Basketball, organ music, modern American literature -- they're all related. I'm just glad I have a girlfriend to help me keep them straight.
Last night I was reeling after a day of watching basketball. I wanted to do something to take my mind off my bracket, but I didn't know if I wanted to write, listen to music, or practice the organ. I decided to call my girlfriend and tell her about my quandary. "Why don't you record yourself playing the organ," she suggested, "and then write about it?"
I liked her idea, and I decided to start learning a new piece today so I could have fresh material to record. As I was shifting through my organ sheet music, one piece seemed particularly appropriate. Its title, "Sweet Sixteenths," reminded me of the NCAA tournament and its impending Sweet Sixteen round of play.
"Sweet Sixteenths" is a concert rag for organ by William Albright. As I started to practice the piece today, I tried to make sense of the title. The sixteenths in the title refer to sixteenth notes, the fastest notes in a typical rag. The word sweet puzzled me, though.
I think of words like jaunty, bright, and syncopated when I think of ragtime. None of those words are sweet. How could a rag be sweet?
As I pondered that question, I remembered the epigraph from E.L. Doctorow's novel, Ragtime. The quote comes from Scott Joplin's instructions for musicians who play his music:
"Do not play this piece fast. It is never right to play ragtime fast."
All of a sudden, I understood. In poor ragtime performances, sixteenth notes are jerky and unsettling. In the best performances, they are unhurried and sweet. Sweet sixteenths are more than a clever reminder of a basketball tournament. They are the heartbeat of a classic genre of American music. If you'd like to hear them in action, check out this recording of Scott Joplin performing his "Pineapple Rag," and stay tuned to future posts to hear my take on Albright's piece.
