“New” favourite works of Classical Music

I put new in quotes because, firstly, they're now all decades old and, secondly, because I discovered them all quite a while ago but have had yet to mention them. (It's been ages since I updated this blog.) All are repetitive to varying degrees. Here they are, with links, descriptions and reasons why they're favourites of mine:

Music for 18 Musicians - Steve Reich

One of the masterpieces of minimalist music. A series of 11 chords pulse in and out, slow as the tide, followed by melodic variations on each chord passed through the many instruments (and indeed the musicians playing them), which then return to the pulses, and the cycle closes as it began. It is a constantly shifting stasis, like clouds forming and deforming in the sky above you, or the passing of seasons. I use similes relating to nature because that’s what the music inspires in me. It’s the sort of music that restores my love of the world, because it makes me feel part of something far greater than myself.

Music in 12 Parts - Philip Glass (The video is only of the first part)

Another essential work of minimalism. These 12 parts are almost completely self-contained, and can therefore be heard in isolation or as part of the whole suite. Either is fine. In and of themselves, they are perfect for lulling you into a 20-minute trance; in sequence, they change suddenly and juxtapose wildly against each other, building to a very large-scale experience of the same basic musical ideas being exhaustively varied and contrasted. Light and dark, slow and fast, up and down. This is the ultimate in repetitive music: therefore, don't just listen to it once, listen to it again and again and again and again and again. You heard it wrong the first time. You heard it wrong the first time. (Hint: loud is good.)

Patterns in a Chromatic Field - Morton Feldman (The video is only of the first part)

Feldman is undoubtedly one of my favourite composers, which makes it strange that this piece (one of his most atypical) is amongst my favourites of his. It's certainly dynamic how the cello and piano bounce off each other with disjointed melodies and banging chords, eventually forming a kind of unity that makes a mere two notes sound like the largest empty space imaginable. And that's all there is, by the way, just a cello and piano. (Feldman eventually acquired a gift in the 1980's that enabled to make a tiny ensemble sound as rich as an entire orchestra, and balance sounds with silence: framing it rather than dominating it.) It's a kind of nowhere music, really. Just repeating patterns that exist in a universe of their own, some of which are amongst the most beautiful and original I've heard in all of music.