Charles Petzold

The 100th anniversary of the birth of Hungarian composer György Ligeti was this past May, and I celebrated with daily posts of Ligeti’s music on Facebook that went on for 50 days. Here are those posts on one convenient webpage.

Ligeti emerged in the early 1960s as one of the most fascinating and compelling of post-war composers. His music was so sonically adventurous and otherworldly that Stanley Kubrick used excerpts from four of his compositions in 2001: A Space Odyssey. But his music continued to evolve over the successive decades to include an opera; violin, piano, and horn concertos; and a set of challenging piano études.

For background on Ligeti’s life and music, I relied on the book György Ligeti: Music of the Imagination by Richard Steinitz (Northeastern University Press, 2003) supplemented with web research (including Wikipedia) and liner notes from the György Ligeti Edition series of CDs released by Sony Classical, and the five-CD Ligeti Project released by Teldec. These two sets encompass nearly all of Ligeti’s music.

For these posts, however, I favored live performances on YouTube. For many of Ligeti’s compositions, YouTube videos are available that show the score, and these are often illuminating as well.

Day 1. Three Weöres Songs (1946–47)

György Ligeti was born to a Hungarian Jewish family on 28 May 1923 in Transylvania, Romania, which became part of Hungary in 1940. He began taking piano lessons in 1937, started composing in 1938, and commenced a more formal study of music in 1941.

In 1944, when many of his contemporaries were off fighting the Soviet Army on the Ukrainian front, Ligeti was sent to a Jewish labor battalion near Budapest. When the Nazi government discovered that Hungary had been in secret negotiations with the Allies, they invaded the country and began a program to eliminate the Jews. Ligeti’s parents, brother, uncle, and aunt were all sent to Auschwitz. Of his immediate family, only György and his mother survived the Holocaust.

After the war, Ligeti began studying at the Franz Liszt Academy of Music in Budapest, where he and fellow student and friend György Kurtág were enamored of the music of early 20th century composers, and particularly Béla Bartók, whose death in 1945 prevented either of them from ever meeting him.

As the Soviet Union under Stalin tightened its grip over Hungary, much modernist music — including that of Debussy, Ravel, Britten, Schoenberg, and Stravinsky — was banned. Young composers such as Ligeti were forced to write in a more populist mode, and some (including Ligeti) chose to write nationalistic works based on Hungarian folk music.

Some of Ligeti’s compositions from this period were lost; others are rather conventional and uninteresting. One work that is still sometimes performed is Three Weöres Songs, composed between 1946 and 1947 and based on texts by Hungarian poet Sändor Weöres.

The three poems are identified by their first lines: “The moon is dancing in a white robe,” “A cluster of fruit, swayed by the wind,” and “A merchant has come with giant birds.” Although the songs received some early performances, by 1948 their adventurous harmonies violated the government’s increasingly strict aesthetic requirements.

Day 2. Sonatina for piano four hands (1950)

After graduating from the Franz Liszt Academy of Music in 1948, György Ligeti continued composing and had some success with performances of his music. However, living in Hungary behind the Iron Curtain, he had very little contact or interaction with European composers of his generation, and no opportunity to hear the radical experimentation going on in Germany, France, and elsewhere.

Despite his social and artistic isolation, Ligeti had been familiar with some of the pioneering composers of the early 20th century. But the strictures imposed by the government compelled composers to write in an accessible and popular style. Any music that had a whiff of modernism or formalism was condemned as elitist and suppressed.

Ligeti’s Sonatina for piano four hands has three short movements marked Allegro, Andante, and Vivace. While it is quite enjoyable, it is lacking in substance and innovation when compared with other piano music being composed during this period. What makes it somewhat more interesting is that Ligeti later used parts of this music in other compositions.

Day 3. Romanian Concerto (1951)

Ligeti’s Romanian Concerto of 1951 ostensibly seems like the perfect composition to satisfy the music standards imposed within the Soviet Bloc. It’s a crowd-pleasing orchestral work based on folk tunes and rhythms, with seemingly nothing that could mystify or offend even the most naïve of listeners.

But it didn’t fare well: After a rehearsal by the orchestra of Hungarian Radio, it was rejected by government censors. Ligeti later said that this composition was his “last compromise.” He would no longer compose to meet government requirements.

Here’s a recent performance by the Kyiv Symphony Orchestra.

Day 4. Cello Sonata (1948 – 53)

Ligeti composed the first movement of what became the Cello Sonata in 1948 for a cello student with whom he was secretly in love, but she never played it. Five years later, another cellist asked Ligeti for a composition, so he added a second movement. The first movement was then called “Dialogo,” and the second contrasting movement, “Capriccio.”

The Hungarian Composers’ Union rejected the two-movement Cello Sonata for public performance, and although it was allowed for broadcast over Hungarian Radio, that apparently didn’t happen either. The first performance of the Cello Sonata was in 1979, and it has since become a popular solo showpiece for cellists.

Day 5. Musica Ricercata (1951– 53)

After it became apparent to György Ligeti that he would have to compromise his compositional instincts to get his music performed, he began to compose for the “bottom drawer” — works for himself that for now would only be performed in private gatherings, but might be extracted sometime in the future.

Ligeti’s based his piano composition Musica Ricercata on an effort to wipe the musical slate clean, much like Descartes had done with philosophy. Ligeti later wrote:

In 1951 I began to experiment with very simple structures of sonorities and rhythms as if to build up a new kind of music starting from nothing. My approach was frankly Cartesian, in that I regarded all the music I knew and loved as being, for my purpose, irrelevant and even invalid. I set myself such problems as: what can I do with a single note? with its octave? with an interval? with two intervals?

The first movement of Musica Ricercata is indeed restricted to just two notes: an A (with octave transpositions) and D, but the D doesn’t come in until the end. The second movement uses just three notes: E♯ and F♯ at first, and then an increasingly unrelenting barrage of G’s (which Ligeti later said symbolized “a knife through Stalin’s heart”). The third movement — adapted from the Sonatina from Day 2 of this series — uses four notes, and so on, until all 12 notes appear in the final movement.

Even with this seemingly rigid structure, Ligeti’s wit and exuberance is evident throughout the composition. But he was right to keep the Musica Ricercata in the metaphorical bottom drawer: The first public performance wasn’t until 1969. Thirty years after that, Stanley Kubrick used part of the second movement in his movie Eyes Wide Shut.

Day 6. Six Bagatelles for Wind Quintet (1953)

Shortly after György Ligeti completed the Musica Ricercata he arranged six of the movements for wind quintet. This was in response to a request by the Jeney Quintet, a Budapest-based wind quintet founded by Hungarian composer Zoltán Jeney. Movements 3, 5, 7, 8, 9, and 10 of the Musica Ricercata became the Six Bagatelles.

Stalin died in March of 1953, and there was some hope that restrictions on music would relax sufficiently that the Six Bagatelles might be performed. Not right away, however. In 1956, the Jeney Quintet ventured to play the first five movements in a concert at the Franz Liszt Academy of Music but decided to skip the sixth movement so as not to be overly provocative. A complete performance didn’t take place until 1969.

This delightful performance by the Danish ensemble Carion incorporates choreography that visually illustrates the polyphonic interaction among the five instruments.

Day 7. String Quartet No. 1: Métamorphoses Nocturnes (1953 – 54)

This is my favorite of György Ligeti’s compositions from his Hungarian period, combining a fierce intensity, occasional lyricism, and sonic explorations in an engaging 20-minute work.

Because of the strict government ban on anything with a whiff of modernism, (Ligeti later wrote) “books were written, music was composed and pictures were painted in secret,” to await some future time, perhaps, when such things would be allowed. But this was not necessary a bad thing: “To work for one’s bottom drawer was regarded as an honor.”

Freed from the requirement to please anyone, Ligeti’s String Quartet No. 1 (subtitled Métamorphoses Nocturnes), became his most adventurous and radical music to date. In preparation, he studied the scores of Béla Bartók’s String Quartets No. 3 and 4, which date from the 1920s but continue to sound fresh and modern today. Ligeti could not actually hear these works, however; although Bartók was extolled by the Hungarian government as the great national composer, only his mildest and most conventional works were allowed to be performed.

This is an energetic and passionate performance by the New York City-based Bergamot Quartet.

This string quartet might sound chaotic on first hearing, but a tight structure underpins the sonic explorations. In preparation for composting this work, Ligeti also studied Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations, and conceived of the music as a set of continuous variations incorporating classical forms. Although the music is performed as one continuous movement, it is actually divided into 17 contrasting sections that range in length (in the recording by the Hagen Quartett) from 12 seconds to 2 minutes 11 seconds.

Day 8. Chromatic Fantasy (1956)

The year 1956 was a turbulent one in Hungary. Nikita Khrushchev’s policy of de-Stalinisation had led to more aggressive anti-Communist demonstrations in Budapest, culminating in an uprising in October against the government. Hungary took itself out of the Warsaw Pact, but in response, the Soviet Union invaded Hungary and suppressed the revolt.

During a brief period during which the borders were opened, György Ligeti and his wife Vera fled Hungary and made it to Austria and then were driven to Vienna.

One of the last works that Ligeti composed in Hungary was this short Chromatic Fantasy for piano. Although Ligeti seems to have intended the music to be an orthodox 12-tone work, the sparse opening gives way to aggressive rhythmic passages more suggestive of Bartók or Stravinsky.

Day 9. Artikulation (1958)

After György Ligeti left Hungary, he stayed in Vienna for a short time, and then in January 1957, went to Cologne, one of the hubs of avant-garde music community at the time. He stayed at Karlheinz Stockhausen’s house for six weeks, and met other composers, including Bruno Maderna, and was given a four-month scholarship at the pioneering Electronic Music Studio.

Ligeti’s first two completed compositions in Germany were created at the Electronic Music Studio. The first was called Glassandi (1957), about 7½ minutes in length, which explores sounds sweeping through frequency changes.

Ligeti’s 1958 four-minute electronic composition Artikulation was shorter but more sophisticated. As the title suggests, Ligeti was intrigued by the possibility of imitating the rhythms and intonations of human speech, an idea that shows up in later non-electronic compositions.

This video includes a synchronzied “listening score” that was created by a graphic artist in the 1970s.

Day 10. Apparitions (1958 – 59)

Apparitions — which premiered during a new music gathering in Cologne in 1960 — was György Ligeti’s first major orchestral composition, although he had been working on it for some nine years. The title is intended to be in French rather than English to mean “appearances” rather than “ghosts.” The two movements are marked as Lento and Agitato.

Apparitions set a direction for Ligeti involving dense masses of sound that often seem static although encompassing much activity on the micro level. This concept would be more fully (and famously) realized in his next composition.

I find that watching a performance of a composition aids immensely in listening to the music, so I am very sad to report that I could not find a video performance of Apparitions. This is a recording conducted by Jonathan Nott with the Berlin Philharmonic that was made as part of five-CD Teldec collection called The Ligeti Project.

Day 11. Atmosphères (1961)

In 1968, György Ligeti discovered that music from four of his compositions had been used on the soundtrack of a movie called 2001: A Space Odyssey. Of course, nobody had bothered to ask the composer for permission. The only negotiation that had taken place was between MGM and C.F. Peters (Ligeti’s publisher) over the use of Kyrie section of Ligeti’s Requiem. Subsequent litigation between the publishers and MGM resulted in Ligeti being paid $3,500 for the use of his music in the movie. He later got additional royalties from recordings of the music.

Of the four Ligeti compositions used in 2001, Atmosphères is the only one is purely instrumental. It is used three times: during the movie’s Overture, Intermission, and in the Star Gate sequence.

It’s sometimes assumed that Ligeti’s music was unknown prior to its use in 2001, and that might be true of the wider public. However, Atmosphères received its New York City premiere in 1964 in a performance by the New York Philharmonic, conducted by no less a celebrity than Leonard Bernstein, and it was recorded and released by Columbia Masterworks in 1965.

Atmosphères requires a fairly large orchestra, but what makes it unusual is that the instruments are divided into very many parts: At the very beginning, the violins are divided into 14 different parts, with another 5 parts for the violas, 5 for the cellos, and 4 for the double basses. At times, the 4 flutes, 4 clarinets, 4 oboes, 4 bassoons, 6 French horns, 4 trumpets, and 4 trombones all have separate parts, and sometimes the strings subdivide further into 28 parts for the violins, 10 for the violas, etc.

Ligeti called this technique “micropolyphony.” So many instruments are playing so many different (but related) threads of music, that they all intertwine into a shifting mass of sound.

Heard today — sixty years after its composition — the most striking aspect of Atmosphères is how short it is: under nine minutes. Here’s a performance by the Frankfurt Radio Symphony conducted by Christoph Eschenbach.

Day 12. Volumina for Organ (1961 – 62)

György Ligeti’s organ composition Volumina originated with a commission to write a work for the organ at Bremen Cathedral. The score that Ligeti produced is his only score that uses graphic symbols. The graphics indicate the clusters of tones to be played at the organ, which means that the precise notes vary from performance to performance. An assistant or two manipulate the organ stops to alter the timbre and intensity of the sound.

In Volumina, Ligeti achieves the type of massive density of sound he explored in Atmosphères but with a single instrument.

Day 13. Poème Symphonique for 100 Metronomes (1962)

Starting with the title, Poème Symphonique was clearly a provocation. The score is a set of instructions that call for a conductor and 10 performers in evening dress to start 100 mechanical wind-up metronomes going and then leave the stage. When all the metronomes had run down, they go back on stage and take bows.

The first performance on 13 September 1963 at a music week in Hilversum, North Holland, was attended by the mayor and Spanish ambassador who both made speeches about “the sublime value of musical art,” completely unaware what Ligeti had planned. He had obtained a loan of 100 metronomes from the Wittner company in Germany, and the performance went off as planned to the mystification, amusement, and a bit of dissatisfaction of the audience.

Fortunately, Dutch Television recorded that first performance, and although they didn’t broadcast it at the time (at the request of the Hilversum Senate), fortunately for us it still exists. The conductor is Ligeti himself.

Several other performances are available on YouTube done in various ways.

Poème Symphonique could be understood as an exercise in polyrhythmic counterpoint, but in retrospect, it is also an early manifestation of what Steve Reich in 1968 dubbed “process music” — music that is set in motion to resemble

pulling back a swing, releasing it, and observing it gradually come to rest; turning over an hour glass and watching the sand slowly run through the bottom; placing your feet in the sand by the ocean’s edge and watching, feeling, and listening to the waves gradually bury them.

Day 14. Aventures (1962) and Nouvelles Aventures (1962 – 65)

Thanks to the New York Philharmonic Archives, I know the exact date when I saw a performance of György Ligeti’s Aventures and Nouvelles Aventures. It was March 30, 1973, at the NYU Loeb Student Center, in one of Pierre Boulez’s Prospective Encounters concerts. I was familiar with the recording of this music conducted by Bruno Maderna, but it was only after seeing a performance that I had a much better understanding of the work.

Ligeti had long been interested in using music to simulate speech. This was the motivation behind his electronic composition Artikulation. But in Aventures, he created a type of music theatre or mini-opera in which three characters engage in an absurdist interchange that is full of exaggerated emotions but with no literal meaning. In the score, Ligeti uses the International Phonetic Alphabet with extensive directions to denote the sounds his three vocalists emit.

Aventures was premiered in Hamburg in 1963, but after Ligeti had worked on some other pieces, he revisited the idea and used leftover sketches of the earlier composition to create Nouvelles Aventures in 1965. The two works were first performed together in 1966, and although they remain two distinct compositions, they are often performed back-to-back, just as I saw them in 1973. In this video, the break between the two works is at about the 12-minute mark.

Stanley Kubrick used electronically distorted snatches of Aventures towards the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey after Bowman arrives in the bedroom.

Day 15. Requiem (1963 – 65)

György Ligeti had long intended to write a Requiem as a response to the Holocaust and at one point, for the victims of the Hungarian Uprising. But it wasn’t until a commission from Swedish Radio that the project took form. Ligeti had at first intended to set nine sections of the traditional requiem mass but stopped at four movements that alone form a complete and compelling half-hour composition.

Requiem uses a large orchestra (including a harpsichord), a twenty-part chorus (sopranos, mezzos, altos, tenors, and basses, each divided into four parts), and soprano and mezzo-soprano soloists.

This performance by the Ensemble Intercontemporain conducted by Matthias Pintscher is the better of the two complete live performances on YouTube, but it might be rudely interrupted by advertisements.

Requiem begins with the Introitus, a soft and quiet setting that seems to arise out of darkness of the bass chorus. The Kyrie (which begins at about 7:50 in this video) is a dense mass of micropolyphony, rising in tension with only brief respites of relaxation. This is the section that Kubrick used three times in 2001: A Space Odyssey to signal the first three appearances of the monolith.

The Dies Irae (starting at about 14:50) erupts into frantic and seemingly chaotic outbursts, reminiscent of the Aventures compositions. The final Lacrimosa (at 23:35) returns to the quieter textures of the opening movement, but the chorus does not participate, and the orchestra seems to fade away “as if losing themselves,” Richard Steinitz writes in his book on Ligeti, “in a numbed, glassy twilight.”

In one lecture about the Requiem, Ligeti said that the work was like “brutal surgery on a splendid silk: the material is carefully smoothed and stroked (‘Introitus’), crumped and unravelled (‘Kyrie’), completely destroyed and torn like a cobweb (‘Dies irae’) and finally, the pieces are tentatively rejoined (‘Lacrimosa’).”

The premiere in Stockholm in 1965 had a powerful cultural effect: One newspaper wrote that “for a while all other music seemed impossible,” and another wrote of its “enormous expressive force . . . a shout from all living things.” It remains one of Ligeti’s most compelling works.

Day 16. Lux Aeterna (1966)

In his early years as a composer in Hungary, György Ligeti wrote many unaccompanied choral works. But the first choral work during his expatriate modern period is Lux Aeterna, a setting for 16-part chorus of the traditional Latin text from the Roman Catholic Mass. Stanley Kubrick used part of Lux Aeterna in the Clavius Base sequence in 2001: A Space Odyssey.

In contrast to Ligeti’s other works of this period, Lux Aeterna remains very poised and serene throughout its nine minutes. The score is marked with a conventional Italian instruction “sostenuto, molto calmo,” which means “sustained, very calm” but then includes an additional instruction in German and English: “wie aus der Ferne” and “from afar.” More markings indicate how the voices are to come in: “stets sehr weich einsetzen” / “all entries very quiet,” and later “unmerklich einsetzen” / “enter imperceptibly.” The effect is a relatively seamless shifting of timbre and harmonies.

The clustered harmonies of Lux Aeterna are less harsh than in other Ligeti works, and the dissonances that remain result in a tension that almost becomes normalized, giving the music a peaceful contemplative aura. As the alto voices fade out at the end, Ligeti includes seven additional measures of silence, which the conductor observes in this performance.

Day 17. Cello Concerto (1966)

György Ligeti begins his Concerto for Cello and Orchestra with a long sustained note on the cello that he marks pppppppp. Theoretically as well as literally, that’s just about indistinguishable from silence, and it’s a commanding start to a work that I find particularly enticing and completely absorbing.

The first of two movements is quite subdued in an extreme way even for Ligeti: For much of the time, the music barely moves or expands in a perceptible manner, and the cello often seems to be functioning as just another solo instrument in the orchestra. When sudden solo passages occur, it’s other instruments that are involved. You might not even know it’s a cello concerto if the cellist wasn’t given a special spot on the stage!

The second movement (at 8:55 in this performance) also begins quietly, but in contrast to the first movement, it becomes progressively more agitated. The cello assumes musical center stage, with some surprising lyricism and virtuoso solo passages that are sometimes more visual than audible. A section towards the end for solo cello functions somewhat like a cadenza except instead of exploding into a crowd-pleasing crescendo, it fades into silence. The cellist’s left hand is still fingering the strings, but the right hand has stopped bowing.

Nothing that Ligeti does in the Cello Concerto can be regarded as a gimmick because it all coheres into a beautiful piece of music.

Day 18. Lontano (1967)

Without melody, rhythm, or easily classifiable harmonies, György Ligeti creates music of dynamic emotional depth.

This is quite evident in Lontano (Italian for “far away”). At first, the composition seems almost like an orchestral version of Lux Aeterna. The woodwinds enter starting with the flutes, and the masses of sound build from the top. But the strings allow the shifting textures to truly shimmer, and the use of the brass creates an ominous atmosphere. Throughout the work, openings appear in which the sun seems to dispel the mists of sound before retreating into the depths.

Stanley Kubrick did not use music from Lontano in 2001: A Space Odyssey, but he did use a short passage in The Shining, and Martin Scorsese used some in Shutter Island.

None of the live performances of Lontano available on YouTube are free from background noise, and two of them use a static camera showing the conductor, but I think this one from an Argentinian orchestra works the best.

Day 19. Harmonies, Étude No. 1 for Organ (1967)

György Ligeti had intended to compose four études for organ using various techniques but stopped after two. The first, called Harmonies, requires an organ that is deprived of sufficient air so that the notes tend to bend. It begins with a ten-note cluster that over time is altered by individual notes while an assistant gradually changes the organ stops in a manner that is intended to be nearly imperceptible.

This description might make it sound like Harmonies is somewhat similar to what Steve Reich later did in his 1970 work Four Organs, but the sounds of the two works are very different. Four Organs calls for electronic organs with simple timbres; Harmonies cannot be played properly on an electronic organ because the change in stops must be gradual. The depletion of air results in a slowly shifting mass of sound but one that is quiet and imprecise.

No live performance of Harmonies is available on YouTube; this video is a recorded performance with a view of the score that might or might not be helpful.

Day 20. Continuum for harpsichord (1968)

György Ligeti is sometimes regarded as a quasi-minimalist composer, or perhaps minimalist-curious. Exhibit A in evidence is this short work —the first of three compositions that Ligeti wrote for harpsichord. But of course Ligeti does minimalism in his own unique way. Instead of the Andante tempos of Steve Reich or the Allegros of Philip Glass, Ligeti’s is Prestissimo — so fast that the harpsichord becomes a buzz of sound. Two manuals (keyboards) are required because the hands overlap and sometimes play the same notes.

Day 21. String Quartet No. 2 (1968)

In his book György Ligeti: Music of the Imagination, Richard Steinitz refers to the “kaleidoscopic” nature of the second of Ligeti’s two string quartets. More elaborately:

It is exaggerated melodrama. It is a language of gestures and mannerisms. It is a repertory of techniques and types. It is a behavioral kaleidoscope. It is dreamlike non-sequitur. It is deep-frozen expressionism. It is the confrontation of opposites. It is immediacy and memory. It is the young science of phonetics and new technology of electronic music applied to the old art of the classical string quartet. It is a wild zigzag trajectory catapulted out of furious energy into a state of graceful statis, choreographed in five movements.

The five movements are very clearly defined, separated by traditional pauses, and they all have their unique characteristics, but none of them stays very consistent for very long. Contrasting outbursts and reposes abound, contributing to a work that is fascinating in its own, as well as displaying a panorama of Ligeti’s compositional techniques.

Day 22. Ten Pieces for Wind Quintet (1968)

György Ligeti’s Ten Pieces for Wind Quintet is only about 15 minutes in length, so you can do the math. Each of these little études (or vignettes or bagatelles) has its own personality, but they share a playful attitude.

The playfulness in the Ten Pieces is surprising considering that in August 1968 — when Ligeti had not quite finished three movements of this work — Russian tanks rolled into Czechoslovakia, ending the Prague Spring and triggering Ligeti’s memories of the Hungarian Uprising some twelve years earlier. He was not able to compose for several weeks, and only completed the composition in late December.

The Ten Pieces for Wind Quintet has an overall scheme: Each of the even-numbered movements highlights one of the five instruments — in the order clarinet, flute, oboe, horn, and bassoon — making a sort of mini-concerto. The odd-numbered movements generally feature all the instruments together except for No. 5 (which omits the horn) and No. 9, which restricts itself to piccolo, oboe, and clarinet, but playing in unison in such as a way that creates combination tones that are not coming out of any of the individual instruments.

The last movement gives a prominent role to the bassoon, even when it’s almost unrecognizably playing in a high register, and the bassoon can’t resist having the last word with a single short beep. The printed score then appends a quote from Lewis Carroll’s “Through the Looking-Glass”:

“… but —”
There was a long pause.
“Is that all?” Alice timidly asked.
“That’s all,” said Humpty Dumpty. “Good-bye.”

Day 23. Ramifications (1968 –69)

György Ligeti’s Ramifications is for string orchestra divided into 12 parts, but it can also be performed with just 12 solo instruments, as it is in this video. The musicians are divided into two sections: Half the strings (the ones on the left) are tuned a quarter-tone high, adding micro-tonality to Ligeti’s customary micro-polyphony.

Day 24. Coulée, Étude No. 2 for Organ (1969)

The second of Ligeti’s two études for organ is entitled Coulée (French for “flow”). It is quite similar to Ligeti’s harpsichord composition Continuum in that the musician plays fast repeated sequences of notes that change slightly over time. Coulée adds something the harpsichord can’t duplicate, however: long sustained notes on the pedal keyboard.

Day 25. Chamber Concerto (1969 – 70)

György Ligeti’s Chamber Concerto is a straightforward, audience-friendly work that is structured and orchestrated much like a traditional work for small chamber orchestra, but with all of Ligeti’s familiar musical thrills.

In keeping with the “concerto” nature of the composition, the thirteen instrumentalists often play in a solo capacity. Two of the musicians handle the four keyboard instruments: The pianist also plays a celesta, and the harpsichordist also plays a Hammond organ. The other instruments are flute, oboe, clarinet, bass clarinet, horn, trombone, string quartet, and double bass.

Ligeti’s Chamber Concerto has four contrasting movements: The first incorporates micropolyphony and microtonality and has a familiar Ligeti mix of dense textures and skittery activity. The second movement (at about 5:20 in this performance) is akin to a traditional slow movement in a concerto, although it’s not quite consistent in maintaining slow tempos.

Does that make the third movement (at 11:40) akin to a traditional scherzo? Like the 100 metronomes of Poeme Symphonique, the various instruments play repeated figures, but never in synchronization. The cello and double bass even do brief stretches of Bartók Pizzicati (where the string snaps back against the fingerboard), which sound very much like a metronome.

The fourth movement (at 15:30) again reminds us of traditional chamber music in propelling through a crowd-pleasing speedy finale, but which Ligeti decides should end with a bit of a whimper.

Day 26. Melodien (1971)

György Ligeti’s Melodien is a magical composition, a single-movement 11-minute shimmering radiant work for small orchestra. In Melodien, Ligeti stresses transparency rather than density. We hear many details of the score, which is full of lyrical passages and even (as the German title asserts) melodies.

In his discussion of Melodien In György Ligeti: Music of the Imagination (pages 184–189), Richard Steinitz references Ives, Mahler, Brahms, Klimt, and Breughel. He has a rather detailed analysis of the structure of the composition and its techniques, but Melodien is a work that can be enjoyed on its own.

I believe this is the only live performance on YouTube, apparently recorded off a TV. The visuals are a bit hazy but the sound is decent.

Day 27. Double Concerto (1972)

György Ligeti’s Double Concerto is for flute, oboe, and orchestra, but instead of having the solo flute and oboe shine in soloistic glory, he backs them up with three additional flutes and three additional oboes. Brass, clarinets, and bassoons are included in the orchestra, but only the lower strings — no violins. Xylophone, vibraphone, glockenspiel, celesta, and harp also make appearances.

The first of the two movements features slow-moving clustered masses, while the second movement is characterized by fast repeated figurations. The solo flute and oboe get to indulge in some virtuosic passages before the sudden stop.

I couldn’t find a live performance on YouTube, but this video with Ligeti’s score is the next best thing (perhaps in some ways, better). The preview shows part of the second movement.

Day 28. Clocks and Clouds (1973)

The title of György Ligeti’s Clocks and Clouds was inspired by a 1965 lecture by Karl Popper, “Of Clouds and Clocks: An Approach to the Problem of Rationality and the Freedom of Man,” later published in his 1972 book Objective Knowledge: An Evolutionary Approach. The cloud is a metaphor for physical systems that are irregular and unpredictable, while the clock represents physical systems that are regular, orderly, and precise. Common experience informs us that between these two extremes lies a wide range of physical and biological phenomena, some more cloud-like, others more clock-like.

However, the determinism implicit in the Newtonian Revolution seemed to indicate that everything is ultimately a clock even if certain systems appear chaotic on the surface. (See Laplace’s Demon.) But quantum theory went in the opposite direction, suggesting that everything is ultimately an indeterminate cloud. (See Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle.) Popper then explores the implications of quantum theory in the context of free will, and he formulates an evolutionary theory to support it.

The title Clocks and Clouds seems apt for many of Ligeti’s works as they contrast the extremes of sound masses and metronomic regularity. Yet, these extremes are very much related, as exemplified in this work for female chorus (singing phonetic sounds) and a reduced orchestra (extended woodwinds, limited brass, and no violins) that glides back and forth between clouds and clocks.

Day 29. San Francisco Polyphony (1973 – 74)

György Ligeti first visited America in 1972 when he was offered the position of Visiting Lecturer and Composer-in-Residence at Stanford University. He was able to further explore his interest in American minimalism, and also had an opportunity to form a friendship with John Chowning, who had established at Stanford a famous and influential center for electronic music.

During his time in California, Ligeti fell in love with San Francisco, and it’s likely that his observation of the city’s famous fogs influenced his composition Clocks and Clouds as much as the essay by Karl Popper. He was also particularly happy about a performance of Melodien by Seiji Ozawa and the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra. Getting a commission from the symphony for a new orchestral work was ideal.

San Francisco Polyphony has a big orchestral sound. It is exciting and exhilarating while also showcasing Ligeti’s unique minimalism that tends towards the clouds rather than clocks end of the spectrum. The score also incorporates aleatoric elements: At times, the musicians have a choice in how they accelerate or decelerate particular passages. Unfortunately, this has given the composition a reputation among some conductors as “problematic.” (Steinitz, p. 204)

It’s a shame that there’s not a live performance on YouTube. As partial compensation, here’s a version with a score that’s often mostly readable.

Day 30. Monument-Selbstportrait-Bewegung: Three Pieces for Two Pianos (1976)

György Ligeti publicly proclaimed his interest in American minimalism by titling the second of these three pieces “Self-portrait with [Steve] Reich and [Terry] Riley (and [Frédéric] Chopin in the background)” But another influence might have been Ligeti’s discovery of the woodcuts of M.C. Escher, which seemed to be quite similar to the interlocking patterns of the music that he was composing.

Minimalist techniques pervade all three of the pieces that comprise this work. I am particularly fond of the third, whose full title translates as “In a gentle flowing movement.”

Day 31. Le Grand Macabre (1974–77, rev. 1996)

Nothing else in György Ligeti’s oeuvre approaches the length and musical kaleidoscope of his nearly-two-hour absurdist sex-and-death opera Le Grand Macabre. Commissioned by the Royal Swedish Opera in 1965, the premiere finally took place in Stockholm in 1978. Over the next six years, the opera had seven other productions in Europe.

Although Ligeti had been experimenting with minimalism in recent years, Le Grand Macabre reveals him to be an eclectic maximalist. Some of the vocal pyrotechnics harken back to the Aventures compositions, but here actual words are sung. The libretto is derived from a 1934 play Le Balade du Grand Macabre by the Flemish playwright Michel de Ghelderode, which takes place in the imaginary Breughelland, alluding to Breughel’s painting The Triumph of Death.

I have never quite understood the chaotic plot, but the characters include Nekrotzar, a figure of death; Piet the Pot, a winetaster sidekick; the lovers Amanda and Amando (such by soprano and mezzo-soprano), who were originally given the names Clitoria and Spermando; as astrologer named Astradamors, his sex-starved wife Mescalina, and the figure of Venus; Prince Go-Go, a spoiled fourteen year old; the head of the secret police Gepopo (which combines the first letters of Gestapo and the East German Politische Polizei); and others.

There exist at least three recordings of the complete opera available on CD and Spotify, but the best way to approach the work is probably through the subtitled DVD / Blu-ray of a production from the Gran Teatre del Liceu in Barcelona in 2011, in which all the action takes place in and around a massive sculpture of a woman.

This video features about 45 minutes of extracts from the opera sung in German with French subtitles, starting with the overture for 12 car horns. As an unstaged concert performance, it allows more of a focus on Ligeti’s orchestral writing, which is spectacular.

Day 32. Hungarian Rock for harpsichord (1978)

Following Le Grand Macabre, György Ligeti wrote two short works for harpsichord. Hungarian Rock is structured like a classical chaconne: The left hand plays a repetitive four-bar sequence in a 2+2+3+2 beat pattern, while the right hand engages in more improvisatory-sounding activity. It’s more Balkan-folk-music-meets-boogie-woogie than rock, but it certainly swings.

Day 33. Passacaglia Ungherese for harpsichord (1978)

Passacaglia Ungherese (Italian for Hungarian) is the second of two short harpsichord compositions that György Ligeti wrote in 1978 for two different harpsichordists. As in the classical form of the passacaglia, variations are developed around an ostinato pattern. This is one of the more consonant compositions in Ligeti’s European period.

Day 34. Hommage à Hilding Rosenberg (1982)

Four years have passed since György Ligeti’s last composition. Partly as a result of artistic uncertainty, and partly because of illness, nothing that Ligeti worked on during those four years came to fruition.

Ligeti wrote this short piece for piano and cello to celebrate the 90th birthday of Swedish composer Hilding Rosenberg, who Ligeti had met in the 1960s when he taught at the University of Stockholm.

Day 35. Trio for Violin, Horn, and Piano (1982)

It’s now been five years since György Ligeti’s last major composition, and you might justifiably assume that after Le Grand Macabe, he was spent. The opera had sucked out all his creative juices and now there’s nothing left for him to do but… teach?

But don’t write Ligeti off too quickly. Beginning with this remarkable Horn Trio, it becomes appropriate to speak of Ligeti’s “late period,” which looks back as it leans forward.

The commission for Ligeti’s Horn Trio was for a companion piece to the Brahms Horn Trio, and Ligeti was asked to use motifs from that work. He refused doing so but made a concession by subtitling the work Hommage à Brahms. He would have preferred “Hommage à Beethoven,” for it contains a couple musical references to Beethoven works. (See Richard Steinitz’s György Ligeti: Music of the Imagination, pp. 251–260 for an extensive discussion.) Structurally, however, with its two outer slow movements surrounding a pair of peppier inner movements, I find a kinship to Mahler’s 9th Symphony.

The first movement (beginning at about 5:30 in this video following a brief discussion by the musicians) is characterized by a kind of melancholy lyricism. The second movement (at 11:40) is a rhythmic ostinato ornamented with syncopated melodies that might sound like Balkan folk music or Latin American music, in which Ligeti had developed a recent interest. It ends with a peculiar coda.

The third movement (at 16:50) is labeled a march, and it’s quite a vigorous and herky-jerky one. This movement is classically structured (like a minuet or scherzo) with a brief contrasting middle section that twists and turns before returning with renewed vigor to the crazed march.

The fourth movement (at 20:10), titled Lamento, is even more melancholy than the first movement, and quite achingly poignant with an extraordinarily beautiful quiet ending.

At the time of its premiere, the Horn Trio was criticized by the more avant-garde for its reactionary elements, but those types of complaints tend to fade over time, and we can now enjoy the work for its tuneful accessibility, its mix of neo-classical and neo-romantic elements, and its sheer unabashed beauty.

Day 36. Drei Fantasien nach Friedrich Hölderlin (1982)

During his Hungarian days, György Ligeti had composed much unaccompanied choral music to the texts of poets, but he had done nothing similar after his emigration until this work. German poet and philosopher Friedrich Hölderlin (1770 – 1843) was an influential figure in German romanticism but had a rocky life, including a diagnosis of schizophrenia in his 20s.

At first it seems as if Ligeti will be indulging in the deep masses of choral sound that he employed in Lux Aeterna, and although there are some reminiscences of that earlier work, these settings are neither micropolyphonic nor microtonic. The goal here is more of a focus on the text, and hence we are reminded of early 20th-century German expressionism, such as the early lieder settings of Schoenberg and Berg.

The three Hölderin poems that Ligeti uses are unrelated but thematically similar, using seasons of the year as metaphors for mental states. They thus form a song cycle of sorts: “Halfway through Life” wonders where the earlier joys of life will go when winter comes, “If from a Distance” is about lost love, and “Evening Reverie” laments the loss of spring but ends with a concession that old age might be peaceful and serene.

Day 37. Magyar Etüdök (Hungarian Studies) (1983)

György Ligeti composed this second work for 16-part a cappella mixed chorus in connection with musical celebrations surrounding his 60th birthday. For the texts, he drew from the poetry of his friend, Hungarian poet and author Sándor Weöres, who had collected more than a hundred poems as Magyar Etüdök. Ligeti had returned to Hungary (not for the first time) earlier that year, so perhaps that was an influence in his choice of texts.

The first of the three pieces describes dripping icicles that Ligeti has set in a complex mirror canon. The second uses two Weöres poems: the first is a description of various sounds before nighttime, including frogs; the second begins with frog sounds but becomes an invitation to join them underwater. The third song puts us in the midst of an open-air market, with vendors advertising their wares, concluding with the announcement that a circus is coming to town, and an elephant will be present.

In this video, the texts are translated with Spanish subtitles; for the first song, the Hungarian is included in parenthesis.

Day 38. The Big Turtle-Fanfare from the South China Sea (1985)

György Ligeti’s original German title for this work Die grosse Schildkröten-Fanfare vom Südchinesischen Meer. It’s for solo trumpet and less than a minute long. I haven’t been able to determine any details about the origin of this composition except that Ligeti composed it for Martin Nordwall, who premiered it in Stockholm on April 1. Perhaps this last fact is the biggest clue about this work.

Day 39. Études for Piano, Book 1 (1985)

György Ligeti’s Piano Études have come to be regarded as one of his major compositional achievements. They are dazzling in their rhythmic and harmonic virtuosity but also present extreme technical challenges to the pianist.

Ligeti composed eighteen Piano Études in total over the last two decades of his life, but he started out rather modestly with just six études in 1985. Two additional books (of eight and four études each) followed in 1985–1994 and 1988–2001.

These Piano Études had a variety of different influences: Ligeti had recently discovered the music of Colon Nancarrow, who composed music of such complexity that it could only be performed on a player piano with hand-punched rolls. Adding to his previous explorations of jazz, Puerto-Rican music, and Cuban music were recordings that he heard from Central Africa. Extra-musical influences also played a role, such as Ligeti’s interest in non-linear dynamics and fractals. He read Mandelbrot’s book on fractals in 1985, and had already become a fan of Borges’s writings, Escher’s drawings, and Douglas Hofstadter’s 1979 book Gödel, Escher, Bach.

In his book György Ligeti: Music of the Imagination, Richard Steinitz devotes an entire 38-page chapter to the Piano Études, and each one is examined individually.

Here is pianist Marianna Abrahamyan accomplishing the admirable feat of playing all six études from Book 1 straight through.

More often, pianists play a selection. Here is Yuja Wang performing Piano Études No. 6 (“Autumn in Warsaw”) and 13 (“The Devil’s Staircase”) from Book 2. “Autumn in Warsaw” refers to the Warsaw Autumn, a festival of new music at which Ligeti’s compositions were often performed.

Stewart Goodyear here performs Piano Étude No. 8 (“Fém,” the Hungarian word for metal) from Book 2, 5 (“Arc-en-ciel” or “Rainbow”), and 1 (“Désordre” or “Disorder”) in which the right hand plays only white keys and the left hand only black keys.

Day 40. Piano Concerto (1980 - 88)

György Ligeti spent eight years working on his marvelous Piano Concerto, discarding many false starts before finally deciding how the concerto should begin. The work on the Piano Concerto overlapped with the first book of Piano Études, so it’s not surprising to see some of the techniques explored in the ètudes finding their way into this composition.

Ligeti supplements the solo piano with a small ensemble consisting of strings, winds, brass, and two percussionists. The first of the five movements is a kaleidoscope of various rhythms and meters, and the resultant polyrhythmic mix often seems to drift into chaos but without ever losing that forward thrust.

The second movement (at 4:20 in this video) is magical. It’s marked “Lento e deserto” (slow and deserted), and indeed starts out slow and sparse (beginning with just the double bass and piccolo), but steadily adding more instruments with a mix of sudden and increasingly forceful outbursts.

The third movement (at 10:50) picks up the tempo again with lyrical solo instruments in contrast to the rhythmic pulse of the piano, until the increasing mass of the other instruments becomes overpowering and then recedes.

That’s how the Piano Concerto was first performed in 1986, but Ligeti had in mind a fourth movement (at 15:40) that employed fractals in its composition. Ligeti didn’t know how to do this at first, but later described it like this:

Its formal process is fractal in time: reiterating the same formula, the same succession always in different shapes, using simultaneous augmentation and diminution of the same models . . . focusing on smaller and smaller details — self-similar in everything, e.g. gestures, intervallic shapes . . .

Even if the fractals aren’t audible, the result is quite amazing in its unrelentingly complex build and surprising fade-out.

After that, Ligeti decided he needed a fifth movement (at 22:00) with a satisfying crowd-pleasing finale.

Day 41. Mysteries of the Macabre, for trumpet and piano (1988)

The word “macabre” brings to mind György Ligeti’s absurdist opera Le Grand Macabre. Mysteries of the Macabre is the collective name for several arrangements of three arias from that opera by Elgar Howarth, who conducted some earlier performances of Le Grand Macabre. Ligeti gave these arrangements his approval, so they are often classified as Ligeti compositions.

The first of these arrangements is for trumpet (an instrument that Howarth plays) and piano. As you can see, musicians enjoy having fun with it.

Day 42. Mysteries of the Macabre, for soprano and orchestra (1992)

György Ligeti’s fondness for absurdist comedy is clearly revealed by these settings of three arias from Le Grand Macabre for soprano and orchestra arranged by Elgar Howarth. YouTube offers an embarrassment of riches of performances of Mysteries of the Macabre, every soprano bringing to the work her own unique approach and personality.

The great Barbara Hannigan has made this a signature piece, performing it in a variety of guises. In this one she wears a Catholic schoolgirl outfit with taped glasses while chewing gum, while Simon Rattle conducts the London Symphony Orchestra.

Spanish soprano Alicia Amo finds a need to vacuum the stage before performing Mysteries of the Macabre with the Orquesta Sinfónica de Burgos.

Here are students of the Stony Brook Symphony Orchestra having fun:

A version of Mysteries of the Macabre for soprano and piano also exists, and works quite well:

Day 43. Nonsense Madrigals (1988 – 93)

Ever since reading a Hungarian translation of Alice in Wonderland at the age of 12, György Ligeti delighted in the works of Lewis Carroll. After Le Grand Macabre he considered composing another opera, or rather a “theatrical fantasy” as he called it, based on Alice and Through the Looking-Glass.

The closest he came to that was the Nonsense Madrigals a set of six settings of nonsense poems for six unaccompanied men’s voices originally composed for the King’s Singers. Only the last two use texts by Lewis Carroll. The first two use poems by William Brighty Rands, a Victorian author of nursery rhymes. Another uses a story by Heinrich Hoffmann, a German psychiatrist who wrote a book about misbehaving children. Another is based on phonetic pronunciations of letters:

1. Two Dreams and Little Bat — text by William Brighty Rands

2. Cuckoo in the Pear-Tree — text by William Brighty Rands

3. The Alphabet

4. Flying Robert — text by Heinrich Hoffmann

5. The Lobster Quadrille — text by Lewis Carroll (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland)

6. A Long, Sad Tale — text by Lewis Carroll (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland combined with word games from Original Games and Puzzles)

Although some scattered individual performances of these madrigals are available on YouTube, the advantage of this video with the score is seeing the text.

Day 44. Violin Concerto (1989 – 93)

When György Ligeti commenced work on this composition, he declared that he wanted to write something “in the great tradition of violin concertos.” That’s a formidable tradition, for it includes Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Brahms, Tchaikovsky, Sibelius, Berg, Schoenberg, Shostakovich, and many others. In carrying on this tradition, Ligeti brings the violin to the foreground in a way that his previous concertos avoided.

Ligeti worked for four years on this five-movement work, discarding an early first movement and reorchestrating the third and fourth movements along the way. At this time, Ligeti was experimenting with different types of tuning: To accommodate Ligeti’s needs, Yamaha made a variation of the DX7 synthesizer called the DXyii that allowed alternative tuning systems. But he eventually abandoned electronic approaches and instead specified that various instruments in the orchestra of the Violin Concerto be tuned harmonically. The solo violinist, however, plays in normal intonation.

When the Violin Concerto premiered in June 1993, Ligeti had recently turned 70 years old, yet in this work he seems to be at the peak of his compositional powers. The 1st movement begins unobtrusively, with both the orchestra and the violin slowly becoming prominent, until the violin breaks free in complex rhythmic patterns.

The 2nd movement (at 4:50) is entitled “Aria, Hoquetus, Choral,” the second word referring to a technique in medieval polyphony. It begins with a surprisingly lyrical melody on the violin but becomes a fascinating set of variations. Traditional instrumentation is augmented by a slide whistle.

The short 3rd movement (at 12:24) is labeled “Intermezzo,” but it’s almost a Mahlerian “night music” that becomes increasingly more agitated. The 4th movement (14:55) is labeled “Passacaglia,” yet it moves so slowly that it’s really hard to tell.

The finale (22:05) “in the great tradition of violin concertos” combines virtuosity with exhilarating climaxes, including a solo cadenza that Ligeti allows the violinist to devise.

This video featuring the great violinist Christian Tetzlaff is longer than the Violin Concerto itself. The performance ends at about 28:30, followed by curtain calls, an encore (from Bartók’s Sonata for Solo Violin), and interviews in German with Tetzlaff and the conductor.

Day 45. Études for Piano, Book 2 (1988 – 94)

György Ligeti had originally intended for his second book of virtuosic Piano Études to have six pieces, the same as Book 1 (Day 39), but he composed eight in total: four études in the period 1988–90, and another four in 1993–94.

Ligeti’s Piano Études are numbered consecutively, so the ones in Book 2 are numbered 7 through 14. This video features Armenian pianist Marianna Abrahamyan playing études of both Books 2 and 3 but taking a well-deserved break between them:

Here are the eight études in Book 2:

7. Balamb borong (at 0:50 in this video): Ligeti called this “imaginary [Balinese] gamelan music, indigenous to a strange island which is not to be found on any map.” Hints of Debussy may also be heard.

8. Fém (3:15), meaning “Metal.” This etude certainly has a bright metallic sheen, but it’s characterized more by its jerky rhythm, and then everything stops for a gorgeous coda.

9. Vertige (6:15), meaning “Vertigo” or “Dizziness.” Ascending and descending patterns in both hands are echoed in the hands moving across the keyboard.

10. Der Zauberlehrling (9:05), meaning “The Apprentice Magician,” or “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice,” from a poem by Goethe. This time the patterns of notes go down the keyboard and then start from the top as if the keyboard wraps around.

11. En Suspens (11:30), meaning “In Suspense.” This is a comparatively relaxed étude, simple and lyrical despite the different metrical patterns in the two hands.

12. Entrelacs (14:05), meaning “Interlacing.” The music is built in layers with the left hand playing a steady rhythm while the right hand engages in episodes of various durations.

13. L’escalier du diable (16:50), meaning “The Devil’s Staircase.” Ligeti composed this one after experiencing a vicious El Niño storm during a stay in California. In his book on the music of Ligeti, Richard Steinitz describes it as “an endless climbing, a wild apocalyptic vortex, a staircase it was almost impossible to ascend.” It seems to culminate with a dramatic series of ringing chords, but there’s still much more to go.

14. Coloana infinită (21:55), meaning “The Infinite Column.” This one was originally so difficult that its original performer (pianist Laurent Aimard) asked Ligeti to make it a bit simpler. Ligeti also composed a variation for player piano.

Day 46. L’Arrache-coeur (1994)

György Ligeti originally composed this short piano to be part of Book 2 of this Piano Études, but then rejected it as an “oversimplification.” The title translates as “heartsnatcher.”

Day 47. Sonata for Solo Viola (1991 – 94)

As György Ligeti was approaching the age of 70, he was caring less and less whether his music was modern enough for his contemporaries and audiences. Although Ligeti’s Viola Sonata uses microtones in its first movement, it is highly accessible.

Like many of Ligeti’s late compositions, the Viola Sonata has multiple movements.

1. Hora Lungă means “slow dance” in Romanian. This movement is reminiscent of Romanian folk melodies but without directly quoting any. It’s played entirely on the C string (the lowest string) of the viola, but with many microtonal variations. (For example, in the first three measures, the viola plays 23 notes; 8 of them are lowered slightly in pitch based on Ligeti’s strict instructions.) It ends with harmonics that get so high they become inaudible.

2. Loop (at 6:20 in this video) has a contrasting repetitive double-stopped rhythmic pattern. Ligeti instructs that it is to be played “with swing.”

3. Facsar (9:10) is a Hungarian word that refers to a stinging sensation in the nose or eyes. Ligeti’s notation for this movement is “Andante cantabile ed espressivo, with swing.” The slow forlorn melodies have an Eastern European folk music feel, gradually enhanced with double and triple stops.

4. Prestissimo con sordino (15:15) is quite fast and virtuosic, a relentless barrage of eighth notes at various volumes and accents for an irregular rhythmic jerk.

5. Lamento (16:33) alternates heavy grief-stricken double stops with softer sequences of much the same melodies.

6. Chaconne chromatique (20:05) is dance-like music based on the Baroque chaconne, which is a form of continuous variations based on a repeating pattern. Towards the end, through, Ligeti breaks out of the melodic pattern for a series of chords that fade out.

Day 48. Hamburg Concerto (1999, revised 2002)

This last of György Ligeti’s concertos features a solo horn, but very weirdly, the chamber orchestra includes four natural horns. These are the ones seen at the beginning without the valves. The soloist plays standard orchestral horns in F and B flat, as well as a natural horn. The orchestral horns play in equal temperament while the natural horns play harmonics, but different harmonics based on the use of different crooks, which are lengths of tubing added to the horn.

In exploring his interest in microtonality and tuning, this is one of Ligeti’s most experimental works.

Day 49. Síppal, Dobbal, Nádihegedűvel (2000)

For these seven settings for mezzo-soprano and percussion quartet, György Ligeti returned to his favorite Hungarian poet Sándor Weöres (1913 – 1989). The instrumentation includes xylophone, two marimbas, bass marimba, with slide whistles and harmonicas. The title is usually translated as “With Pipes, Drums, Fiddles.” Google Translate says “with whistle, drum, reed violin.”

The seven songs are:

1. Fable, possibly a metaphor about mountains crushing wolves

2. Dance song, with untranslatable nonsense words

3. Chinese temple, the text of which consists of a grid of 28 one-syllable words

4. Coolie, about the plight of someone pulling a rickshaw

5. Dream (Twelfth Symphony), possibly a metaphor about an apple swinging on a branch

6. Bitter-Sweet (67th Hungarian Étude), about ploughing, sowing, and getting married

7. Parakeet, with untranslatable nonsense words

Day 50. Études for Piano, Book 3 (1995 – 2001)

György Ligeti likely wanted to write more than four pieces for his third book of Piano Études, but that’s how many he finished. In this video, the four études in Book 3 start after the pianist takes a break at about the 24-minute mark.

These four études are:

15. White on White (25:15). The use of mostly white keys results in a series of slow chord progressions that are (for Ligeti) surprisingly consonant. After a few minutes, the music breaks out into a polyphonic frenzy.

16. Pour Irina (19:05), dedicated to Russian pianist Irina Kataeva. This is also relatively consonant, in binary form with a slow first section and a much faster second section.

17. À bout de souffle (32:40), meaning “breathless.” This is the first of two relentless canons, but with a surprisingly quiet coda.

18. Canon (34:55) is similar in structure with another surprising coda.

The last of these études was finished in 2001. After an extended illness, György Ligeti died in Vienna on June 12, 2006, at the age of 83.