Melancholy Mixtape / November 2024

Six moments of classical music to help you cultivate calm, connection, and healing in turbulent times.

Nov 09, 2024

Painting of a woman in a coat and hat, sitting alone at a table in an empty cafe at night, holding a cup of coffee — Edward Hopper (American, 1882–1967). *Automat*, 1927. Oil on canvas. Image © Des Moines Art Center, Iowa

Perhaps the best descriptor of the particular variety of melancholy I carry with me is Weltschmerz. A German term translated literally as "world pain," Weltschmerz speaks to the chasm of sadness felt when comparing the conflict and suffering we experience in reality with the idealized version of the world that resides in our hearts.

Would it really be so hard to simply love and respect one another as we would like to be loved and respected in return? Are the challenges really so insurmountable to replace hatred, division, and tyranny with acceptance, unity, and equality?

No, it wouldn't be difficult to achieve these goals. And yet for millennia, the majority of people — including 73 million (and counting) in the United States just this week — have actively chosen not to do so.

Thankfully, I've always been able to turn to music to process this vast ocean of pain and channel the peaceful, more beautiful world I know is possible. And during weeks like this one, music consistently proves an indispensable tool that helps me cultivate a sense of radical hope and renewed possibility.

I know I'm not alone in feeling this way. So for this month's Melancholy Mixtape, I'm sharing six moments of classical music that have consoled and illuminated my spirit during this turbulent time, with the hope that they may do the same for you.

Regardless of how you listen — getting to know each work one by one here on Substack, or listening to them all at once on YouTube, Spotify, or Idagio — I hope these selections bring you calm, connection, and healing throughout the month.

Maurice Ravel / "The Fairy Garden," from Mother Goose Suite (Ma mère l'Oye)

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Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra
Yannick Nézet-Séguin, conductor

Dawn breaks over a lush enchanted garden, where fairies flutter about, beckoning each flower to witness the miracle of sunrise. As dew drops fall to the ground like tears and light shimmers across each blade of grass with increasing intensity, the music swells to a grand chorus praising nature's beauty.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart / "Rest peacefully, my beloved," from Zaide

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Natalie Dessay, soprano
Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment
Louis Langrée, conductor
(Follow along with the German text and English translation.)

In a magical moment of love at first sight, Zaide discovers Gomatz asleep under a tree and begins to serenade him with a tranquil lullaby. "Sweet dreams, rock him to sleep," Zaide prays as she leaves her portrait by Gomatz's side, "and grant at last his wish, that his dreams may ripen into reality."

Charles Koechlin / "Roses in the Midday Sun," from The Persian Hours (Les Heures persanes)

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Michael Korstick, piano

Ethereal chords chime like celestial bells above gently falling figures in the piano's left hand, conjuring an amorphous atmosphere that evokes the slow, sensual blossoming of Persian roses in the summer sun.

Samuel Barber / Violin Concerto, II. Andante

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Hilary Hahn, violin
The Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra
Hugh Wolff, conductor

Soaring above a bed of mournful strings, a solo oboe's wistful song gives way to music of heartbreaking pathos. This is not music of despair, however — for the storm clouds darkening our scene ultimately transform into rays of dappled, comforting light.

Louise Farrenc / Piano Quintet No. 1, II. Adagio non troppo

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Mirka Viitala, piano
Reeta Maalismaa, violin 
Aino Oksanen, viola 
Tuija Rantamäki, cello 
Kati Salovaara, double bass

A melody of burnished grace is passed from voice to voice with tender devotion in Farrenc's work for string quartet and piano, journeying through turbulent pastures before ending in a moment of tranquil, tremulous repose.

Richard Strauss / Tomorrow (Morgen)

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Barbara Bonney, soprano
Malcolm Martineau, piano
(Follow along with the German text and English translation.)

"And tomorrow the sun will shine again," begins one of my favorite songs in all of music, a setting of a poem by John Henry Mackay. Though the speaker and her love have been parted, hope remains for their reunion — a moment in which "speechless, we shall gaze into each other's eyes, and the speechless silence of bliss shall fall on us ..."

Listen to this month's Melancholy Mixtape on YouTube, Spotify, and Idagio.

Want to share your experience with one of the works I've shared this month? I'd love to hear about it! Leave a comment below or reply to this email. (And if you enjoyed your time here today, would you ever so kindly tap that little heart below? 👇🏼)

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