Like many, my first encounter with music outside of nursery rhymes came through the radio. Specifically, for me as a young student at Don Bosco in the early 1970s, it was the school intercom system broadcasting Radio Ceylon every Saturday at 11 am. This weekly ritual introduced me to a world of sounds, including a tune that would become unexpectedly perplexing: Neil Diamond’s 1972 smash hit, “Song Sung Blue.”
As a child grappling with the English language for the first time, the very title of “Song Sung Blue” felt like a riddle. The grammar seemed off, and the concept of singing a color was utterly bewildering. When the lyrics declared “everybody knows one,” and “every garden grows one,” my seven-year-old mind struggled to make sense of songs sprouting in gardens. The subsequent lines about the song “weeping like a willow” and “sleeping on my pillow” only deepened the lyrical enigma.
Years later, the meaning became clear. “Song Sung Blue” is about the universality of sadness, “the blues” that touches everyone. “Me and you are subject to the blues now and then,” Diamond sings, explaining why “everybody knows one” and “every garden grows one”—metaphorically, of course. The song acknowledges the cathartic power of music, how even a melody tinged with sadness, sung with “a cry in your voice,” can be healing. As the lyrics suggest, “before you know it, it gets to feeling good; you simply got no choice,” highlighting the strangely comforting nature of expressing sorrow through song.
The power of “Song Sung Blue” lies not just in its eloquent lyrics, but undeniably in its memorable melody. This melody, instantly recognizable and emotionally resonant, has a fascinating origin: it is directly inspired by the second movement, Andante, of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 21 in C major, K. 467.
My own journey to discovering this Mozart masterpiece happened much later, during the cassette era of the 1990s. Initially, I only knew the Andante movement through Richard Clayderman’s heavily orchestrated, saccharine rendition titled “Elvira Madigan.” This version, while popular, lacked the subtlety and depth of Mozart’s original.
Alt text: Cassette cover featuring Richard Clayderman’s “Elvira Madigan” showcasing a portrait of the pianist against a soft, romantic backdrop, highlighting the popular instrumental version of Mozart’s Andante.
It wasn’t until I encountered a complete recording of Mozart’s concerto, featuring Svjatoslav Richter with the Philharmonia Orchestra under Riccardo Muti, that I truly grasped the brilliance of the piece. These recordings were often promoted through collaborations between brands like HMV and whiskey companies, introducing classical music to a wider audience through “Vintage Virtuosos” cassette sets.
Mozart premiered his Piano Concerto No. 21 in Vienna in 1785, at the height of his career. Remarkably, he composed it just a month after his dramatic Piano Concerto No. 20 in D minor, and it was followed by four more piano concertos within the next two years. Even Mozart’s father, Leopold, a seasoned musician himself, recognized the concerto’s complexity, describing it as “astonishingly difficult.” Interestingly, the piece continues to challenge and inspire, as evidenced by young pianists like Ayaan Deshpande performing it with orchestras today.
The second movement, Andante, is often nicknamed “Andante-rêve” or “Dream Andante” due to its ethereal quality. The main theme emerges gently from muted strings, creating a sense of otherworldly beauty. While some of Mozart’s harmonic choices were considered unconventional and even “wrong” by his contemporaries, the movement was met with immediate acclaim, moving many listeners to tears at its premiere.
Alt text: Excerpt of sheet music illustrating the Andante movement from Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 21, highlighting the melodic structure and notation of this famous classical piece.
The poignant beauty of this Andante movement has made it a frequent choice for evoking deep emotion, most notably in the 1967 Swedish film “Elvira Madigan.” The film, a romantic drama, uses the Andante-rêve as a recurring motif, weaving segments of the music throughout to amplify the emotional narrative.
“Elvira Madigan” tells the tragic story of Hedvig Antoinette Isabella Eleonore Jensen (1867-1889), a circus acrobat known by her stage name Elvira Madigan. Her ill-fated love affair with Swedish nobleman and cavalry officer Sixten Sparre culminates in a suicide pact, cementing their story as a symbol of doomed romance.
Their affair began in 1888 when Sparre was captivated by Elvira’s beauty during a circus performance. Despite being married with children and burdened by debt, Sparre pursued Elvira, and their elopement led them to further financial ruin and ultimately tragedy. The film romanticizes their relationship, but historical accounts suggest a darker reality, hinting at manipulation and emotional distress. Their tragic end came on July 19, 1889, when Sparre shot Elvira and then himself.
A haunting poem found on Elvira’s body speaks volumes of their despair: “A drop fell into the water, faded out slowly / And the place where it fell / surrounded from wave to wave / What was it that fell? / And where did it come from? / It was but a life, / and but a death that came / to win itself a track. / Now the water rests once again.”
The story of Elvira Madigan and Sixten Sparre, set against the backdrop of Mozart’s melancholic Andante, raises questions about love, obsession, and tragedy. While the film focuses on romanticism, a deeper look reveals a potentially more disturbing narrative of manipulation and despair.
Ultimately, what connects Mozart’s Andante-rêve, Neil Diamond’s “Song Sung Blue,” and the film “Elvira Madigan” is the universal language of sadness and the profound role music plays in expressing and understanding it. Whether through a pop song inspired by a classical melody or a film soundtrack amplifying tragic romance, music provides a powerful outlet for our shared human experience of sorrow.
