We have collected enough unconventional concerti to finally give them their own category. You can click the li’l link underneath this post’s title and scroll down to find works such as William Russo’s Three Pieces for Blues Band and Orchestra and Johann Georg Albrechtsberger’s Concerto for Jew’s Harp, Mandora and Orchestra.

Believe it or not, when Mozart composed for the our familiar friend the clarinet, it was in its modern incarnation a fairly novel instrument to be given such serious treatment. Within a hundred years it was a standard part of the orchestra. Albrechtsberger’s concerto for the jew’s harp (actually one of at least a half dozen he composed) may not have had the same uplifting effect on the popularity of its solo instrument, but this is not necessarily so for other stringed instruments. To this end we offer today Johann Hoffmann’s Concerto for Mandolin and Orchestra in D Major, written around the same time the clarinet was earning its seat in the pit.

We do not know as much about Hoffmann, a figure so shadowy in German music that his first name is uncertain. He was a mandolin virtuoso, and he may have taken an Italian name, Giovanni, to expand his audience. We know him today primarily because of his two concerti, which are more than mere vehicles for the mandolin and express the influence of Haydn and Mozart.

The challenge in composing a concerto for an instrument such as the mandolin is that it cannot produce sustained notes. The liner notes to this 1978 Turnabout recording point out that Hoffmann is clever in his approach to this problem, in particular in the second andante con variazioni movement of this concerto where the orchestra is assigned the melody and the solo instrument performs arpeggios, producing the chords in rising and falling succession.

Just as the clarinet has a long history before it found its modern form, the mandolin has been our musical companion for millennia. A painting in France’s Trois-Frères Cave, dating to about 12,000 BC, depicts a single stringed instrument from which the lute evolved. These early lutes could have been contemporaneous with the single-reed instruments of India which gave rise to the clarinet.

Historians trace the mandolin as we know it to the eighteenth century, and a family of luthiers, the Vinaccia of Naples. In this early period it was not marked as a “folk instrument” and found a home in the works of great composers, notably Vivaldi whose concerti were certainly widely heard. Beethoven composed four pieces for the mandolin in his middle period, and it also makes an appearance in two of the great operas: Mozart’s Don Giovanni and Verdi’s Otello. Still, today in the United States the mandolin is mostly heard as a folk instrument.

This ska version of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake theme by the Cats snuck into the United Kingdom’s top 50 chart in 1968, but the American release seen here hardly made a splash.

The other night we finally watched Hidden Figures, which is a really great movie. The scenes which depicted the IBM computer being installed reminded us of this 10″ box set, which includes a book and record on the subject of the relationship between mathematics and music.

The book includes photographs of the computer used at Bell Laboratories to compose the music heard on the record. It’s an IBM 7090, the same $2.9 million machine that was used by NASA at the Langley Research Center to calculate trajectories for the Mercury and Gemini space flights.

Music from Mathematics begins with a history of scientific inquiries into the nature of musical composition, from Pythagoras to Hermann von Helmholtz, who designed a resonator to identify the frequencies in music (an invention which indirectly lead Alexander Graham Bell towards his work on the invention of the telephone). The book also breaks down a composer’s work in strictly mathematical terms, noting for instance that even in Schoenberg’s restrictive twelve-tone technique, a sequence of twelve notes offers 479,001,600 possibilities. A factorial such as this is expressed “12!” because mathematics is exciting!

Another part of the book points to the appeal of the unexpected, using Mozart’s Musikalisches Würfelspiel as an example. A popular 18th century game, dice compositions feature sets of alternate sequences of notes depending on the numbers shown when the “composer” throws a pair of dice. The book perpetuates an uncertainty by attributing the work to Mozart, for though published in 1792 and included in the Köchel catalog, it has never been verified as Mozart’s work. Musikalisches Würfelspiel is capable of producing 1116 similar but distinct waltzes.

The book and record contains a number of experiments beginning at this point with Music by Chance, produced at Bell Telephone Laboratories. The second side of the record opens with a remarkable piece composed on ILLIAC computer at the University of Illinois in 1955.

The process began by assigning numbers to notes of the scale from low C upwards. In the beginning sharps and flats were omitted, but in later experiments a full chromatic scale of two and a half octaves was used. The computer then generated random numbers. The numbers were screened through a series of tests representing the various rules of musical composition such as tonality and the standard of counterpoint formalized in the 16th century. If the next number did not conform to the rules it was rejected and a new random number was generated and tested. The numbers which passed the testing were stored in the computer until a short melody was created, and it was printed out and translated into notation for a human performer.

The Illiac Suite produced by this experiment is regarded as the first musical score composed by a computer. The record inside Music from Mathematics contains only a two minute sampling from its fourth movement, but you can hear a performance of the entire work on Youtube here. Although this is certainly the sort of music which gave John Hartford the “Steamboat Whistle Blues,” you’ll find the Illiac Suite no less accessible than Bela Bartok’s quartets, although hardly as rewarding.

The following year a second Music from Mathematics was released on the Decca label. Not a documentary like this set, it presented eighteen performances by the IBM 7090 recorded at the Bell Laboratories. Fans of this album most famously include author Arthur C. Clarke, who later had HAL 9000 the computer sing “Bicycle Built for Two” (ie “Daisy Bell”) as he fades away in 2001: A Space Odyssey. This was the first song sung by a computer, and appeared on that record.

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Yesterday, a lady duck came to visit the record store. This alarmed poor Irene to no end — she wonders if its one of the same pair that she’s been running into around our house this week

Walking to work along East Lake Street with Irene this week has been such a pleasure. Early summer is a beautiful time in this neighborhood and things are looking so bright and green. It’s actually been sort of difficult to pull ourselves from our own garden when its time to open the record store.

Yesterday we started our day with this album which was the debut of pianist Ralph Burns, who had already established a name for himself as a composer and arranger with the Woody Herman band of the 1940s and 50s. The 10″ record opens with the fittingly cheerful “Places Please,” a tune which features alto saxophonist Leo Konitz. It really got our day off on the right foot, so to speak, and we hope it does the same for you.

The failing New York Times crossword puzzle is celebrating its seventy-fifth anniversary this week. If you’ve already finished today’s and the boss isn’t looking, this link will take you to a fun page about the puzzle’s anniversary and its history.

One of the things they’re doing to celebrate is inviting celebrities who enjoy the crossword puzzle to co-author one of their own with help from a regular contributor. Yesterdays was co-authored by classical pianist Emanuel Ax (and yes, we missed a few squares — but at least we didn’t cheat).

Ax, who lives in New York City, has always held a special place as one of our favorite pianists. Obviously, the idea of his duets with Yo Yo Ma is entertain if only because the man in charge of the marquee must have been very happy to have to only write “Ax/Ma” for the day, but the other reason is because Ax made several superb recordings with our own Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra. Today we’re listening to them perform Mozart’s Piano Concerto no. 18 in B-flat.

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