Precision & Passion

Merci, Monsieur Bartley. I was born in 1875 in the little town of Ciboure, in the Basque country of southwestern France. My father was an inventive man, an engineer with a passion for mechanics. My mother was of Basque and Spanish descent, and it was from her that I inherited my love of Spanish rhythms and colors. Those two influences—precision and passion—shaped me from the beginning.

That’s fascinating—the mechanical precision of your father and the Spanish warmth of your mother. Did music enter your life early?

Very early. I began piano lessons around the age of seven, though I must confess I was not a prodigy. I studied diligently, but what fascinated me most was sound itself—its clarity, its structure, its elegance. By the time I entered the Paris Conservatoire at fourteen, I was already dreaming of becoming a composer, though I was never the favorite student. In fact, I was often considered… how shall I put it… a bit stubborn.

Transcript

George Bartley - bold

Maurice Ravel -  bold, italics

Welcome to Celebrate Creativity. This is episode 496. Today I have the rare honor of speaking with the spirit of one of the most brilliant French composers of the early 20th century, Maurice Ravel. Maestro Ravel, thank you for joining me.  Could we begin with your background?


Merci, Monsieur Bartley. I was born in 1875 in the little town of Ciboure, in the Basque country of southwestern France. My father was an inventive man, an engineer with a passion for mechanics. My mother was of Basque and Spanish descent, and it was from her that I inherited my love of Spanish rhythms and colors. Those two influences—precision and passion—shaped me from the beginning.

That’s fascinating—the mechanical precision of your father and the Spanish warmth of your mother. Did music enter your life early?

Very early. I began piano lessons around the age of seven, though I must confess I was not a prodigy. I studied diligently, but what fascinated me most was sound itself—its clarity, its structure, its elegance. By the time I entered the Paris Conservatoire at fourteen, I was already dreaming of becoming a composer, though I was never the favorite student. In fact, I was often considered… how shall I put it… a bit stubborn.

Stubborn in what way?

Ah, I did not care to please my professors. They wanted me to fit neatly into their rules. I wanted to    polish every phrase until it sparkled, to write music that was concise, precise, and yet full of color. Oh, I learned the rules… but I never let them stifle me. Think of it as wearing a finely tailored suit, but cutting the cuffs a little differently so that it fits just so. That attention to detail, that little defiance, stayed with me all my life.

So after entering the Conservatoire, how did those early instincts of yours fare?

Ah… with great difficulty, Monsieur Bartley. The Conservatoire was, shall we say, not built for someone like me. My approach—careful, meticulous, sometimes obsessive about every note—often clashed with the teachers’ expectations. They wanted flair, drama, or strict adherence to tradition. I wanted clarity, polish, and elegance. You can imagine the tension.

That sounds… frustrating.

Frustrating, yes. At times, it was even humiliating. I competed for prizes and honors repeatedly, only to be dismissed. They said I was too “precise,” too “meticulous,” even too “mechanical.” Imagine being called mechanical when you feel every note with your soul! But I learned patience, discipline, and how to defend my ideas subtly.

Moving into your middle career, Maestro, your reputation was growing internationally. Can you tell us about that period?

That
And then there’s Boléro, perhaps your most famous work. It’s so hypnotically repetitive—how does that reflect your meticulous style?

Ah, Boléro! Many listeners think it is simple, but it is a study in control and subtle evolution. One melody, repeated, growing in orchestral color and intensity over thirteen minutes. The challenge was in the details—each instrument’s entrance, the crescendo, the layering—meticulously calculated so that by the end, the audience feels something immense, even though the material itself never changes. Precision, restraint, and focus—this is my signature.

It’s fascinating that such a “minimalist” piece could have such impact.

Yes, because minimalism alone is not enough. It is the careful shaping of sound, the exact placement of dynamics, tone color, and rhythm that makes it compelling. Even in what seems repetitive, nothing is accidental. Every measure is engineered to elicit a precise effect.

Did your style evolve over time, or did you remain consistent in your meticulous approach?

Both. I evolved in vocabulary, in orchestral palette, and in rhythmic experimentation. Jazz, Spanish music, modal scales—all entered my work. But the principle remained the same: clarity, precision, and refinement. Even when experimenting, every note, every gesture, was deliberate. I never allowed spontaneity to compromise the architecture of the music.

Maestro Ravel, as we move into the later part of your career, could you tell us a bit about your personal life during those years?

Ah… personal life. It was, how shall I say, complicated. I never married, and I kept my private affairs closely guarded. Some found me distant or reserved; others suspected a touch of eccentricity. I lived quietly, devoted to my work, my piano, and my garden. Music consumed me, as it had from childhood, but I also sought solace in travel, reading, and the occasional indulgence in fine cuisine.

And health?

Unfortunately, in my later years, my health declined. By the late 1920s and early 1930s, I began to experience neurological difficulties—trouble with speech and movement. It was frustrating, even frightening. For a composer, music is the language of life; to have that language threatened is… deeply unsettling.

Despite those challenges, your work left a profound legacy. How would you describe it?

I hope my legacy is that of craftsmanship married to imagination. I strove for clarity, elegance, and color in every note. I wanted listeners to notice detail, to hear the architecture of sound, to feel both precision and poetry.

And in terms of influence, how do you see yourself in the continuum of music after you?

Many composers have drawn from my orchestration, my piano technique, my blending of folk influences with classical form. I sought music that could endure, that could reward careful listening, that could teach as much by subtlety as by grandeur.

Listening to your works, one can hear a composer who treats music like a finely crafted jewel—each facet deliberate, each surface polished, yet capable of dazzling in its play of light.

Merci, George. And perhaps one final note: attention to detail is not obsession—it is respect. Respect for the listener, for the instrument, for the music itself. That is what I hoped to give.

And maestro Ravel, one more little shall we say … issue I do not want to forget is the simple fact that your Bolero is frequently viewed as the quintessential music for making love - and pardon me if you are offended.

Oh I am not offended at all.  After all, I am from France.

I wrote Boléro in 1928 as a ballet for Ida Rubinstein, inspired by Spanish dance rhythms, not as an erotic piece. The piece is essentially an experiment in orchestration, repetition, and crescendo — a musical study in tension and release.  It may be perceived as sensual by some people because it has A persistent rhythm with the snare drum providing a relentless, almost hypnotic pulse. And the piece is over 13 minutes, with the volume slowly climbing, and creating tension and anticipation. Each new entry adds a richer color — flutes, clarinets, bassoons, horns, strings — which gives a sense of expansion and intimacy. And the repeated melody allows the listener to “surrender” to the flow, which people often interpret as sensual or trance-like. Let me emphasize that though I never intended Boléro to be a ‘romantic’ or sensual piece, its hypnotic rhythm, slow crescendo, and rich layering have led it to a certain reputation in popular culture… let’s just say some listeners have found it… intoxicating.”
Many listeners think Bolero  is simple, but it is a study in control and subtle evolution. One melody, repeated, growing in orchestral color and intensity over thirteen minutes. The challenge was in the details—each instrument’s entrance, the crescendo, the layering—meticulously calculated so that by the end, the audience feels something immense, even though the material itself never changes. Precision, restraint, and focus—this is my signature.

And maestro,  while you never intended it as a romantic or “sensual” piece, its hypnotic rhythm and slow crescendo have given it quite the reputation in popular culture…

[chuckling] Oui, Some listeners do find it intoxicating, though that was not my goal. It is about rhythm, color, and disciplined progression, not passion. But I suppose beauty has a way of inspiring imagination beyond the composer’s intent.

I like those words - Beauty has a way of inspiring imagination beyond the composer’s intent.

Join celebrate creativity for episode 497 - and I may be taking a break for a day or two because this podcast has some very ambitious episodes coming up and I sincerely hope that you can join us!

And now to conclude this podcast episode is another section from Bolero

Bolero, Composed by Maurice Ravel, performed by Slovak Radio Symphony Orchestra, Kenneth Jean, conductor, Source: https://www.yourclassical.org/episode/2019/02/14/daily-download-maurice-ravel--bolero License: Public Domain (composition) / Creative Commons (recording).