Rachmaninoff Quotes

What were you going to do tonight?" "I was going to listen to the songs of Rachmaninoff." "Who's that?" "A dead Russian.

The new kind of music seems to create not from the heart but from the head. Its composers think rather than feel. They have not the capacity to make their works exalt - they meditate, protest, analyze, reason, calculate and brood, but they do not exalt.

He had always wanted to write music, and he could give no other identity to the thing he sought. If you want to know what it is, he told himself, listen to the first phrases of Tchaikovsky’s First Concerto--or the last movement of Rachmaninoff’s Second. Men have not found the words for it, nor the deed nor the thought, but they have found the music. Let me see that in one single act of man on earth. Let me see it made real. Let me see the answer to the promise of that music. Not servants nor those served; not altars and immolations; but the final, the fulfilled, innocent of pain. Don’t help me or serve me, but let me see it once, because I need it. Don’t work for my happiness, my brothers--show me yours--show me that it is possible--show me your achievement--and the knowledge will give me courage for mine.

I feel like a ghost wandering in a world grown alien. I cannot cast out the old way of writing and I cannot acquire the new. I have made an intense effort to feel the musical manner of today, but it will not come to me.

The Frays had never been a religiously observant family, but Clary loved Fifth Avenue at Christmas time. The air smelled like sweet roasted chestnuts, and the window displays sparkled with silver and blue, green and red. This year there were fat round crystal snowflakes attached to each lamppost, sending back the winter sunlight in shafts of gold. Not to mention the huge tree at Rockefeller Center. It threw its shadow across them as she and Simon draped themselves over the gate at the side of the skating rink, watching tourists fall down as they tried to navigate the ice. Clary had a hot chocolate wrapped in her hands, the warmth spreading through her body. She felt almost normal—this, coming to Fifth to see the window displays and the tree, had been a winter tradition for her and Simon for as long as she could remember. “Feels like old times, doesn’t it?” he said, echoing her thoughts as he propped his chin on his folded arms. She chanced a sideways look at him. He was wearing a black topcoat and scarf that emphasized the winter pallor of his skin. His eyes were shadowed, indicating that he hadn’t fed on blood recently. He looked like what he was—a hungry, tired vampire. Well, she thought. Almost like old times. “More people to buy presents for,” she said. “Plus, the always traumatic what-to-buy-someone-for-the-first-Christmas-after-you’ve-started-dating question.” “What to get the Shadowhunter who has everything,” Simon said with a grin. “Jace mostly likes weapons,” Clary sighed. “He likes books, but they have a huge library at the Institute. He likes classical music …” She brightened. Simon was a musician; even though his band was terrible, and was always changing their name—currently they were Lethal Soufflé—he did have training. “What would you give someone who likes to play the piano?” “A piano.” “Simon.” “A really huge metronome that could also double as a weapon?” Clary sighed, exasperated. “Sheet music. Rachmaninoff is tough stuff, but he likes a challenge.” “Now you’re talking. I’m going to see if there’s a music store around here.” Clary, done with her hot chocolate, tossed the cup into a nearby trash can and pulled her phone out. “What about you? What are you giving Isabelle?” “I have absolutely no idea,” Simon said. They had started heading toward the avenue, where a steady stream of pedestrians gawking at the windows clogged the streets. “Oh, come on. Isabelle’s easy.” “That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about.” Simon’s brows drew together. “I think. I’m not sure. We haven’t discussed it. The relationship, I mean.” “You really have to DTR, Simon.” “What?” “Define the relationship. What it is, where it’s going. Are you boyfriend and girlfriend, just having fun, ‘it’s complicated,’ or what? When’s she going to tell her parents? Are you allowed to see other people?” Simon blanched. “What? Seriously?” “Seriously. In the meantime—perfume!” Clary grabbed Simon by the back of his coat and hauled him into a cosmetics store that had once been a bank. It was massive on the inside, with rows of gleaming bottles everywhere. “And something unusual,” she said, heading for the fragrance area. “Isabelle isn’t going to want to smell like everyone else. She’s going to want to smell like figs, or vetiver, or—” “Figs? Figs have a smell?” Simon looked horrified; Clary was about to laugh at him when her phone buzzed. It was her mother. where are you? It’s an emergency.

Beethoven introduced us to anger. Haydn taught us capriciousness, Rachmaninoff melancholy. Wagner was demonic. Bach was pious. Schumann was mad, and because his genius was able to record his fight for sanity, we heard what isolation and the edge of lunacy sounded like. Liszt was lusty and vigorous and insisted that we confront his overwhelming sexuality as well as our own. Chopin was a poet, and without him we never would have understood what night was, what perfume was, what romance was.

Rachmaninoff. The 18th Variation of a Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.

Music is enough for a whole lifetime, but a lifetime is not enough for music.

Playing Rachmaninoff was like walking on a rope bridge across a gorge with dreamy skies above and a raging, muddy river below.

She has a recording of a favorite piano piece that she lets play on repeat day and night—Rachmaninoff’s Étude-Tableau in G Minor.

I suppose you could pick Rachmaninoff, if you were feeling whorish (can’t wait for the hate mail on this one).

Dizzy Gillespie recorded it with Charlie Parker in an influential 1945 track (incorporating a much imitated intro—perhaps initially intended as a parody of Rachmaninoff ’s Prelude in C-Sharp Minor

He was a dark and stormy knight. A latter-day rake with eyes the color of emeralds worth a queen's ransom. His smile promised voyages to the moon. And heaven alone knew how many females lay littered in his wake. To a rousing burst of Rachmaninoff, he swept into my London flat one January evening and, with the hauteur of his greeting, captured my virgin heart forever and a day. 'Miss Ellie Simons? My car awaits. Shall we splurge on dinner or parking tickets?

He had always wanted to write music, and he could give no other identity to the thing he sought. If you want to know what it is, he told himself, listen to the first phrases of Tchaikovsky's First Concerto - or the last movement of Rachmaninoff's Second. Men have not found the words for it nor the deed nor the thought, but they have found the music. Let me see the answer to the promise of that music. Let me see it made real. Let me see the answer to the promise of that music. Not servants nor those served; not altars and immolations; but the final, the fulfilled, innocent of pain. Don't help me or serve me, but let me see it once, because I need it. Don't work for my happiness, my brothers --- show me yours --- show me that it is possible --- show me your achievements --- and the knowledge will give me courage for mine.

Undoubtedly, David did give some brilliant performances in London. Among these was his rendition of Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano Concerto in D Minor in July 1969, for which he was awarded the Dannreuther Prize for best performance of a piano concerto at the Royal College of Music for that year. However, the way it is depicted in Shine—as a dramatic scene in which David collapses on stage while playing, causing him to suffer a mental breakdown and then to return directly to Perth—is entirely fictional. Firstly, David had already played the piece in public several times before, for example, in Perth and Melbourne in 1964. Secondly, David did not collapse. Thirdly, he stayed in London for another year after this performance, giving several other concerts, among them Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano Concerto again, on March 24, 1970, at the Duke’s Hall at the Royal Academy of Music in Marylebone Road. Fourthly, the onset of his illness was slow, both predating and postdating this concert, and his condition was almost certainly connected with a history of chronic mental illness in the Helfgott family. And fifthly, he did not blame his “daddy.

Scott Hicks, in what he has referred to in interviews as the “ten-year odyssey” it took to research and make Shine, could surely have found out—if not from David or a library, then by speaking to my mother, Leslie, or me—that David had mastered Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano Concerto at least five years before the 1969 London performance that, Hicks alleges, caused David to collapse on stage and led to a major breakdown.

it’s one thing to follow #alienmusicstories about it and another to be practicing the tricky sax solo for the rachmaninoff and see one slither through your open dorm window and re-form into elvis.

Sergei Vasilievich Rachmaninoff was born on April 1, 1873. It was his good fortune to be born into a rich aristocratic family and could take up the piano at age four. The Rachmaninoff family although a part of the elite Russian military had a strong tie to music which allowed Sergei to attend the Moscow Conservatory of Music where he followed his talents to become one of the finest pianists of his day. At the time of his graduation in 1892 he had already composed several piano and orchestral pieces some of whose works are among his most popular pieces. In 1897 when he was 24 years of age he became depressed over a critical review of his Symphony No. 1. Voluntarily entering therapy he overcame his debilitation and four years later wrote the enthusiastically received Piano Concerto No. 2. After the Russian Revolution the elite families of Russia fled with the Rachmaninoff’s moving to New York City. Sergei’s talents and popularity as a pianist grew as he went on a demanding international tour. During this time his productivity slowed to where he only completed six copositions. In 1942 he moved to Beverly Hills and became an American citizen. The following month he died of advanced cancer.

I don't think her final words to me were a gauntlet, but an expression of her faith. I think my mom already believed that I could really, really love someone - because she'd shown me how, by loving me that way in the ten years we had together. I think her words were a parachute, tucked away but always there, ready to catch me when I'm ready to leap. "More," is what I tell Noah. "She wants more time. More memories. More laughter. More little moments you don't think you'll remember but you do. She doesn't want it to end. She wants more of what she already has." Noah's typing like Rachmaninoff.

I don't think her final words to me were a gauntlet, but an expression of her faith. I think my mom already believed that I could really, really love someone - because she'd shown me how, by loving me that way in the ten years we had together. I think her words were a parachute, tucked away but always there, ready to catch me when I'm ready to leap. "More," is what I tell Noah. "She wants more time. More memories, More laughter. More little moments you don't think you'll remember but you do. She doesn't want it to end. She wants more of what she already has." Noah;s typing like Rachmaninoff.

Bach-Busoni—Choral Prelude I Call on Thee? Lord 27. Bach-Busoni—Fantasie, C minor 28. Bach-Hess—Choral Prelude Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring 29. Beethoven—Variations in C minor 30. Brahms—Intermezzo, B-flat minor 31. Brahms—Intermezzo in E 32. Chopin—Berceuse 33. Chopin—Écossaises 34. Chopin—Mazurka in A minor, Op. 41, No. 2 35. Chopin—Nocturne, F sharp 36. Chopin—Prelude Op. 45 37. Chopin—Scherzo, B minor 38. Chopin—Scherzo, B-flat minor 39. Chopin—Waltz in C-sharp minor 40. Chopin-Liszt—Chant polonais (Moja pieszczoiha) * 41. Debussy—Cathédrale engloutie 42. Debussy—Danseuses de Delphes 43. Debussy—Prelude (from the suite Pour le piano) 44. Debussy—Reflets dans l'eau 45. Griffes—The White Peacock 46. Handel—The Harmonious Blacksmith 47. Mozart—Sonata in F (Köchel listing 300K) 48. Rachmaninoff—Prelude in G 49. Schubert-Liszt—False Caprice No. 6 50. Scriabin—Flammes sombres

Since January of 1895 all his energies and hopes had been concentrated on a symphony based on traditional chants of the Russian Orthodox Service.

THE HEGEMONY CONSUL sat on the balcony of his ebony spaceship and played Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C-sharp Minor on an ancient but well-maintained Steinway while great, green, saurian things surged and bellowed in the swamps below.