Being holed up in my room for the duration of the pandemic, I survive in large part by cultivating my appreciation of the absurd.
Here's my latest adventure.
It it's all too much for you, skip ahead to the very last line of this blog entry, at the bottom, and just enjoy a rather nice rendition of the German pianist, Jean Panajotoff, playing one of those two piano pieces kids are introduced to the piano with. You won't be sorry.
But if you'd like to go for a little ride...
Remember learning Chopsticks on the piano?
I wonder how many kids are brought to the keyboard for the first time with Chopsticks. You see there are black keys and white keys, and that the black keys are in patterns of two and three? Well, go to the three in the middle of the keyboard and hit the two white keys to the left and right of the first black key in the 3-set. Hit them six times with your left and right index fingers and then move your left index fingers down one key, keep your right finger on the same key, and hit the keys another six times. Then move again, one key down with your left, one key up with your right - another six chops. Then one more down with the left and one more up with the right and you've got the first bit.
Almost immediately you see the advantage of learning the names of the keys. You do that and you can cut out all those words and just say: play FG FG FG FG FG FG, then EG EG EG EG EG EG, then DB DB DB DB DB DB, then CC.
And if they had had YouTube in 1945, somebody might have said to me, "Just click here and follow along. And don't worry about the fancy variations they go into, including the Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2. Just enjoy it and welcome to the piano. Another illustration of how much the world has gotten easier - and a whole lot more fun - since the advent of the internet.
Because of the internet, I now know that Chopsticks was not invented by a precocious five-year-old but by a sixteen-year-old girl in England named Euphemia Allen. Since her brother was a music publisher, she actually got it published. She called it the Chop Waltz because she intended for it to be played by the little fingers, with the palms facing each other and hitting down in a chopping motion. This may explain why she never wrote anything else. And she didn't even get to use her own name. For some reason, and I'd definitely include this story in the history of female oppression, she had to publish under the pseudonym of Arthur de Lulli.
Meanwhile, in that very same year, 1877, over in Russia, Gania, the daughter of Russian composer Alexander Borodin, composed the same piece, except that she played the two keys alternatingly, instead of pounding the two together. Her father was delighted to discover his daughter's musical inventiveness and decided to compose a waltz around it, which he called the "Cutlet Polka," for some reason, a piece for three hands, Gania chopping away with one hand on the high keys, papa with two to her left. I am unaware of whether he ever explained his choice of title. He then invited several of his composer friends to write variations on the theme. Rimsky-Korsakov joined in, Mussorgsky did not. And it wasn't long before Liszt, delighted at the whole notion, wrote an introduction to the variations and the rest is history. Here's a version of Chopsticks/Cutlet played by Borodin, Cui, Lyadov, Rimsky-Korsakov and Liszt
The English version by de Lulli/Euphemia Allen also went down in history. Here's an example of what it sounds like when Lang Lang gets a hold of it. He plays it beautifully. Sharp and crystal clear. But he wasn't the first world-class pianist to get to it. Liberace performed it with the London Philharmonic in a much more tarted-up version in 1983. Note that he too can't resist sticking Brahms Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 in there as well.
Now many of you will be familiar with another children's introduction-to-the-piano pieces, this one known as the Waltz of the Fleas. I don't know where it originated, but since its German title is commonly referenced, it may have come out of Germany. I'm going to assume that's the case unless I am corrected - which I heartily invite you to do if you have some knowledge of the piece's history. I'm sticking with Germany in the meantime, given the fact that the German musicologist Eric Baumann published a parody of the field of musicology at some point and attributed the piece to a certain F. Loh. Not subtle. Floh is German for "flea." It's available on Amazon: Der Komponist Ferdinand Loh und sein opus magnum, Der Flohwalzer, Atlantis, 1996, ISBN 978-3-254-00205-1
And here's the second mystery. Chopsticks, both in Euphemia's version and in Gania Borodin's version, is a waltz. But the so-called Waltz of the Fleas is not; it's written in 4/4 time. Whether Baumann brought up that oddity in his book I don't know.
Many would argue the piece is more likely to have been composed not in Germany but in Hell, given its potential for driving adults - and almost anyone who loves music - to distraction. Here's what it sounds like. For the sake of your sanity, I'd suggest you play just enough to know which piece of music we're talking about.
And this brings us to a couple bizarre musical history notes. This piece, the Waltz of the Fleas (or Flohwalzer, in German), is commonly confused in the U.K. with Chopsticks, and if you look for one online, you're likely as not to find the other. And if you want to dish out twenty bucks, Amazon.de will be happy to ship the music to you from the UK. Until further notice, that is going to go down in my book as the latest perfect way to illustrate how easy it is to separate a fool from his money.
The universality of the Flohwalzer is illustrated by how many names there are for it around the world. The French, the Walloons of Belgium and the Chinese have it as a direct translations. It's the Valse de Puce (Flea Waltz) in French, and跳蚤圆舞曲 (Tiàozǎo yuánwǔqǔ), in Chinese. The Flemish of Belgium, however, followed their Dutch cousins and called it the De Vlooienmars (the “Flea March”). At least they recognized it isn’t a waltz, but although it’s in 4/4 time, it’s not strictly speaking a march either. Here's a version of it with the musical score for good measure, reminding you that it is in six flats and therefore much easier to play than to read.
The Bulgarians and the Slovaks call it a march, as well, but named it after a cat and a donkey, and not a flea, respectively: (Bulgarian Koteshki Marsh = Cat March) (Slovak Somársky pochod = Donkey March). The Hungarians have joined hands with the Slovaks and called it the Szamárinduló (Donkey March), as well. The Czechs decided to name it after pigs, but followed the Germans, French and Walloons in thinking of it as a waltz, for some reason. (Czech Prasečí valčík = Pig Waltz). The Russians also see it as a waltz, but prefer to think of it as somehow canine and not feline. In Russian it’s the Собачий Вальс (Sobachiy Val's = Dog Waltz). And here's a pretty good jazz version of it from Russia. And another version, complete with animated dogs, written for the guitar.
Poland, whose historical love of things British apparently extends to the British inability to distinguish the Flea Waltz from Chopsticks, apparently took their cue from Borodin and call the Flea Waltz "Kotlety."
The Japanese and the Taiwanese, like the Bulgarians, associate the tune with cats, but know enough not to call it a waltz or a march at the same time as they evidently recognize its power to drive sane people to distraction. In Japan and in Taiwan it’s called “Stepped on the Cat,” ねこふんじゃった (Neko Funjatta) and 踩到貓兒, (Cǎi dào māo er), respectively. In Korea, it's 고양이 춤, which, if I'm not mistaken, is still about a cat, but it's not waltzing or marching, but simply doing a dance.
The Spanish and the Mexicans went their own way entirely. In Spain, except on the Isle of Majorca, it’s known as La Chocolatera, “the Chocolate Maker,” and in Mexico as Los Changuitos, “the Little Monkeys.” In Majorca, where its power to reduce sane people to blithering idiots is clearly recognized, it’s neither a waltz or a march, but a polka. It’s known in Majorca as the Polca de los Tontos. (The Fools’ Polka). Then there are the Finns. They went down the same road as the Majorcans and called it a polka, but they then followed the Bulgarians and the East Asians, and called it a Cat Polka - Kissanpolkka.
And the Danes. They named it Prinsesse Toben (Princess Two-Legs), and you'll see that, like the Brits and the Poles, they mix it up with Chopsticks, for some reason. Or, I should hasten to add, maybe they don't; maybe it's just the Wikipedia page that mixes the two songs up. Again, I await your setting me right.
In Sweden, songwriter Thore Skogman wrote a song about a love affair involving a man named Kalle Johansson, using the theme, and that name then stuck to the tune.
OK. Now for a brief change of pace.
The website Forbears, informs us that the family name Panajotoff is the 7,275,472nd most common family name in the world and that only six people have this name, one in Venezuela, one in Canada, two in the United States and two in Germany. But this fact is misleading because it obscures another fact: that there are a considerable number of variations on the family name, including 7134 Panayotovs in Bulgaria, which suggests to me that Bulgaria is probably the origin of the name, as well as people who, when asked to fill in the blank with their family name, write: Pannajotoff, Panayotoff, Panaiotoff, Panajotov, Panajotow, Panayotof, Panayatoff, Panaitof, or Panayotov.
Many would argue the piece is more likely to have been composed not in Germany but in Hell, given its potential for driving adults - and almost anyone who loves music - to distraction. Here's what it sounds like. For the sake of your sanity, I'd suggest you play just enough to know which piece of music we're talking about.
And this brings us to a couple bizarre musical history notes. This piece, the Waltz of the Fleas (or Flohwalzer, in German), is commonly confused in the U.K. with Chopsticks, and if you look for one online, you're likely as not to find the other. And if you want to dish out twenty bucks, Amazon.de will be happy to ship the music to you from the UK. Until further notice, that is going to go down in my book as the latest perfect way to illustrate how easy it is to separate a fool from his money.
The universality of the Flohwalzer is illustrated by how many names there are for it around the world. The French, the Walloons of Belgium and the Chinese have it as a direct translations. It's the Valse de Puce (Flea Waltz) in French, and跳蚤圆舞曲 (Tiàozǎo yuánwǔqǔ), in Chinese. The Flemish of Belgium, however, followed their Dutch cousins and called it the De Vlooienmars (the “Flea March”). At least they recognized it isn’t a waltz, but although it’s in 4/4 time, it’s not strictly speaking a march either. Here's a version of it with the musical score for good measure, reminding you that it is in six flats and therefore much easier to play than to read.
The Bulgarians and the Slovaks call it a march, as well, but named it after a cat and a donkey, and not a flea, respectively: (Bulgarian Koteshki Marsh = Cat March) (Slovak Somársky pochod = Donkey March). The Hungarians have joined hands with the Slovaks and called it the Szamárinduló (Donkey March), as well. The Czechs decided to name it after pigs, but followed the Germans, French and Walloons in thinking of it as a waltz, for some reason. (Czech Prasečí valčík = Pig Waltz). The Russians also see it as a waltz, but prefer to think of it as somehow canine and not feline. In Russian it’s the Собачий Вальс (Sobachiy Val's = Dog Waltz). And here's a pretty good jazz version of it from Russia. And another version, complete with animated dogs, written for the guitar.
Poland, whose historical love of things British apparently extends to the British inability to distinguish the Flea Waltz from Chopsticks, apparently took their cue from Borodin and call the Flea Waltz "Kotlety."
The Japanese and the Taiwanese, like the Bulgarians, associate the tune with cats, but know enough not to call it a waltz or a march at the same time as they evidently recognize its power to drive sane people to distraction. In Japan and in Taiwan it’s called “Stepped on the Cat,” ねこふんじゃった (Neko Funjatta) and 踩到貓兒, (Cǎi dào māo er), respectively. In Korea, it's 고양이 춤, which, if I'm not mistaken, is still about a cat, but it's not waltzing or marching, but simply doing a dance.
The Spanish and the Mexicans went their own way entirely. In Spain, except on the Isle of Majorca, it’s known as La Chocolatera, “the Chocolate Maker,” and in Mexico as Los Changuitos, “the Little Monkeys.” In Majorca, where its power to reduce sane people to blithering idiots is clearly recognized, it’s neither a waltz or a march, but a polka. It’s known in Majorca as the Polca de los Tontos. (The Fools’ Polka). Then there are the Finns. They went down the same road as the Majorcans and called it a polka, but they then followed the Bulgarians and the East Asians, and called it a Cat Polka - Kissanpolkka.
And the Danes. They named it Prinsesse Toben (Princess Two-Legs), and you'll see that, like the Brits and the Poles, they mix it up with Chopsticks, for some reason. Or, I should hasten to add, maybe they don't; maybe it's just the Wikipedia page that mixes the two songs up. Again, I await your setting me right.
In Sweden, songwriter Thore Skogman wrote a song about a love affair involving a man named Kalle Johansson, using the theme, and that name then stuck to the tune.
OK. Now for a brief change of pace.
The website Forbears, informs us that the family name Panajotoff is the 7,275,472nd most common family name in the world and that only six people have this name, one in Venezuela, one in Canada, two in the United States and two in Germany. But this fact is misleading because it obscures another fact: that there are a considerable number of variations on the family name, including 7134 Panayotovs in Bulgaria, which suggests to me that Bulgaria is probably the origin of the name, as well as people who, when asked to fill in the blank with their family name, write: Pannajotoff, Panayotoff, Panaiotoff, Panajotov, Panajotow, Panayotof, Panayatoff, Panaitof, or Panayotov.
And while we’re at it, we need to remember that since the name is a Slavic name, there will be all the feminine variants. Marjorie Merriweather Post, for example, the daughter and only child of cereal king C.W. Post and his wife Ella Letitia Merriweather Post, who became the wealthiest woman in the United States, was ambassador to the Soviet Union under Stalin, invented frozen foods, and was once married to Edward Bennett Close who, after he divorced her, went on to become the grandfather of actress Glenn Close. Marjorie lived in Mar-a Lago before it fell into the hands of Donald Trump. And if she had married Mr. Panajotov instead, she would have been known as Marjorie Merriweather Post Panajotova.
Jean Panajotoff is, as far as I can tell, despite his French given name and his Bulgarian family name, a German. Here he is playing the Flohwalzer.
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