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A review by theeditorreads
Absolutely on Music: Conversations with Seiji Ozawa by Seiji Ozawa, Haruki Murakami
5.0
Absolutely on Music is a book of conversations between Haruki Murakami and Seiji Ozawa, with the former as the interviewer and the latter as the interviewee.
Synopsis
Divided into six conversations between Murakami and Ozawa, with interesting interludes in between, Absolutely on Music—or My Afternoons with Seiji Ozawa (as Murakami would have liked to title it)—is a riveting read for lovers of both music and the written word.
Review
When two masters in their respective fields talk, you listen. Or in this case, read all about it later. In [b:Absolutely on Music: Conversations with Seiji Ozawa|34382959|Absolutely on Music Conversations with Seiji Ozawa|Haruki Murakami|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1514556240l/34382959._SY75_.jpg|48095356], author extraordinaire Haruki Murakami and acclaimed conductor Seiji Ozawa come together to talk about writing and music.
Writing and music are what I turn to, whenever my feelings spin out of control; the way the book combines them is nothing short of amazing. Moreover, the pandemic and the resulting lockdown can attest to the fact that the arts, whether in any form, are what keep us sane.
Murakami says that the only purpose of this book was to have a discussion about music with Ozawa. As a music lover, he wanted to keep the discussion as open and honest as possible. Moreover, Ozawa himself praises Murakami, saying that “he doesn’t just love music, he knows music.” And thus starts the conversation, spanning from November 16, 2010, to July 4, 2011.
It is said that you can appreciate music if you listen more and listen closely—note all the silences, the highs and the lows, and…you get the point. Murakami truly comes out as an expert in all things music, as he picks up on Ozawa’s feelings about a particular piece before the latter even voices them; all the while music plays in the background. You can almost feel it (and play out, if you want to). It was magical, reading about how art is created, even though Murakami admits how all of what he learned during the course of the conversation could not be recorded in the book.
This conversation had that old-world charm, with discussions regarding records and record players and slow music that ensnares your senses; each conversation itself rises to a crescendo, only to end with a cadenza, as lively as the music it discusses. And there is also that discussion about art, about selling art vs. truly appreciating it, and how diversity adds a unique charm to it, often transcending genres and realms.
Now, along with the old world, the above is something that I recently read about—what I will say is experiencing a “skin orgasm,” even though Murakami doesn’t describe it that way. The above happens at the 5:42 time point when Mitsuko Uchida and Kurt Sanderling’s Beethoven Piano Concerto no. 3 in C minor is playing. Apart from that, my favourite section in this book was when they were discussing Mahler.
From the pure genius of composers/conductors to the brilliant way a piece of music has been paced, with special emphasis on the empty (silent) spaces, concerto music has been vibrantly explored; sadly, I have heard only Zubin Mehta’s (an Indian conductor of Western and Eastern classical music ) name till now, who has been mentioned in passing—I’m not that into live music.
On that note, the dynamics of recording live performances have also been touched upon, keeping in mind that it should provide a rich listening experience. I would definitely want to listen more, especially after listening to the select pieces mentioned in this book. Another aspect that was intriguing to me (as a novice learning to play the acoustic guitar) was how Ozawa relished just reading the scores (maybe because I feel that I need immense patience to study scores).
I will conclude this review with a heartfelt thanks to the translator. Jay Rubin is a master translator, which is evident from this particular line:
P.S. From the pen of Murakami, I now borrow a phrase to answer a question: “If someone told me that I could listen (read/watch, I might add) to only one or the other but not to both, my life would be immeasurably diminished.”
P.P.S. A sensory experience of reading the book will be to simultaneously listen to the pieces of music mentioned, as the story progresses.
Originally posted on:
Shaina's Musings
Synopsis
Divided into six conversations between Murakami and Ozawa, with interesting interludes in between, Absolutely on Music—or My Afternoons with Seiji Ozawa (as Murakami would have liked to title it)—is a riveting read for lovers of both music and the written word.
Review
When two masters in their respective fields talk, you listen. Or in this case, read all about it later. In [b:Absolutely on Music: Conversations with Seiji Ozawa|34382959|Absolutely on Music Conversations with Seiji Ozawa|Haruki Murakami|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1514556240l/34382959._SY75_.jpg|48095356], author extraordinaire Haruki Murakami and acclaimed conductor Seiji Ozawa come together to talk about writing and music.
What we are doing is entirely different, but I imagine we may well be the same when it comes to the depth of our concentration.
Writing and music are what I turn to, whenever my feelings spin out of control; the way the book combines them is nothing short of amazing. Moreover, the pandemic and the resulting lockdown can attest to the fact that the arts, whether in any form, are what keep us sane.
Like love, there can never be too much “good music”. The number of people who use it as a fuel to recharge their appetite for life is beyond counting.
Murakami says that the only purpose of this book was to have a discussion about music with Ozawa. As a music lover, he wanted to keep the discussion as open and honest as possible. Moreover, Ozawa himself praises Murakami, saying that “he doesn’t just love music, he knows music.” And thus starts the conversation, spanning from November 16, 2010, to July 4, 2011.
It is said that you can appreciate music if you listen more and listen closely—note all the silences, the highs and the lows, and…you get the point. Murakami truly comes out as an expert in all things music, as he picks up on Ozawa’s feelings about a particular piece before the latter even voices them; all the while music plays in the background. You can almost feel it (and play out, if you want to). It was magical, reading about how art is created, even though Murakami admits how all of what he learned during the course of the conversation could not be recorded in the book.
There’s a great deal of satisfaction when you finally come to understand a piece of music.
This conversation had that old-world charm, with discussions regarding records and record players and slow music that ensnares your senses; each conversation itself rises to a crescendo, only to end with a cadenza, as lively as the music it discusses. And there is also that discussion about art, about selling art vs. truly appreciating it, and how diversity adds a unique charm to it, often transcending genres and realms.
This is truly miraculous music making. The two listeners groan simultaneously.
Now, along with the old world, the above is something that I recently read about—what I will say is experiencing a “skin orgasm,” even though Murakami doesn’t describe it that way. The above happens at the 5:42 time point when Mitsuko Uchida and Kurt Sanderling’s Beethoven Piano Concerto no. 3 in C minor is playing. Apart from that, my favourite section in this book was when they were discussing Mahler.
There’s also something deeply abnormal about Mahler’s music. If I had to put a label on it, I’d call it schizophrenic.
From the pure genius of composers/conductors to the brilliant way a piece of music has been paced, with special emphasis on the empty (silent) spaces, concerto music has been vibrantly explored; sadly, I have heard only Zubin Mehta’s (an Indian conductor of Western and Eastern classical music ) name till now, who has been mentioned in passing—I’m not that into live music.
Silence is not just the absence of sound: there is a sound called silence.
On that note, the dynamics of recording live performances have also been touched upon, keeping in mind that it should provide a rich listening experience. I would definitely want to listen more, especially after listening to the select pieces mentioned in this book. Another aspect that was intriguing to me (as a novice learning to play the acoustic guitar) was how Ozawa relished just reading the scores (maybe because I feel that I need immense patience to study scores).
I will conclude this review with a heartfelt thanks to the translator. Jay Rubin is a master translator, which is evident from this particular line:
Beautiful piano solo unfolds, like an ink painting in space.
P.S. From the pen of Murakami, I now borrow a phrase to answer a question: “If someone told me that I could listen (read/watch, I might add) to only one or the other but not to both, my life would be immeasurably diminished.”
P.P.S. A sensory experience of reading the book will be to simultaneously listen to the pieces of music mentioned, as the story progresses.
Originally posted on:
Shaina's Musings