Jimi Hendrix performs the Star-Spangled Banner at Woodstock (1969)

In August of next year we will reach the fifti­eth anniver­sary of Wood­stock Fes­ti­val, that three-day con­cert (which rolled into a fourth day) involv­ing lots of sex, drugs, rock ‘n roll and mud, and which became an icon of the 1960s hip­pie coun­ter­cul­ture. Held at Max Yasgur’s dairy farm in Bethel, New York State, the Wood­stock Fes­ti­val, billed as “three days of peace and music”, fea­tured a roll-call of big acts of the day: Joan Baez, San­tana, Canned Heat, the Grate­ful Dead, Cree­dence Clear­wa­ter Revival, Janis Joplin, the Who, Jef­fer­son Air­plane, Cros­by, Stills and Nash, and Jimi Hen­drix (it’s inter­est­ing to read the roll-call of can­celled acts and declined invi­ta­tions too, but that’s anoth­er sto­ry).

When Hen­drix stepped onto the stage, it was 9 o’clock on the morn­ing of the fourth day — tech­ni­cal and weath­er delays had caused the fes­ti­val to stretch into Mon­day morn­ing. The organ­is­ers had giv­en Hen­drix the oppor­tu­ni­ty to go on at mid­night, but he opt­ed to be the clos­ing act (by 1969 he had earned the tra­di­tion­al headliner’s posi­tion). The morn­ing light made for excel­lent film­ing con­di­tions, which may be part of the rea­son this par­tic­u­lar Hen­drix per­for­mance is so well known. In any event, Hen­drix embarked upon an unin­ter­rupt­ed set last­ing near­ly two hours, one of the longest per­for­mances of his career. It con­clud­ed with a long med­ley that includ­ed the solo per­for­mance of The Star-Span­gled Ban­ner that would become emblem­at­ic not only of Wood­stock, but of the 1960s them­selves.

When most peo­ple think of Hen­drix and Wood­stock, it is this per­for­mance of the nation­al anthem that comes to mind. It was not the first time Hen­drix had per­formed it (in fact, there are near­ly 50 live record­ings of Hen­drix play­ing it, 28 made before Wood­stock) but no oth­er ver­sion is so icon­ic. The idea of incor­po­rat­ing the sounds of bombs and jets and cries of human anguish into his country’s nation­al anthem was bril­liant. As a protest against the Viet­nam War it was unam­bigu­ous and pow­er­ful: raw, jar­ring, soar­ing, and dis­com­fort­ing in equal mea­sure (though in fact per­formed in front of a rel­a­tive­ly small crowd since so many peo­ple had left Wood­stock to return to work or col­lege that Mon­day morn­ing!). So 49 years on, and from the com­fort of your mud-free arm­chair, here is Hen­drix’s gui­tar-tor­tur­ing ren­di­tion of the Star-Span­gled Ban­ner. It’s not com­fort­able to lis­ten to, frankly, but its cul­tur­al impact is clear­ly under­stand­able. It’s fol­lowed by an inter­est­ing snip­pet of Hen­drix dis­cussing the per­for­mance on the Dick Cavett chat show a year lat­er.

Jimi Hen­drix, Wood­stock

Felix Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E minor, Op. 64 (1845)

As musi­cal genius­es go, you don’t get much more genius than Felix Mendelssohn. Born into a wealthy Jew­ish fam­i­ly in Ham­burg in 1809, Felix was deeply involved in music from an ear­ly age; by the time he was four­teen, he had writ­ten twelve string sym­phonies. In 1821 his piano teacher, Carl Zel­ter, intro­duced the eleven year old Felix to the writer Johann Wolf­gang von Goethe, who was then in his sev­en­ties. Goethe was great­ly impressed by him, lead­ing to a mem­o­rable con­ver­sa­tion between Goethe and Zel­ter com­par­ing Felix with the young Mozart, whom Goethe had also wit­nessed, many years before:

“Musi­cal prodigies…are prob­a­bly no longer so rare; but what this lit­tle man can do in extem­po­ris­ing and play­ing at sight, bor­ders the mirac­u­lous, and I could not have believed it pos­si­ble at so ear­ly an age.”

And yet you heard Mozart in his sev­enth year at Frank­furt?” said Zel­ter.

Yes”, answered Goethe, “…but what your pupil already accom­plish­es, bears the same rela­tion to the Mozart of that time that the cul­ti­vat­ed talk of a grown-up per­son bears to the prat­tle of a child.”

The grown-up Mendelssohn had a good friend and col­lab­o­ra­tor in vio­lin vir­tu­oso and com­pos­er, Fer­di­nand David. The two had met as late teenagers in the late 1820s in Berlin where Felix was already an accom­plished com­pos­er and Fer­di­nand was a vio­lin­ist in the orches­tra at the Königsstädtis­ches The­atre. In a remark­able coin­ci­dence, it was dis­cov­ered that the two had been born in the exact same house in Ham­burg, a year apart!

A few years lat­er, in the sum­mer of 1838, Mendelssohn wrote to his friend: “I should like to write a vio­lin con­cer­to for you next win­ter. One in E minor runs through my head, the begin­ning of which gives me no peace.” In the end, it took him anoth­er six years to com­plete it, reg­u­lar­ly con­sult­ing David about vio­lin tech­nique. Ever the per­fec­tion­ist, Mendelssohn con­tin­u­al­ly made minor adjust­ments to the con­cer­to, right up to its pre­miere in Leipzig on March 13, 1845. The con­cer­to became an instant clas­sic and remains one of the cor­ner­stones of the reper­toire, being the most fre­quent­ly per­formed vio­lin con­cer­tos in his­to­ry.

So I give you Felix Mendelssohn’s Vio­lin Con­cer­to in E minor, Op. 64, per­formed by Ray Chen and the Gothen­burg Sym­pho­ny Orches­tra, and if you can free up the twen­ty nine min­utes required to wal­low in its total glo­ry, you will find it a worth­while expe­ri­ence, believe me.

 

Felix Mendelssohn