Last night I played Mozart's variations on Unser dummer Poebel meint. I asked a dear friend in the audience, as she had grown up in Mannheim, to translate this title. What a good thing I did! I had always assumed Poebel to be someone's name. My translation would have been: Our Stupid Poebel is of the Opinion. Turns out Poebel stands for the guy in the street, no not quite, the Lumpenprole.
How politically incorrect can you get. Then I remember The Good Soldier Schweik, one of the great Poebels of all time: If you haven't read it get on it. You never do or did know what exactly might be behind the fellow's expressed opinion or behavior.
There is a lot to think about politically.
Musically there is also a lot to think about. I have never heard anyone play these variations. I can feel them turning into one of my big numbers. They are surely Mozart at his fullest virtuosic maturity: How do I know what to do with them? Years and years of listening to grasp the idiomatic humor of musical devices that, in themselves, as notated, are entirely static.
