But now she can say that she truly embodied the energy, charisma, and the raw artistry of a bug on a windshield. 

[ladywaffles]

Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, Op. 18

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47442676

T | 1/1 | 2.4k

Ilsa tries to make sense of the world, after being welcomed back into the fold.

or: how the IMF learned (to varying degrees) to trust Ilsa.

Title from Sergei Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, Op. 18. I’m particularly fond of Movement II: Adagio sostenuto. Often considered one of the most popular piano concertos of all time, it was used as the score to the 1945 film Brief Encounter, and parts of it inspired Lorne Balfe’s score of Mission: Impossible — Dead Reckoning, Part One.

After two years at Lane’s side, Ilsa knows she should feel at ease in London. It is her city, her sanctuary; Lane, like her, was MI-6. He didn’t like coming back to London any more than she did, too aware of C’s eyes on him whenever his feet touched British soil.

Ethan Hunt and his IMF team have effectively freed her. Atlee confessed to setting her up; her government has taken her back. She is reinstated, avowed, welcomed back into the fold.

And yet.

She feels eyes on her everywhere she goes. It is hard for her fellow agents to trust the woman they have not seen in months, years. Some of them—the new ones, fresh-faced Oxbridge grads seduced into espionage by the false belief they could be the next Ian Fleming—do not know her as anything but a ghost story. Some of them—the older ones, her former fellow agents, already on edge and inherently distrusting, given that they are the ones who survived where their compatriots did not—still believe the story Atlee fed them: that she is a traitor to her government, her queen, her country, and she has duped them all into believing she is not, a triple agent waiting to strike.

It’s hard to let go of old habits when everyone acts as if nothing’s changed.

London is her city, it is her base. So why does it feel like she hasn’t come in from the cold until she feels familiar eyes watching her and turns to see a flash of green and a muted grin, a hooded figure that looks too much like Ethan Hunt—

And winks at her, staring her dead in the eyes, and before she can blink, her phone is buzzing with a text she knows will be from an unlisted American number with new mission parameters and he’s gone again—

Why does it feel like coming home?

///

Ethan believes her outright.

It’s the rest of them that take time to come around.

Despite the fact that he’s survived nearly three decades in their line of work, Ethan is still an optimist at heart and believes the best of people.

(“You know, he once asked me if I remembered being sweet,” Luther tells her when they’re on a sleeper train. Benji is knocked out in the bunk above her, happily snoring away. “If I could remember that far back. Ethan thinks he’s jaded, but he’s the best of all of us.”

As if I need you to tell me that, she wants to say.

“I know,” she replies instead.)

It should be Benji who opens up to her first—he’s the newest field agent of them, the easiest to dupe, the least experienced. Not to mention their shared country, even if Benji foreswore any allegiance to Her Maj when he took that IMF job.

Then again, she did stun him with a defibrillator. And shoot at him.

Brandt, she knows, will trust her when hell freezes over. Luther loves his gossip, and he coughs it up easily that Brandt was a part of the operation Ethan used to go undercover in Serbia that involved the murder of no less than seven people—and Brandt was the unwitting fool whose visceral reaction was used to sell the fact that Ethan really had gone rogue.

He’s as likely to forgive her for playing the double agent as he is to sprout wings tomorrow and start to fly.

No, it is Luther who comes around next; he too know what it is like to be disavowed by your government. There is no announcement, no balloon. One day, Luther goes from holding her at arms’ length to sharing knowing looks with her over Moroccan tea while Benji and Brandt snipe at each other.

Benji may have fooled Hunley’s polygraph for months, but she’s much better than a polygraph, and Benji’s not trying to hide as much anymore now that the IMF has been reinstated.

He openly adores Ethan, and who can blame him? They’re all here because of Ethan. Ethan is the sun they all revolve around, his gravity pulling them in closer and closer until he’s all that they can see.

It grates on Benji, that Ethan likes her and he can barely stand to be in the same room as her alone. He questions himself and his judgment of her.

But Ethan, endlessly kind and much more observant than she thinks others give him credit for, knows.

She’s not stupid. She knows that part of the reason he treats her the way he does—smiling, body relaxed, posture open—is to show the team, his team, that she is one of them. They can bring her into the fold. He is giving her his own seal of approval the best way he can.

They’re in Manila, backing up another IMF team, when it comes to a head.

Ethan is out doing what Ethan does best, which is to say, running down an agent like an idiot chicken with his head cut off, causing thousands of dollars in property damage as he does, and so it’s just Ilsa and Benji waiting for him at the extraction point.

Benji’s shoulders are hunched towards his ears as he guides Ethan through the winding market streets. A chill runs down her spine, and Ilsa puts her hand in between Benji’s shoulder blades and shoves down, just as a hail of bullets rains through the walls. She puts her body over Benji’s; she can barely hear him yelling directions at Ethan, the automatic rifles pounding through her ears.

She grabs her pistol and waits for a moment, but before she can return fire, a bomb goes off and Benji sighs.

“That’ll be Luther and Brandt. C’mon, we should get going before they come back.” Ilsa lets him help her up.

“Thank you,” Benji says.

“For what?”

“Saving me. I guess Ethan was right.”

She raises an eyebrow, and Benji huffs a laugh as he runs down the stairs to the idling van where Luther and Brandt wait for them.

“I can trust you with my life. Sorry it took so long.”

He slides the door open for her, ever the gentleman.

“I can’t say I blame you,” she says with a wry smile. “But I’m happy you’ve realized that. The feeling is entirely mutual.”

“What’re you yapping about? We’ve got places to go!” Brandt yips from the passenger seat.

“Oh, nothing,” Benji says as he slams the door shut behind him. “Just how I’ve finally confessed my undying love for Ilsa, and we’re going to elope in Vegas the second you turn your backs.”

Ilsa grins, toothy and bright, as Luther hits the gas and they all go flying down the road.

///

Benji is playing barista in the lobby while Ethan tries to break into the building from the roof. It’s been a whirlwind of activity since MI-6 officially “loaned” Ilsa to the IMF. In theory, she still owes her allegiance to Queen Elizabeth and Great Britannia; in practice, Ilsa has made a bubble for herself with Ethan’s merry band of men.

She sits shotgun in the utility van they’ve coopted as their mobile base. Brandt is behind the wheel. He’ll let anyone drive but her.

Ilsa turns off her radio and cuts him off before he can work himself up. “I know you don’t like me,” she says bluntly. “I don’t need you to like me. I don’t care, frankly, if you do. But I do need you to trust me, however little that may be.”

Brandt’s jaw clenches.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he starts. “You’re too good of an agent. To go undercover for two years, limited check-ins, almost no handling…. It’s hard. You sold it to Lane. You sold it to your country. How am I ever supposed to know if what you’re telling me isn’t a lie?”

“You were an analyst,” she says. “Analyze me.”

“That’s not my job on this team,” he grits out. “I don’t get to judge.”

“You’re right, it’s not.”

It’s Ethan’s, goes unsaid between them.

“But you do it anyway,” she states.

His grip tightens on the wheel. For a spy, he’s doing a terrible job of masking his emotions. Then again, he has no reason to hide the fact that she makes him uncomfortable.

“I keep it to myself,” he mutters.

“You don’t have to. I thought that was the whole point of Ethan’s team. Being open with each other. It’s unnerving, I understand. I’m British, the stiff upper lip comes much more naturally. And in our line of work, trust can get you killed.”

Brandt turns to look at her finally, fully engaging in the game of wits they’re playing.

“Lane trusted you.” Ilsa scoffs. “Lane didn’t trust me. He needed my skillset and my access. ”

“Ethan trusts you.”

“Ethan Hunt is a good man. I would never do him harm willingly.”

“And unwillingly?” Brandt asks.

She shifts in her seat, redistributing her weight. She’s starting to lose feeling in her legs. They never do tell you how much of espionage is hurrying up to wait for hours on end.

“There are casualties. But I do not intend for Ethan to ever be one of mine.”

Brandt tilts his head back ever so slightly.

Approval.

“You can’t protect him forever, you know,” Ilsa tells him. “It’s not your job to keep Ethan safe. Ethan is more than capable of doing that himself.

“I let him down once before.”

“And you think he holds that against you? From what I’ve heard, he couldn’t care less about that. You played your part perfectly,” she says.

Ilsa quirks an eyebrow. “Unless… You’re still angry that he played you?”

Brandt looks away. Bullseye.

She wants to laugh, but it would be cruel. “We’re all pawns in the game, Brandt. We use each other and burn each other and leave and do it all again the next day. If you can’t handle that, then why are you still here? It’s messy out here in the field. Go back to your desk, be an analyst again. Do good work from there. ”

“Because I believe,” Brandt says. He reaches over and turns her comms back on, and that ends the conversation.

She understands. It’s as good as she’ll ever get from Brandt. Even the most cynical of agents would fall victim to it, Ilsa thinks to herself.

Ethan Hunt is a force of nature. It’s hard to go back to real life, once you’ve had a taste of him.

///

“I thought you were bad news,” Luther offers. They’re in Miami, fresh off of a flight from the middle of nowhere after thirty-six hours of running down the newest threat to global security. Ethan handed them all hotel room keys and told them to shower, sleep, and eat. Ilsa fell face-first into bed and slept until sundown.

After a shower and a selection of the best street food Little Havana had to offer, she and Luther returned to the hotel bar. They’re sipping daiquiris, watching the night life explode around them.

“I know,” she laughs.

“You remind me of a woman I used to know,” he says. “She was brilliant and smart, and Ethan loved her.”

“He’s too kind for the likes of us,” Ilsa replies.

“I didn’t like you. I didn’t want to. I’ve watched Ethan go down this road before. The last time I had to pull him out of it, I ended up scuba diving in the San Francisco Bay to retrieve an unexploded nuclear ordnance that nearly ended life as we know it.”

Ilsa sips at her daiquiri; the rum is making her cheeks flush. Benji told her this story on one of the long flights they took, crossing from one corner of the world to the next. She knows how it ends.

“I’m flattered that you think that, Luther, but—”

“I’ve known Ethan longer than anyone. Don’t tell me that I’m wrong. I’m not. Ethan doesn’t let people in like he used to. I knew him when we were fresh-faced kids who didn’t know a goddamn thing. So when I tell you that Ethan has kept you here for a reason, I am telling the absolute truth.”

“Of course he needs me,” Ilsa says. “Otherwise you’d only have Brandt left to help keep him and Benji out of trouble, and where would that leave us?” she jokes, smiling easily with the alcohol in her system.

But Luther is stoic. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“Don’t hurt him,” he says. It’s not an order, more of a request—an entreaty.

“I don’t mean to.”

“And that’s why you will, eventually.”

Ilsa watches the boats on the water, bobbing through the tides. The sails stand out bright against the inky darkness of the night.

“You all love him so much,” Ilsa says. “He can take care of himself.”

“He can,” Luther agrees. “But we care about him enough that he doesn’t have to do it himself.”

///

In her line of work, there is no such thing as personal space. Close quarters are simply an occupational hazard.

Why she’s ended up in the trunk of the getaway car, pressed on top of Ethan as they brace themselves against the walls with every wild turn that Brandt takes, she could not explain.

“Are you okay?” Ethan asks. “I’m not squishing you, am I?”

“Ethan, I’m on top of you. I should be the one asking that question.”

“But I’d never tell if you were,” he says with a toothy grin. “I was married once. I know better than to say anything.”

In the space between breaths, he becomes solemn again. He’s probably seeing his wife’s face.

“Is she safe?” Ilsa asks.

“As safe as she can be, after being married to me,” Ethan answers.

“Not as safe as you’d like her, then.”

He smiles sadly. “If I had my way, I’d know where she was, locked away in a part of my brain that no one else could get to. Just for my own peace of mind, to know that she’s happy and alive. Thriving. That’s all I wanted for her.”

“But you can’t.”

“But I can’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” “Still,” she says. “I’m sorry. Our lives are not easy. But there are people who love you.”

“The best people in the world,” Ethan agrees.

“Doesn’t it ever grate on you? How they hover?”

He shakes his head. “No.” He stares at her. Even in the dark, his eyes are bright. “I understand why they do it. They mean the best, in their own ways.”

Brandt hits a curb, and Ethan’s arms circle her waist, pulling her to his chest to keep her from hitting the top of the trunk.

“Thank you,” she tells him.

She means it.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

After conducting Wagner, Beethoven's triple concerto is like taking an Alka Seltzer.

Zubin Mehta

For more than 60 years, Zubin Mehta has been at the top of his profession. He was head of some of some of the world’s greatest orchestras including the New York Philharmonic and the Bavarian State Opera. But at 87 years old, The Indian Parsee born Zubin Mehta is getting frail. Music lovers should treasure him as he is alas one of the last of an important generation of Viennese trained conductors that included his classmate Claudio Abbado.

Photo: Mehata conducts the Staatsoper Berlin during a performance of Wagner and Bruckner, 9 July 2023.

[ex-ante-leocante]

Hello, fellow wanderers, this is Leocante from Ao3

Started as a Breddy shipper (Concerto For Two Violins),

stuck with All For The Game (Coffee & Lies, trivial questions about a triple murder (with answers), Why do we feel alone?),

sometimes I sparkle in something else for enrichment. I'm a multishipper and a multifandomist at heart, after all.

Feel free to ask me about anything I've written or what I'm in the process of writing! (Or, just, you know, anything in general. I swear I'll try to answer.)

<3

Works currently in the progress:

All For The Game:

Baltimore's Fireflies - bodyguard/mafia boss Andreil war of the gangs AU, over whopping 30k words hiding in my drafts at this point

hoist the colours high - pirates of the carribean AU where Neil is on the run with a compas that doesn't point north and where Kevin has his arm broken, part Andreil, part Kevaaron + past Aariko to spice things up

untitled (working name Raven) - Aaron is in the nest over the winter break instead of Neil to protect his brother, Aariko with background JeanRiko, and twinyard dynamics turned on its head

other, shorter thingies - prison AU, soulmate AUs (like, three widly different ones), very angsty breakup Andreil, vampire AU...

The Mechanisms:

Lyfraginning - obligatory Lyf fic, Violinspector with a prison mechs background on a polymechs background, 36k written (fuck my life, I've read the whole Poetic Edda for this)

untitled (working name Imprint) - Marius/everyone, every member of the crew meeting Marius before they knew he was immortal and before he joined them on the Aurora

untitled (working name Party) - college AU polymechs trying to lure Marius and Raphaella to join their thing through spin the bottle

Bullet train:

untitled (working name Casino) - after the train Ladybug helps Lemon find his brother, starring a series of unfortunate events and accidental tour of (mostly) European capital cities, over 22k now

untitled (working name Job) - Ladybug gets an easy job to watch over some poor fucker so he doesn't escape, turns out it's Tangerine, Tangybug house-arrest vibes

Trigun:

nuclear plant cosmic horror angel Vash appreciation hours + Wolfwood trying to prepare him for the final fight with Knives

band AU where everyone has a bad time but they play sick songs so it's all good

+

many more I'm currently forgetting. (My WIP folder is haunting me.)

[ophelia-thinks]

Bach again, and triple violin concerto, and how can this occur all over? Urgent machine voice, an interception because the fire-scorched earth no longer holds, Amador, Calaveras, San Joaquin, Stanislaus, doppler radar flash flooding, Grizzly Flat, Volcano, move away from recently burned areas, Oktoberfest radio mudslide warning in the middle of these strange duets of J.S. and the State awaken me, electrical, shocking. As when we told each other last names-- are you Professor? Joanne said. My friends love you! Then I knew I was crazy. From our hard twin beds her Norco plus my Norco only cancelled any instinct we might have had to die; better to live and leave "checked out" by getting out of Sutter Psych. Keep up the interruption, delivery by lightning: ...debris flow, move to higher ground now, act quickly to protect your life.

Sandra McPherson, The 5150 Poems

[importantwomensbirthdays]

Baiba Skride

Classical violinist Baiba Skride was born in 1981 in Riga, Latvia. Skride has worked with a number of prestigious orchestras, including the New York Philharmonic, the Boston Symphony Orchestra, the London Symphony Orchestra, and the Shanghai Symphony Orchestra. She won 1st prize at the Queen Elisabeth Competition in 2001. Skride has championed contemporary music, performing the world premiere of Sofia Gubaidulina’s Triple Concerto for Violin, Cello, and Bayan in 2017. She is also a prolific recording artist.

[depressedraisin]

when zakir hussain rakesh chaurasia and niladri kumar are playing a triple concerto for sitar tabla flute conducted by alpesh chauhan and accompanied by the symphony orchestra but you're just a broke student living in the other end of the country

[lesser-known-composers]

Emánuel Moór - Triple Concerto in D-minor, Op.70 (1907)

Mov.I: Allegro, molto moderato Mov.II: Intermezzo. Allegro moderato Mov.III: Adagio Mov.IV: Allegro con brio

Ensemble: The Storioni trio;

Piano: Bart van de Roer Violin: Wouter Vossen – violin Laurentius Storioni, Cremona 1794 Cello: Marc Vossen – cello Giovanni Grancino, Milan 1700

Orchestra: Deutsche Radio Philharmonie Saarbrücken Kaiserslautern Conductor: Pablo González

[ask-vinyl-scratch]

10/28/2010

Breakfast: Hayburger and fries

Lunch: Hayburger and fries

Dinner: nothing

Octavia told me I oughtta get a food journal going but ehhhh i dont really see the point. Neither of us can cook (Believe me, you don't want to know.) and I get free hayburgers and fries from the school so eh. whatever helps pay the bills.

oh yeah btdubs Im back in Ponyville and there's this weird rumor going around that Celestia's starting to give out tickets for the Grand Galloping Gala?? i mean holy shit talk bout the party of the season! if i got one of those tickets i could hella wubbify all the classical music and hook up some subwoofers to show those nobleponies how a Ponyville mare parties!

When Tavi heard about the rumor and about what i'd do if I got a ticket she just snorted and said, "When pigs fly, perhaps." Well, Octy, I'll have you know that the Celestial Guard does fly! Zing! Checkmate, eediot!

...Sorry.

But damn I want those tickets! Tavi makes the Grand Galloping Gala seem like a boring ol sfuffy-flank barrel-bucking see-saw of ancient ponies doing clotheshorse stuff, but I still really wanna go, if only to embarrass those noblemares by kissing them if not anything else. No, wait, eugh. I think I'd just kiss Tavi in the middle of one of her Triple G concertos!!!!!!!! <3

Buck, I'd kill for a ticket!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Guess it's a good thing nopony I know has a ticket. But I'm always on the watch...! I staked out Sugarcube Corner the ohter day, asking my main mare Pinkie if she saw a ticket anywhere, but unfortunately she didn't. Fortunately, she wasn't expecting me to talk.

Octavia and I played arcade games and I kicked her flank but she's salty now so I get to go to a Lunar rebellion meeting tonight instead of touching grass or indulging my marefriend. hoo ray.

oh Luna that shit was lame. i mean, no moon pies? no dream catchers for sale? literally nopony else wanted to barter with me, it's all just 'WoAhHh OvErThRoW tHe MoNaRcHy' like shut the buck up bitch we be balling we be livin in the moment!!!

but th

but then why won't Tavi let me cuddle................................................................................................................................................................

[musicalsiphonophore]

67 :3

67- what are your hobbies?

Playing flute is my main Thing. atm I am learning

no 8 from tricky jazz singles by russell stokes. there is no actual recordings online so all i can give you is this weird midi snippet. it’s super pretty. the flexibility it requires though, is a bit scary, those jumps between registers are beyond me at times.

vivaldi concerto no 2 which is just lovely. i especially like the fourth movt (starts at 5:03). and the second movt (starts at 2:28ish). though i play it quite differently to ol’ Mr Galway in the second movement, my articulation and dynamics is far less stylistically accurate for baroque music, but sounds far better.

allegro malincolico by poulenc (though with great reluctance, it’s such a boring piece and I hate it and wish I could do the Burton sonatina instead but that’s significantly harder so I must stick with this 😔), for which I will not provide a link because I wish not to impose the horrors on you all as well! I didn’t used to hate this, but lately I’ve just grown so sick of it.

And those are all ones I’m learning properly for my grade 8 so i’m all formally doing them. (Can you tell that I just choose pieces based on what has lots of double / triple tonguing? 😂 I find double tonguing fun and i’m getting pretty good at it now. partially due to it becoming a stim to just go TKTKTKTKTKTKTKTKTKKTK.)

I’m also learning

the first movement of the Burton sonatina. very very beautiful. also it’s fortissississimo a lot and I like to play loud so that’s good. but this is seriously a stunning piece, listen to it to give your ears bliss.

the great train race by ian clarke. SO FUN I FUCKIG ADORE IT it involves making train whistles with the flute and humming while playing and all sorts it’s so fun. my flute teacher has a model train big enough to sit on and he said one time i should play this piece while going round on the model train and i agree wouldn’t that be fantastic

and the chaminade concertino! SO FUN BUT SO FRIGHTHENING! I accompanied somebody else playing this piece a few months ago, which was great. Music starts at 2:18 in the vid. I’m very proud of how well I can play the scary fast middle section at 5:53 (well. “well” in this case is messy, out of tune and tonally inconsistent, but i’m still proud because it’s very very difficult).

Though those are more me doing extra things so my teacher’s less involved in them, I really love all three of those pieces.

I actually had an orchestra rehearsal this morning! In that, I’m playing the Farandole by Bizet (from Arlesienne), which is very exciting as the flute part is big and important, and as I’ve played it a lot it’s no longer embarrassing to play it and fumble over the semiquavers.

I also play the piano, but I’m bad at that, whereas with flute I play well sometimes. I’m learning a bunch of Tom Lehrer music on the piano atm (masochism tango I can do, and we will all go together when we go I’ve been struggling to learn because it’s hard, and poisoning pigeons in the park i’m in the process of learning).

Also, I’ve not been doing it as much lately due to exams, but I like to edit wikipedia and research / study things in my spare time a lot because I’m a nerd. not sure if that counts as a hobby but i think it probably should count.

I also really want to get into spec bio. That’s something I shall try out after exams.

[sudrien]

Triple concerto for faucet, water pipes and fiddle.

[sarahtheflutist]

Ludwig van Beethoven

Triple Concerto in C Major, Op. 56

I. Allegro

Performed by:

Anne Sophie Mutter

Mark Zeltser

Yo-Yo Ma

Berliner Philharmoniker witht Herbert von Karajan