1. Jóhann JóhannssonMass In B Minor (John Eliot Gardiner 1985 Recording)
If I was being completely honest, and listed the music that I spend the most time listening to, this list would have a lot more classical music. It’s a little bit of a cop-out, though, since these compositions weren’t really constructed as albums. I couldn’t avoid putting this 1985 recording of Bach’s Mass In B Minor on though, because it really is my two favourite hours of recorded music ever.
Any time I listen to any music, the thing I’m looking for is the physical nervous reaction. The points in the piece where you start to get a little uncontrollable shake in your leg, your toes start to curl, and you feel a rush at the back of your neck. When you have to grab onto something, just to grip onto something. Those convulsions, they are the mark of any great piece of music for me.
From a technical point of view, this composition is absolutely fabulous. But from an emotional point of view, it’s out of this world. It’s the most direct music there is. It goes straight to your nervous system. Whenever I listen to anything else, this is the music against which all others are measured. What’s especially great is that every part exists as part of the own ensemble, but is so complete on its own. The bassoons, the violins, the strings, the vocals – you can just listen to just one part in isolation, and you’d still have a really excellent piece of music. As you listen to it again, there’s always new things that you hadn’t noticed. It’s extremely clever.
John Eliot Gardiner’s recording of Mass in B Minor is perfect. It gets every note right, and on period instruments with a smaller ensemble, it is performed as it would be back in Bach’s day. It sounds like it comes forth of its own volition, not played by humans but a mysterious otherworldly thing. With any other art form, there’s a real-world hook or ancillary meaning, but the inherent power of music is that there isn’t that – it’s unquantifiable. There’s another wonderful thing I love about Bach. He made his music for the church, not for money or anything else, so had to come up with something new for each service. That’s how he stayed so creative. It’s bonkers to think that pieces would have only been played once or twice in his lifetime, when every bar is studied today in universities. If I was being completely honest, and listed the music that I spend the most time listening to, this list would have a lot more classical music. It’s a little bit of a cop-out, though, since these compositions weren’t really constructed as albums. I couldn’t avoid putting this 1985 recording of Bach’s Mass In B Minor on though, because it really is my two favourite hours of recorded music ever.
Any time I listen to any music, the thing I’m looking for is the physical nervous reaction. The points in the piece where you start to get a little uncontrollable shake in your leg, your toes start to curl, and you feel a rush at the back of your neck. When you have to grab onto something, just to grip onto something. Those convulsions, they are the mark of any great piece of music for me.
From a technical point of view, this composition is absolutely fabulous. But from an emotional point of view, it’s out of this world. It’s the most direct music there is. It goes straight to your nervous system. Whenever I listen to anything else, this is the music against which all others are measured. What’s especially great is that every part exists as part of the own ensemble, but is so complete on its own. The bassoons, the violins, the strings, the vocals – you can just listen to just one part in isolation, and you’d still have a really excellent piece of music. As you listen to it again, there’s always new things that you hadn’t noticed. It’s extremely clever.
John Eliot Gardiner’s recording of Mass in B Minor is perfect. It gets every note right, and on period instruments with a smaller ensemble, it is performed as it would be back in Bach’s day. It sounds like it comes forth of its own volition, not played by humans but a mysterious otherworldly thing. With any other art form, there’s a real-world hook or ancillary meaning, but the inherent power of music is that there isn’t that – it’s unquantifiable. There’s another wonderful thing I love about Bach. He made his music for the church, not for money or anything else, so had to come up with something new for each service. That’s how he stayed so creative. It’s bonkers to think that pieces would have only been played once or twice in his lifetime, when every bar is studied today in universities.
