Escucha esto

by Alex Ross

Alex Ross’s award-winning international bestseller, The Rest Is Noise, has become a contemporary classic, establishing him as one of our most popular and acclaimed cultural historians. Listen to This, which takes its title from a beloved 2004 essay in which Ross described his late-blooming discovery of pop music, showcases the best of Ross’s writing from more than a decade at The New Yorker. These pieces, dedicated to classical and popular artists alike, are at once erudite and lively. In a previously unpublished essay, Ross brilliantly retells hundreds of years of music history—from Renaissance dances to Led Zeppelin—through a few iconic bass lines of celebration and lament. He vibrantly sketches canonical composers such as Schubert, Verdi, and Brahms; gives us in-depth interviews with modern pop masters such as Björk and Radiohead; and introduces us to music students at a Newark high school and to indie-rock hipsters in Beijing.

Whether his subject is Mozart or Bob Dylan, Ross shows how music expresses the full complexity of the human condition. Witty, passionate, and brimming with insight, Listen to This teaches us how to listen.

Genres: Music, Nonfiction, Essays, History, Art, Audiobook, Criticism

624 pages, Paperback

First published September 28, 2010

About the author

Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name. See this thread for more information.

Alex Ross has been the music critic of The New Yorker since 1996. From 1992 to 1996 he wrote for the New York Times. His first book, The Rest Is Noise: Listening to the Twentieth Century, was published in 2007 by Farrar, Straus & Giroux and became a national bestseller. It won a National Book Critics Circle Award, the Guardian First Book Award, and the Royal Philharmonic Society Creative Communication Award; appeared on the New York Times's list of the ten best books of year; and was a finalist for the Pulitzer and the Samuel Johnson prizes. Ross has received a Letter of Distinction from the American Music Center, fellowships from the American Academy in Berlin and the Banff Centre, three ASCAP-Deems Taylor Awards, and an honorary doctorate from the Manhattan School of Music. He has also served as a McGraw Professor in Writing at Princeton University. In 2008 he was named a MacArthur Fellow. His next book, an essay collection titled Listen to This, will appear in fall 2010. A native of Washington, DC, Ross now lives in Manhattan. In 2005 he married the actor and filmmaker Jonathan Lisecki.

Reviews

[Paul Christensen · Rating 3 out of 5]

The description of the mausoleum-like atmosphere of a typical classical concert (on pp.20-21) is very funny. What Alex Ross doesn’t consider, however, is that (mainly white) audiences listen in silence because it’s their ancestral heritage, like going to a local museum in an old, old building.

They don’t want noisy cheering every time a catchy melody appears (a la Parisian opera in the early 1800s), which the author seems to think would ‘liven it up’, nor do they want it mixed with jazz, or the orchestra playing Radiohead covers.

The ‘classical concert’ is an elegy for a certain mode of whiteness, a grand whiteness that no longer exists. That isn’t to say the music isn’t brilliant in its own right, but Ross doesn’t consider the unconscious motive of average 2000s concertgoers, who don’t go to hear living composers, not even beautiful ones like Arvo Pärt (which they can buy recordings of if so inclined).

What Ross calls a ‘cold marble facade’ is actually a much-venerated tombstone.

Ross’ broad knowledge of musical history leads him to make many interesting observations, but his taste in contemporary music is pretty mundane (though bonus points for mentioning Skrewdriver(!)).

The chapter on Radiohead is revealing: the band are as airheaded as their music is boring!

References to Kurt Cobain’s ‘suicide’ make the book appear a bit dated, as since ‘Soaked in Bleach’ (2014) everyone knows he was bumped off.

[Aaron Arnold · Rating 5 out of 5]

I'm a big fan of music, which is hardly unusual, but I'm also a big fan of music criticism, which is a little less common. I've always been fascinated by how difficult it is to translate the mental impressions created by listening to music into words. It takes real talent to avoid either ascending to the impenetrable heights of formal theory analysis (tritones, parallel fifths, the Locrian mode, etc), diverting the aesthetic reactions into an emotional referendum on the songwriter or target audience (extremely common when a reviewer is discussing something from a personally disliked genre or artist), or descending to completely meaningless word salad ("I had never even seen a shooting star before."). Adam Ross manages to avoid those traps quite neatly in this excellent collection of updated essays from his day job as a music critic for The New Yorker, producing a collection of criticism that's just as enjoyable as his other major work, the magisterial The Rest Is Noise. Our shared childhood appreciation for classical music inclines me to rate this book perhaps more highly than someone more unfamiliar with the genre might, since it's dominated by classical music discussion, but since Ross has an open mind for new sounds, an educated ear, an eye for nuance, the gift of description, and most importantly, passion for the music, it should appeal to anyone who's interested in any music to a greater degree than "I just know what I like".

The essays are not neatly divided by date, style, or subject, the profiles running from historical classical composers, to contemporary composers, to conductors, to singers, to performers, to pop artists. If The Rest Is Noise had a flaw, it was that it covered classical music only in the 20th century, reaching backwards only very reluctantly. From that perspective, Ross partially remedies that deficiency by providing some insight on well-known historical titans such as Mozart, Schubert, and Brahms. Classical music fans are prone to lapses into prolixity when discussing their favorite works and Ross is no exception, as his florid closing discussion of the final movement of Brahms' 4th symphony shows, but overall he strikes just the right balance between providing technical insight into what techniques those guys used when creating their masterpieces, and discussing their emotional impact. Something that seems to come up frequently when I talk about classical music with my friends who didn't grow up listening to it is that the music can be very ambiguous - non-initiates know that SOMETHING is happening in the middle of a Beethoven work, but can't really tell what it is or put it into words since the musical vocabulary seems so different than that of contemporary music. Ross is superb not only at describing what a composer is getting at with the various diminuendos and intervals and so forth, but also at connecting those to the reactions felt by the listener.

This same facility is on display when he's discussing more modern figures like Radiohead, Björk, or Bob Dylan. From time to time a pop music critic will complain that most album reviews are entirely uninsightful and hard to distinguish from either press releases or lifestyle criticisms; this sets off predictably indignant responses, but frequently it's inarguably difficult to tell what Rolling Stone or Pitchfork' description of an album is supposed to convey to the reader. Ross is predictably a little lighter on the chords-and-staves lingo when discussing someone like Bob Dylan than with Brahms, yet he's still able to provide more insight into just why Dylan's songs stand out from so much other folk music that's seemingly very similar, or how Björk synthesizes her influences with her own creativity to come up with her music. It's an admirable display of musical ecumenicism that reinforces the unity of sentiment behind the sounds, even if the expression varies in different times and different artistic periods. That impression of worldliness is deepened further when he discusses musical gatherings like the Marlboro Retreat, or the impact of dynamic conductors like Esa-Pekka Salonen, or the vocal talents of singers like Marian Anderson or Lorraine Hunt Lieberson - every part of the music is important, and seeing how the pieces fit together can be extremely enlightening. And, while I probably won't ever get the same sense of wonder out of John Cage's experimental works that I do out of a Mahler symphony, I respect Ross for trying his best to convey something about the man's intentions. At some point, it's possible that the composer has done his job, the critic has done his, and the burden of a failure to connect with the piece ultimately lies with the listener.

At its best, music criticism can be revelatory, casting a formerly unappreciated work in a new light or turning the listener on to entirely new sounds. By those criteria Ross succeeds handily: I found myself mentally revising my opinions many times and adding more and more works to my to-listen list the further I got through the book. Best of all, much like with his previous book he has a listen-along guide on his website so it's possible to hear much of what he talks about rather than having to buy dozens of CDs (though he does provide a buyer's guide as well in an appendix). Highly recommended for classical music fans, and still recommended for those with an open musical mind.

[Allen Roberts · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a collection of individual essays by music critic Alex Ross that were originally published in the New Yorker magazine. Topically, Ross expounds on his specialty—the history of classical music, including its roots in folk music, the effect of recording technology on music itself, classical music culture in China, and individual composers such as Mozart, Schubert, Verdi, and Brahms. Ross also takes looks at such modern musicians as Radiohead, Esa-Pekka Salonen, Björk, John Luther Adams, Bob Dylan, and others. The writing here is crisp and the analysis is insightful. As a lifelong musician (and an admitted music snob, although not your typical one!), I found this an engaging, enjoyable read. 4 stars.

[Nooilforpacifists · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a book that requires time, space and thought--and a large library of recordings. For, like Alex Ross's previous book "The Rest is Noise", it was impossible not to play each piece, song or artifact Ross decrypts. And, because this book is a collection of (slightly edited) New Yorker pieces (Ross has been the music critic there since 1996), his sweep -- unlike his book on 20th Century "classical" music -- covers some pop as well.

Ross still writes best, I think, about the old forms of music, but he had useful insights on Kurt Cobain and Frank Sinatra. And his chapter on Bob Dylan (written shortly after release of the brilliant "Time Out of Mind") was staggering. Without getting into the particulars of his take on the Minnesota mud warbler, Ross is at ease with each:

"[C]lassical music stands partly outside the technological realm, because most of its repertory is designed to resonate naturally within a room. By contrast, almost all pop music is written for microphones and speakers."

Ross tries to bring readers along on his own musicological journey. But he can't "replicate the psychic impact of those first encounters," for example, the high school exposure to Pere Ubu "that forced me to abandon my cavalier dismissal of rock music." "In music, as in everything, the disappearing moment of experience is the firmest reality."

But nothing can top what Ross relates of the late Hans Fantel, for many years the New York Times music-and-audio critic:


"In 1989 he wrote about what it was like for him to listen to a CD reissue of a classic disc: a live recording, made on January 16, 1938, of the Vienna Philharmonic playing Mahler's Ninth Symphony, under the direction of Bruno Walter. Fantel spent his childhood in Vienna, and he attended that performance with his father.

'We could not know on that winter Sunday that this would turn out to be the last performance of the Vienna Philharmonic before Hitler crushed his homeland to make it part of the German Reich,' Fantel wrote. …'I could now recognize and appreciate the singular aura of that performance: I could sense its uncanny intensity--a strange inner turmoil quite different from the many other recordings and performances of Mahler's Ninth I had heard since.'

Some of the turmoil was Fantel's own. 'This disc held fast an event I had shared with my father: seventy-one minutes out of the sixteen years we had together. Soon after, as an "enemy of the Reich and Führer," my father also disappeared into Hitler's abyss. That's what made me realize something about the nature of phonographs: they admit no ending. They imply perpetuity. . . Something of life itself steps over the normal limits of time.'"


Later:


"[I]f you wanted to locate the moment at which the Enlightenment gave way to the Romantic age, you might well settle on [Mozart's] Don Giovanni."



The shy, (then) unknown Finnish conductor Esa-Pekka Salonen signs with the prestigious L.A. Philharmonic--and is persuaded to go to a club after the first rehearsal:


"After standing in a corner, he mustered the courage to approach an attractive woman who was sitting at the bar. She asked what he was doing in the city. 'Well, I just conducted the L.A. Philharmonic,' he said. 'That's the dumbest line I ever heard,' she said, and walked away."



About [Chinese pop star] Tan Dun's "radically bathetic" pop ballad titled "One World, One Dream", composed for the Beijing Olympics:


"'You are me and I am you', they sing…in English. Unfortunately, they don't go on to say, 'I am the walrus.'"



Ross makes the case that the open-air Lincoln Memorial concert was among the least of Marian Anderson's accomplishments--she had, says Ross, "the voice of the century." Still, he can't resist describing Anderson extracting "a certain dignity from the ugliness of segregation:"


"[W]hen the Nassau Inn, in Princeton, New Jersey, refused to give her a room, she spent the night at the home of Albert Einstein. Usually, though, the humiliation was intense. In Birmingham, Alabama, during the Second World War, she had to stand outside a train-station waiting room while her accompanist, the German pianist Franz Rupp, went to fetch a sandwich. Sitting inside was a group of German prisoners of war."



Ok, one Dylan interpretation. Ross follows Dylan on tour for eight gigs. He hears tons of nonsense from the audience (Male "Dylanoligist" to his girlfriend--"Now, every Dylan song contains eight questions."). But though the songs shift slightly, the pivot of each performance comes at the half-way mark--an acoustic "Tangled Up In Blue."



"This dense little tale, which may be about two couples, one couple, or one couple plus an interloper, seems autobiographical: it's easy to guess what Dylan might be thinking about when he sings, 'When it all came crashing down, I became withdrawn / The only thing I knew how to do was to keep on keeping on / Like a bird that flew…' See any number of ridiculous spectacles in Dylan's life. But the lines that he shouted out with extra emphasis came at the end:


'Me, I'm still on the road, heading for another joint
We always did feel the same, we just saw it from a different point
Of view
Tangled up in blue.'


Suddenly the romance in question seemed to be the long, stormy one between Dylan and his audience. Dylan is over there and the rest of us are over here, and we're all seeing things from different points of view. And what is it that we're looking at? Perhaps the thing that comes between him and us--the music."



That's a tough way for a book about music to think about music, or even Dylan alone.

What captivates me -- why I can't live without it -- is that no other art or activity taps pure, raw emotion as does music. It also unites my right and left brain better than paintings or poetry.

Brahms 4th (2nd mvt), Beethoven 7th (2nd mvt), Mozart 39th (4th mvt), Bob Dylan ("It's Not Dark Yet"), Iris DeMint ("Leaning on The Everlasting Arms"), Frank Sinatra ("Ol' Man River"), Johnny Cash (his 4/4 version of "I Hung My Head"), etc., may be over there; I never can join them. But "a phonograph (or MP3) is forever"--I'll be listening to all this and more and still weeping at the power and the glory and the grit until they close my eyelids (and ears) forever.

[Alan · Rating 4 out of 5]

I am in this book, in a small way. In that small way, in fact, I begin this book:

Writing about music isn't especially difficult. Whoever coined the epigram "Writing about music is like dancing about architecture"—the statement has been attributed variously to Martin Mull, Steve Martin, and Elvis Costello—was muddying the waters.
—Preface, p.xi

Those are the first two sentences of Listen to This, Alex Ross' globe-spanning collection of essays on music—and his Notes on that paragraph (p.321) credit none other than... yours truly! Specifically, my very own venerable web page about that quote, a document which Ross "accessed December 7, 2009." (Since then, by the way, additional information has tipped the scales pretty definitely toward Martin Mull.)

Anyway... while a recent bout of ego-surfing may have led me to start Listen to This, it's Ross' own wide-ranging and talented work that led me to keep reading.


In his first essay, the eponymous manifesto "Listen to This," Ross tries very hard to redefine what everyone else calls "classical music" as simply "the" music. As an adherent to more than a few lost lexical causes myself (against using "impact" as a verb, for example, and in favor of "all right" rather than the eviscerated-and-restitched "alright"), I can sympathize. But in a way it doesn't matter—whether about "the" music or just a music, Ross always writes with boundless enthusiasm and depths of knowledge:

The Dylan scholar Clinton Heylin points out that while the Beatles spent 129 days crafting Sgt. Pepper, Dylan needed only 90 days to make his first fifteen records. Yet frills-free, "lo-fi" recording has no special claim on musical truth; indeed, it easily becomes another effect, the effect of no effect. Today's neoclassical rock bands pay good money to sound old.
—"Infernal Machines," p.59

Ross occasionally even becomes acerbic:

From time to time, progressive-minded conductors attempted to correct the necrophiliac leanings of the American classical audience.
—"The Anti-Maestro," p.105

Heh...


The sheer range of Ross' musical interests is in itself impressive. He goes from discussing Mozart on one page to interviewing Radiohead on the next—which seems likely to induce musical whiplash until you realize that there is a connection, which is complexity. Ross recognizes and appreciates musical depth and complexity, wherever it appears, and he's able to draw the reader (at least this reader) along with him, whether he's in Iceland:

I first met Björk in the lobby of the Hotel Borg, a funk Art Deco palace in the center of the Icelandic capital of Reykjavik.
—"Emotional Landscapes," p.138

Or following Bob Dylan on tour (in "I Saw the Light"), or diving into Chinese musicians' fascination with Western music in "Symphony of Millions."


Listen to This did not seem quite as engaging to me as David Byrne's How Music Works... but then Ross is viewing music ("the music," and so many others as well) essentially from outside. He does have some experience as a performer and composer, but that's not what he's known for, what he's devoted his career to.

As a writer about music, though, I have to say that Alex Ross dances about architecture very, very well.

[Lidiana · Rating 5 out of 5]

Alex Ross is one of the best music journalist for a reason. Excellent collection of articles! One of those books that you constantly revisit to get more references. I was told that his previous book The Rest Is Noise: Listening to the Twentieth Century is even better! Looking forward to reading it...

[Mariano Hortal · Rating 4 out of 5]

Publicado en http://lecturaylocura.com/escucha-esto/

En su anterior y exitoso (en cuanto a crítica y público) ”El ruido eterno”, Alex Ross realizaba un repaso de todo la música clásica del siglo XX encadenándola a al contexto cultural e histórico consiguiendo un libro de fácil lectura y que además quitaba prejuicios y ayudaba a comprender a gente tan extraña como John Cage o Alban Berg, además lo acompañaba de un imprescindible acompañamiento musical disfrutable a través de su web que hacía aún más sencilla la escucha. Con su nuevo libro “Escucha esto”, de nuevo publicado por Seix barral, pretende obtener el mismo resultando aunque aquí intenta realizar una retrospectiva desde el punto de vista histórico de lo musical haciendo énfasis en la cada vez más frecuente fusión de estilos y géneros: “Las fronteras entre lo “popular” y “clásico” están empezando a desdibujarse de modo creativo”.

Esta va a ser la base de la mayoría de los ensayos que vendrán después; todo muy en la línea de la escuela de los “Cultural Studies” de Stuart Hall, corriente crítica que relativiza el posible canon establecido históricamente para ponderar la cultura en general con todas sus manifestaciones.

El segundo capítulo, “Chacona, lamento y walking blues”, ya justifica por sí mismo su lectura; es, curiosamente, el único que se ha escrito específicamente para este libro y para hacerlo el autor se inspira en una conferencia que dio el compositor György Ligeti en 1993 en el conservatorio de Nueva Inglaterra de Boston (“En un momento dado, Ligeti cantó las notas “La, Sol, Fa, Mi” –el bajo del lamento de la ninfa- y empezó a catalogar su sinfín de apariciones en la música occidental, tanto en el repertorio clásico como en las melodías folclóricas que había aprendido de niño.”)

Tomando esta base, establece una cronología histórica comparada desde los primeros momentos en los que surgió ese motivo descendente y la chacona “que se convirtió en un emblema del lamento”. En su increíble web hay un vídeo del autor explicándolo y que pongo a continuación:


Por el documento musical de la web con respecto a ese artículo desfilan el “Lamento della Ninfa” de Monteverdi, el Lamento de Dido de Purcell, la “Misa en sí menor” de Bach, Beethoven en su Novena Sinfonía… para llegar a la música pop del siglo XX con los Beatles y su “Michelle” acabando con el Blues, Bob Dylan y Led Zeppelin. Me apetece especialmente poner el Lamento de Dido, mágico, y su reflejo en Bach para que comparéis vosotros.

Este artículo es el culmen de esta forma de hacer las cosas, la total conjunción entre el texto y la música a través de la web, es sencillamente excepcional. Os podéis dar una vuelta por ella desde aquí, y así os hacéis una idea.

A partir de aquí, el libro no mantiene tanto el nivel, aunque sí que es cierto que sigue siendo interesante: “Máquinas infernales” explora el típico tema de la tecnología como liberación o esclavitud, adoptando una posición intermedia “la máquina no es ni Dios ni demonio”. Luego empieza la segunda parte donde tenemos un artículo de Mozart que orienta como retrospectiva nuevamente y que hace énfasis en su parte final en los anticlimáticos finales de “Don Giovanni” y “Cosí Fan Tutte”; esta estructura se mantiene en el de Schubert: consigue unos ensayos interesantes aunque no deslumbrantes; no deja de ser curioso aprovechar el que dedica al director de orquesta Esa-Pekkä Salonen para desarrollar los entresijos burocráticos que se producen habitualmente en una sala de conciertos;. notables contribuciones de música “pop” resultan ser los dirigidos a Björk y Radiohead, igualmente claros en su exposición exhaustiva de las carreras musicales de ambos; sin embargo, el artículo sobre el interés de China por la música occidental y su posible futuro en la música no deja de ser una simple anécdota estirada de su viaje al país y no pasa del aprobado.

Hasta el final se van sucediendo los ensayos con mayor o menor suerte, pero siempre caracterizados por el eclecticismo, la claridad y la abundancia de notas y datos al respecto del tema que trate: desde la vida de un cuarteto de cámara, pasando por el tirón de Verdi entre los aficionados, a los obituarios en clave de ensayo del siempre controvertido John Cage o la contralto de color Marian Anderson tienen cabida en estas páginas; incluso Bob Dylan y Sonic Youth tiene su espacio.

La conclusión es que el autor nos ha conseguido transmitir la importancia que tiene la música actualmente y la influencia en la cultura de la sociedad, abogando por eliminar elitismos y por la fusión de géneros; lo que importa de verdad es oír música e intentar entender sus manifestaciones por extrañas que puedan parecer. Una espléndida lectura musical complementada de manera admirable con la información que aparece en el sitio web: una experiencia única y enriquecedora.

[Bruce · Rating 2 out of 5]

This book is a collection of essays about music that Ross had previously had published in the last 10-15 years (mostly by The New Yorker). He's done some re-writing but hasn't bothered to assemble them into much of a meaningful order, hence the two-star rating. Don't get me wrong. Despite a bit of word salad (see, e.g., the last paragraph of the inconclusive chapter on Brahms), Ross's authorial voice is engaging. Readers seeking an entree to the worlds of Mozart, Schubert, Robert Luther Adams, Bjork, and even Bob Dylan could do worse than to start here... but it's as easy to do better, not least via liner notes and a subscription to Stereogum, Spinner, or the Naxos catalog.

Because it's such a hodgepodge, readers seeking an extension of Ross' earlier musicological survey of the 20th century The Rest is Noise -- tantalizingly promised by the opening chapter's eponymous essay -- will probably find this book to be disappointing. Aside from the second chapter's tracking of the "lamento" motif (the name Ross gives to any successive playing of do-ti-la-sol-fa; think 'opening to Pachelbel's Canon in D') down through 500 years of evolving musical genres including rhythm-and-blues, there's precious little synthesis to be found here. Ross does pay lip service at the outset to a desire to receive all music devoid of (un)academic pretensions and class associations (although I wonder if such might be not only impossible but self-defeating in the face of theater/performance art acts like Kiki & Herb or Laurie Andersen). Still, he confesses straight away to feeling ill-equipped to discuss forms other than "classical," which is a real shame, since I would think the same harmonic and expressive vocabulary used to analyze various Verdi performances really ought to apply equally well to those of Green Day or the Gorillaz.

While I think it unfair to condemn an author for what he didn't end up writing, Ross ought to have critically reviewed the works of Karlheinz Stockhausen and Gyorgy Ligeti. Since Ross name-checks Stockhausen throughout the book as a major artistic influence on the contemporary artists he considers, it would have been illuminating to get a better understanding of why he sees the modernist's shadow so pervasively cast. Likewise, Ross owes a great and insufficiently-paid debt to Ligeti (known best for those of his choral works which Kubrick commandeered for the 2001: A Space Odyssey monolith theme), as it is Ligeti's recorded lectures on harmony, Schubert, lamento, and the chacona which Ross name-checks as starting points for several of this book's chapters. Surely independent analysis was merited.

In the absence of cohesive analysis, Ross' own annotation and editorial juxtaposition are more than sufficient to allow the music to speak for itself. So all in all, while any individual essay may be worth 3 stars on its own merits, I have to dunn the book as a whole. Fortunately, it turns out here's little need for anyone to read it, since Ross himself has compiled a better version of it online. Those with a passing interest or lunch hour to kill can listen to all that is meaningful from this book by browsing Ross' own online companion, chock-full of audio and video links to the works cited throughout the book.

[Rohan Arthur · Rating 4 out of 5]

I am a cautious, perhaps even a little suspicious explorer of the musically unfamiliar. Having a guide as assured of his ear as Alex Ross breaks down those fears. This is largely a compilation of Ross' New Yorker articles bookended with a set of pieces he wrote specifically for this publication. It is a rollicking juxtaposition of vignettes, flitting from Schubert to Radiohead, John Luther Adams (no, not THAT John Adams) to Björk, Brahms to Bob Dylan. He finds common threads, delves into their crafting, spends time with them on the road, all the while building an argument that there are no boundaries in music - that the silos we create between classical and folk and jazz and pop, between old and new, romantic and minimalist and avant-garde are just the shallow divisions that seek to constrain the infinitely large canvas that is music itself. A delightful read and, for me, a voyage of discovery and re-discovery.

[Álex · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Escribir sobre música es como bailar sobre arquitectura"; sin embargo, esta recopilación de artículos de Alex Ross consigue 1) descripciones precisas y certeras, y 2) transmitir el respeto, la amplia cultura y, sobre todo, el amor del autor por la música como expresión artística y popular. Eso sí, coscorrón a Seix Barral (Planeta) por la nula corrección de la traducción; ese estilo tosco no corresponde al autor, sino a un traductor bien ducho en música pero que no tiene por qué ser un gran redactor.

[Abhi V · Rating 4 out of 5]

Candy... great on Marlborough (so good! & the character of Mitsuko esp.), best of all on how recording changed classical music, good on Brahms & Schubert, persuasive & intriguing on Björk(!?), I skipped the sections on Radiohead & the other John Adams, I thought the sections on music in China were very interesting. But in general I feel very skeptical of his skepticism of snobs: don't they know something we don't? He doesn't seem trustworthy when he endorses the music of the present or future (I don't think I'm interested in The Rest is Noise & the section on this LA phil guy upturned my lip). The opening manifesto seems ill-considered & in it he comes across as superficial: he doesn't make arguments in favor of the values of the present, just presupposes them—....

A number of more substantial thoughts I had have been lost, much about his Bob Dylan essay.... The image of Dylan fossilized & exalted—lives alongside the real person Dylan, who persists, not reclusive yet private, accessible only thru current performances: I like this, & find it interesting. & there was a nice paragraph about the difference between "greats" (with its particular kind of German heroic inflection) & American stars, which Dylan isn't either. Well anyway, the more of it is lost.

& something just is offputting about this admixture of tastes that he has, somehow it's just wrong, these things should not be compared with one another, there is something gluttonous, sophomoric—I don't know, aversive anyway, in a sickly, glib, self-satisfied way. Fine if Dylan & Duke Ellington & Björk & Radiohead & the whole German tradition & 21st century music are good: —but I want to leave them to different critics, & although I'm tempted to explain (dignify) it this way & maybe it does come back to this, it doesn't feel like because there are different forms of life that ground that meaning of the music & its evaluation. I just don't like this too-varied diet, I mean that I don't like what it says about he who has it. (I used to want to portray myself as exactly what AR (I think authentically) does.)

[Michael · Rating 4 out of 5]

Terrific set of disparate essays about a range of music by one of the best music writers we've got. It's getting a little bit dated, but it's not Alex Ross's fault if I took nine years to buy his book. He probably would have preferred it if I'd bought it right away, and not a second-hand copy for that matter. Sorry, bro.

[Brogan Bunner · Rating 4 out of 5]

As someone only recently delving into the world of music, Ross does a solid job of keeping the analyses of great works both intelligent and intelligible.

[Kelly Sedinger · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ross is a brilliant music writer who will have you thinking "Wow, I need to hear that", "why haven't I heard that", and "why am I not listening to that RIGHT NOW." He writes comfortably about many styles and genres, not just classical; it's like if Carl Sagan wrote about music. I can't recommend Ross enough.

[Thư Kim · Rating 5 out of 5]

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Đề bạch thủ (bạch thủ lô) là hình thức cược duy nhất một con số hai chữ số (00–99) trong kỳ quay xổ số. Nếu con số đó xuất hiện, người chơi thắng với tỷ lệ trả thưởng cao. Tuy nhiên, xác suất trúng thấp, đòi hỏi phải có phương pháp chọn số khoa học và quản lý vốn chặt chẽ.
Thu thập và phân tích dữ liệu lịch sử


Tải dữ liệu kết quả: Sử dụng tính năng “Lịch sử xổ số” của https://v9win.io/ , export kết quả 30–60 kỳ gần nhất.


Thống kê tần suất: Ghi lại số lần mỗi bộ số về trong chu kỳ; xác định số “nóng” (ra nhiều) và “lạnh” (lâu chưa về).


Xây dựng bảng tổng chẵn lẻ, tổng chục:



Tổng chẵn/lẻ liên tiếp: Xác định chuỗi chẵn hay lẻ kéo dài.


Tổng chục (ví dụ tổng chục của 57 = 5 + 7 = 12 → 2): Quan sát số cuối cùng của tổng chục để soi cầu.





Phương pháp soi cầu bạch thủ


Soi cầu kép ngược: Lấy hai kết quả liền kề, đảo vị trí hai chữ số, kết hợp với số “nóng” để chọn bạch thủ.


Soi cầu Pascal: Lấy tổng hai số cuối của kỳ n–2 và n–1, rồi áp dụng cộng trừ để ra số kỳ n.


Soi cầu tổng chẵn lẻ: Dùng quy luật chẵn–lẻ xuất hiện xen kẽ; nếu chuỗi hiện tại đã xuất hiện 3 lần chẵn, kỳ sau ưu tiên chẵn.


Soi cầu biên độ nhảy: Tính khoảng cách (nhảy) giữa hai kỳ về cùng số; nếu biên độ ổn định (ví dụ kỳ 5, 10, 15 về số 27) thì cược chu kỳ tới.




Lựa chọn và xác nhận bạch thủ


Rút gọn danh sách: Từ 4–6 số tiềm năng, áp dụng phương pháp đồng quy (cùng số xuất hiện ở ít nhất 2 phương pháp).


Đánh giá xác suất: So sánh tần suất và chu kỳ xuất hiện, ưu tiên số có cả hai yếu tố tích cực.


Chốt bạch thủ: Chỉ giữ lại tối đa 1–2 số để giảm rủi ro, tăng tỷ lệ thắng.




Quản lý vốn và kỷ luật cược


Xác định ngân sách cố định: Dành tối đa 5–10% vốn cho mỗi ngày đánh bạch thủ.


Stop-loss & stop-win: Nếu thua 3–4 kỳ liên tiếp, dừng chơi để đánh giá lại; khi thắng 1–2 kỳ, tạm nghỉ để bảo toàn lợi nhuận.


Không “gỡ gạc” mù quáng: Tránh tăng cược khi thua liên tiếp, giữ nguyên mức cược ban đầu hoặc tạm dừng.




Lưu ý để tối ưu kết quả


Cập nhật dữ liệu liên tục: Sau mỗi kỳ, nhập kết quả mới vào bảng thống kê để duy trì tính chính xác của phương pháp.


Kết hợp linh hoạt: Đừng chỉ phụ thuộc vào một phương pháp; kết hợp ít nhất 2–3 cách soi cầu để chắc chắn hơn.


Giữ tâm lý ổn định: Tập trung phân tích, tránh cá cược theo cảm xúc.

Xem thêm >>>> https://pad.coopaname.coop/s/pZ3d083_n

Kết luận
Bắt đề bạch thủ chuẩn trên https://gettr.com/user/v9winioo không chỉ dựa vào may mắn mà còn cần quy trình phân tích dữ liệu, áp dụng soi cầu hợp lý và quản lý vốn chặt chẽ. Hãy thực hành kiên trì, ghi chép cẩn thận và tuân thủ kỷ luật cược để gia tăng cơ hội “trúng đậm” với bạch thủ kỳ này!

[Fraser Kinnear · Rating 3 out of 5]

I finished another of Ross’s books, The Rest Is Noise with a long list of music to enjoy. I’ve had similar luck filling my Spotify with jazz playlists thanks to recommendations in books written by Ted Gioia and Nate Chinen. Ironically for its title, Listen To This is less systematic.

We do get a fun, very New Yorker-y collection of essays, including profiles of Radiohead, Mozart, Schubert, and Bob Dylan. As he admits in his opening essay, music is rather difficult to write about. Fortunately, Ross also has what seems to be a fantastic blog, which serves as a great addendum to his books. For example, the Radiohead essay mentions Idioteque’s allusions to Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde, via another German electronic artist, but only passingly. Wikipedia expands on this idea in this article on the Tristan chord. But Ross’s website provides the .mp3 excerpts of each piece, for the listener to hear the common chords.

If only more books had this! I’ve no idea why Ross didn’t advertise this resource in his book.

Also, a few quotes I enjoyed:
“In music, as in everything, the disappearing moment of experience is the firmest reality.” – Benjamin Boretz
“The nightingale’s song is delightful because the nightingale herself gives it forth.” – John Philip Sousa
“Laments help to guide us out of the labyrinth of despair. Like Aristotelian tragedy, they allow for a purgation of pity and fear. Through the repetitive ritual of mourning, we tame the edges of emotion, give shape to inner chaos.” – Alex Ross

[Bookmarks Magazine · Rating 4 out of 5]

Full of surprises and sharp observations, this "absorbing, illuminating, exciting collection" (San Francisco Chronicle) gives equal billing to pop stars and classical composers, crossing musical margins with remarkable fluidity. Though they bear the New YorkerÕs signature style, most critics upheld Ross's writing as eloquent and thoughtful, in language accessible to both laypersons and connoisseurs (although aficionados may have an easier time with the details). The Washington Post complained that the essays lacked excitement and literary "zing," but others praised Ross for the sense of adventure that imbues each piece. Readers may find it difficult to resist Ross's enthusiasm, and Listen To This will no doubt take an honored place on many a bookshelf. This is an excerpt from a review published in Bookmarks magazine.

[Jerry Oliver · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a great book. It gave me a much greater understanding and appreciation for classical music through explorations of the life and works of Mozart, Schubert, Verdi and Brahms as well as modern day composers and performers like John Luther Adams and The St. Lawrence String Quartet. The book also explores the lives, music and methods of some of todays most inventive musicians like Radiohead, Bjork and Bob Dylan. Ross also introduces the reader to music students and a Newark high school and indie-rock hipsters in Beijing. The story of the iconic African-American contralto Marian Anderson and her Easter Sunday concert on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1939 and the affect it had a ten year old Martin Luther King is greatly inspiring. If you're a lover of music with an open mind and a desire to grow as a listener you have to read this book!

[Tom McInnes · Rating 4 out of 5]

The magic of Ross' previous book 'The Rest Is Noise' was in how he managed to make 500 years of music history feel like a single epic narrative spanning generations but with a clear line of continuity that helped emphasis and contextualise the evolutions and innovations of the form and make it all 'make sense' - even to a basic music illiterate like me.

This book doesn't do that. It's a collection of previously published essays and articles that run the gamut from Brahms to Bjork, following semi-pro chamber orchestras on town hall tours before spending a few weeks in a summer music retreat in Vermont.

The result is, by its very nature, let complete and therefore less satisfying, but it's still great to read serious, studied, in-depth critiques on the likes of Bob Dylan and Kurt Cobain from someone who really knows their onions.

[Bobby · Rating 4 out of 5]

Some of the best writing about music that I've ever read. My review can simply be this...It made me want to listen to more classical music and learn more about music in general. He hits that "golden mean" of being accessible to me (quite ignorant in composition or theory) and yet getting into some of the higher level discussion that would appeal to any musicologist. Very impressed and look forward to reading more of his work.

[Gloria · Rating 3 out of 5]

While I did not read this cover to cover, it is clear that you could return to this book over and over. This is both a reference book and social commentary, reflecting both the past and future of all forms of music, but especially classical music. Suggested recordings included. Ross talks about the social changes technology has imposed, and the cultural changes (fewer kids taking music lessons) that threaten the future of live music. Useful and interesting.

[Smh624 · Rating 1 out of 5]

What a disappointment. I had high expectations for this book and found it annoying in every way. Some of the writing about classical music was interesting but mostly it went on too long with nothing really to say. The discussions of "popular" music was just ridiculous. Don't waste your time. Is it possible to give a book zero stars?

[Brian Lawlor · Rating 4 out of 5]

Excellent book, truly inspiring however without listening to the pieces being discussed, it can be hard work at times. Will be buying some of this music when I can.

[Rob · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Listen to This" opened up new worlds of music for me, and had me listening afresh to music I studied years ago. Wonderful essays.

[Hattie · Rating 4 out of 5]

Well done to me for apparently winning the school senior music prize in 2012, and then demonstrating my enthusiasm by taking 13 years to actually read the book.

I have to say I find reading about music a bit dull and would much rather be playing it or at least listening.
The chapter on Radiohead was surprisingly interesting. Also nice cameo from Ockegham who also features in the corner that held them.

The real reckoning arrived in the 1960s, when classical music made a decisive and seemingly permanent move to the cultural margin. The advent of Dylan and the Beatles again jeopardized classical music's claim on
"high art," and this time an entire generation seemed to come of age without identifying strongly with the classical repertory.

All music becomes classical music in the end

[Beethoven] He was setting his symphony adrift, as a message in a bottle.
He could hardly have imagined it traveling two hundred years, through the dark heart of the twentieth century and into the pulverizing electronic age.

In 1917, the Hungarian composer Béla Bartók, a passionate collector of folk music, took his Edison cylinder to the Transylvanian village of Mâneräu and recorded the bocet, or lament, of a woman pining for her absent husband

in the long run it may not be a bad thing that young people have stopped hoarding music in the form of packaged ob-jects. Music is no longer a prize in a collection; it is returning to its natural
evanescent state.

These gestures of self-deprecation can go only so deep. Sheepish fellows do not become directors of major orchestras.

the neon glamour of nineties London.

an itinerant bass guitarist named Rick Randle, whom Holmes later described as “absolutely stone, raving mad," and who was last reported living in Utah with a witch.

Music is restored to its original bliss, free both of the fear of pretension that limits popular music and of the fear of vulgarity that limits classical music. The creative artist once more moves along an unbroken continuum, from folk to art and back again. So far, though, this utopia has only one inhabitant. [Bjork, apparently]

"The viola part is often more interesting in the modern pieces," she told me, "but sometimes I'm happier droning on one note in a Haydn quartet, because I know exactly where that note belongs, logically and emotionally."

the many ways in which classical music entangles itself in a web of money and status.

the innocent face, diffident air, and slightly bewildered expression of someone who has spent long hours at the piano since childhood.

kids aren't likely to fall in love with music that is administered to them like vitamins.

Brahms's Piano Quintet in F Minor, a craggy monument of the chamber repertory

Perhaps the most intractable problem with contemporary music education is that so many teachers have been trained in the monastic culture of the music conservatory, where mastery of technique is the dominant topic and where discussion of music's social or political or spiritual meaning is often discouraged.

[Gavin · Rating 3 out of 5]

It is an art of grand gestures and vast dimensions that plays to mobs of the quiet and the shy

why has the idea taken hold that there is something peculiarly inexpressible about music? The explanation may lie not in music but in ourselves. Since the mid-nineteenth century, audiences have routinely adopted music as a sort of secular religion or spiritual politics, investing it with messages as urgent as they are vague.

In Europe, the past began to encroach on the present just after 1800. Johann Nikolaus Forkel’s 1802 biography of Bach, one of the first major books devoted to a dead composer, may be the founding document of the classical mentality. All the earmarks are there: the longing for lost worlds, the adulation of a single godlike entity, the horror of the present. Bach was “the first classic that ever was, or perhaps ever will be,” Forkel proclaimed. He also said, “If the art is to remain an art and not to be degraded into a mere idle amusement, more use must be made of classical works than has been done for some time.” By “idle amusement” Forkel probably had in mind the prattling of Italian opera; his biography is addressed to “patriotic admirers of true musical art,” namely the German.

...Classical concerts began to take on cultlike aspects. The written score became a sacred object; improvisation was gradually phased out. Concert halls grew quiet and reserved, habits and attire formal. Patrons of the Wagner festival in Bayreuth, which opened in 1876, were particularly militant in their suppression of applause. At the premiere of Parsifal, in 1882, Wagner requested that there be no curtain calls for the performers, in order to preserve the rapt atmosphere of his “sacred festival play.” The audience interpreted this instruction as a general ban on applause. Cosima Wagner, the composer’s wife, described in her diary what happened at the second performance: “After the first act there is a reverent silence, which has a pleasant effect. But when, after the second, the applauders are again hissed, it becomes embarrassing.” Two weeks later, listeners rebuked a man who yelled out “Bravo!” after the Flower Maidens scene. They did not realize that they were hissing the composer. The Wagnerians were taking Wagner more seriously than he took himself— an alarming development.

The sacralization of music... had its advantages. Many composers liked the fact that the public was quieting down; the subtle shock of a C-sharp wouldn’t register if noise and chatter filled the hall. They began to write with a silent, well-schooled crowd in mind. Even so, the emergence of a self-styled elite audience had limited appeal for the likes of Beethoven and Verdi. The nineteenth-century masters were, most of them, egomaniacs, but they were not snobs.

[Siobhan Markwell · Rating 5 out of 5]

Alex Ross isn't the New Yorker music critic for nothing. His insights enrich your musical world and are relevant and insightful for musicians and the general listener alike. His The Rest is Noise opened my eyes to the world of 20th century orchestral music but the final chapter touched on some the greats of the rock and indie genre such as Velvet Underground, Sonic Youth, Brian Eno and Talking Heads.

This second offering mines a far wider seam of musical interest from the Baroque to Björk, shedding fascinating light on some musical features that permeate a myriad of genres such as the ostinato (obstinately repeated) 15th century Chaconne form or the lament bass line. He introduces Schubert, hinting at frustrated longings that fertilised his beautifully romantic compositions but also touches on contemporary composers such as John Luther Adams who makes beautiful ambient music inspired by monumental forces in the natural world. Classical music in China rubs shoulders with the tuneless lyricism of Bob Dylan (whose Nobel is anticipated in the book).

Social pressures on music are explored. Some negative, such as Marian Anderson's outdoor concert at the Lincoln memorial, whitewashed as being outside due to the size of the audience rather than the colour bar, others positive such as the warm portrait of an annual classical virtuoso's hot-housing session at Marlborough (US). Some of the observations abou the musical effect of certain chord patterns or key changes, went over my head but this didn't detract from the enjoyment at all. The companion websites have musical samples that support and elaborate on the text. I defy anyone to read it without coming away richer and having whiled away some time exploring new musical horizons online.

[Benoit Lelièvre · Rating 4 out of 5]

I would've liked to enjoy that book more than I did, but I enjoyed certain essays very, very much.

The problem lies with the first essay Listen to This, which narrates how Alex Ross went from an insanely sheltered classic music fan to someone capable of not only enjoying, but democratizing music for the masses. It is very personal, but also fascinating and empowering in letting you know the bridged between classical and popular music are not burned at all. That people like Alex Ross walk it every day of their lives. The essay also explains how music is a matter of personal connection and that it is normal that it affect different people in a different way. This is tremendous material. Perspective shifting stuff.

But along the Radiohead portrait... it's by far the most accessible piece in the book. These come from New Yorker essays, so maybe classical music essays is what the readership wanted but it's hard to contextualize some into our lives (the aforementioned personal connection). The second essay is about something called the Chacona, which I have tremendous historical knowledge of it and I still don't know how it sounds. I'm a big believer in not idolizing someone because everyone tells you to and that the idea of an art canon has been blown out of proportion. I wanted to know why these guys should matter to me. When I was familiar with the work already it helped (Bob Dylan, John Cage), but otherwise I was left with poor conceptual grasp of what I was reading. Alex Ross is a tremendous writer, but sometimes he couldn't live up to its own introductory promise.

[Josep · Rating 5 out of 5]

Vale, lo confieso: cuando vi que este libro hablaba de Bach, Schubert y Strauss, pensé que iba a ser como esos cuñados pedantes que insisten en que escuches una fuga barroca para “entender realmente lo que es la música”. Pero “Escucha esto” no es ese tipo de libro. Es más como ese colega que te presta un disco de Nina Simone y te dice: “No tienes que entenderla, solo escúchala y dime qué te pasa”.

Alex Ross escribe sobre música clásica, sí, pero también sobre Björk, Bob Dylan, Radiohead, y hasta sobre cómo la música puede cambiarte la vida mientras estás atrapado en un atasco con el peor humor del mundo. Tiene esa rara habilidad de escribir sobre Mahler con la misma emoción con la que tú hablas de tu primer concierto de los Arctic Monkeys.

Lo mejor es que no intenta convertirte. No está tratando de hacerte sentir culpable por no saber quién era Monteverdi. Solo quiere compartir lo que siente cuando escucha ciertas cosas. Y como cualquier buen fanático de la música, lo que quiere, en el fondo, es que tú también lo sientas.

Terminas el libro con una lista de canciones, discos y compositores que no sabías que necesitabas, y con esa sensación tan rara y bonita de estar enamorándote de la música otra vez.

[Sarah F. · Rating 4 out of 5]

There’s a lot you can learn from this book, I learned to appreciate different music genres and got into Radio Head, listened to it for weeks. I’ve also grown to respect Bjork’s eccentricity and how she emerged as one of Iceland’s most famous person, in addition to the eccentric/electric music scene in Alaska that combines both nature and music.

He’s comprehensive in the way he analyzes symphonies, concertos and operas. For example, the way he describes Beethoven’s influence on Brahm’s and his relationship with Schumann and although both from Germany, how Wagner and Brahms displayed contrasting characteristics of musical form. He talks about Marlboro, the music retreat in Vermont, which I found so fascinating. There’s a ton about classical music you can learn from this book especially with what was going on historically and the social changes during the composer’s time. He also wrote about its evolution in China and the dwindling state of classic music performers in the US.

Perfect book to go back to for references so I recommend buying a hard copy than reading on kindle.