Posted by: Nazausgraben | May 20, 2012


Mid-May, when the earth is finally becoming dry and the time of the Löwenzahn (Dandelions) has past, turning fields from seas of yellow to beds of off-white balls of seed puffs ready to blow asunder in the strong winds that course through the verdant valley. The grasses and wildflowers have grown at a remarkable rate, creating swathes of pastels where not three weeks ago one would find end-of-Winter brown.

I know that the early Summer has come, for the field crickets faint song of soothing alert greets visitors wandering the sun-baked Via Claudia. In the warm evening by the pond known as Earschbach, a choir of frogs continue the serenade, but intended only for themselves.  Indeed, as the wanderer approaches, the harmonious cacophony diminuendos from a massed Handelian forte, first to a robust chamber ensemble, then a mezzopiano vocal quartet, a brave solo and then………only the footsteps of the ‘intruder’ can be heard.  As the wanderer continues by, the process then reverses, from brave solo to the full forces whose croaking utterances can be heard reverberating off of the mountainside, at the foot of which the Earschbach sits. Thus, wise listeners will remember to remain at a prudent distance from the Earschbach, lest the green wart-covered choir note their presence and fall silent.

So it was on one such fine day that Summer really did arrive…with the cows. For this was the time that the calves and young cows (before calve-bearing years themselves and thus still without utters) were gathered by Pinswang’s farmers and paraded as a flock to their Summer fields.

They could be heard from afar, metal bells about their necks sounding their approach. The farmers all wore their blue overalls, padded at the knees and elbows. Each carried a long thin switch that could be used to entice movement should any of the calves become recalcitrant during the journey. They came through the village, each small herd departing its respective barn to join the larger movement.

As they paraded on the thin asphalt path that divided the fields, they stayed pretty much in formation, as not doing so would have meant an encounter with the hastily erected electrified wire fence; a single strand of wire run on each side of the path running all the way from Pinswang’s main street to the gate marking the entrance to the Via Claudia..the ancient Roman Road.

The going was fairly slow. By the time the herd had reached the Via Claudia, the sun was already  low in the sky as ‘Abendrot’ (red evening…sundown) approached.

The calves are guided along the Via Claudia as they approach the dreaded climb up the ‘Kratzer’.

The calves were now guided onto the Via headed past the Earschbach pond (home of the aforementioned frog choir) and the medieval fortress built into the mountains towering over the Via. To reach their goal, a set of fields on the nearby borderlands between Austria and Germany, cows and farmers had to both climb the steep grass way up over the ‘Kratzer’, a grassy and wooded path over a hill that has been a thoroughfare for travelers since pre-Christian times.

The cows soon broke into groups…the younger, brisker made the climb up and over the Kratzer without difficulty. The second group was abit older and slower, yet determined to make their way up.  The third group was the slowest and most hesitant. They either stopped dead in their tracks or scampered off to the sides of the herd, hoping to make a daring escape into the forest. The farmers, however, had generations of experience with such folly, and employing shouts and light whacks of the switch on the animal’s padded rumps, quickly gathered the stragglers and escapees back into the fold and over the hill.

Still, there was one cow which would not budge. She was the Esel (Donkey) of the group…a white young thing who believed that if she just stood perfectly still long enough, perhaps she would disappear, or the farmers would mistake her for a four-legged boulder dislodged from the mountains above and let her be.  Once gone, she would make her own way down the hill and back to her cozy stall, where the farmer’s would be surprised and delighted to find her later.

But it was not to be, for a couple of the farmers began to yell and push her. UP UP UP!! A slight whack on the rump. UP UP GO GO!! Another whack on the rump. One farmer started pushing. The white Lady refused, not realizing that in doing so, she was delaying her own partaking of the nourishing delicacies that awaited her in the field just over the hill.

The white Lady moved, scampering like a football Quarterback…first to the left, then the right, hoping to elude her tormentors. The farmers followed suit, blocking her every attempt. This hillside choreography of move and counter-move went on for a few minutes. Finally, the white Lady surrendered to her captivity, and like a worn down but not defeated prisoner of war, marched with head high up the hill, as if it was really the direction she wished to go in the first place. The white Lady, the farmers and the rest of the herd soon disappeared over the crest and down the opposite side of the Kratzer, where they found fresh, green fields of tall grasses, wildflowers and fresh mountain water flowing from the nearby Lech River.

As the Lech Mountains blocked the sun and the evening cool descended, the tired worn farmers returned from their fields and cows, laughing, ready for a schnapps and beer at the Inn, and abit sobered by the knowledge that when they return to these same fields to retrieve the slightly older and fattened cows shortly before Winters sets in, they will have to do all of this once again…but in the opposite direction.

Posted by: Nazausgraben | April 16, 2012


Visiting with our friends Reini and Silvia in nearby Vils (the smallest city in the Tirol) some time ago, I was invited to explore their Antique Stadl..literally a barn that they had converted into a treasure house of antiques, books, art, collectibles and all types of cast away eccentricities…cashed away for generations in the attics and cellars of ancient farmhouses, shops and homes. Reini always directs me to a corner of the Stadl when he brings home a new collection of music. 

Some months ago, I arrived at the Stadl to have a look at a rather large collection of scores newly acquired by Reini. He had purchased the collection from the estate of one Ignaz Dreier, a musician and teacher in the village of Elbingalp in the nearby Lech Valley. Some of the works looked very interesting, handwritten and bound together. After a quick review, I discussed the collection with Reini. He agreed that the scores should be examined by a Musicologist to see if there was anything especially of particular local interest…music composed by local composers. The price for the entire collection was beyond my means, so I also suggested that the collection (coming from a local music teacher) should remain housed and studied here in the Tirol.
Not long thereafter, Reini sold the collection to the Grüne Haus, a wonderful local folk museum in nearby Reutte. He also contacted Univ.-Doz. Dr.phil. Hildegard Herrmann-Schneider, a Musicologist from the Institut für Tiroler Musikforschung in Innsbruck, who has an internationally recognized outstanding reputation for her expertise in the history of classical and folk music, especially from the Tirol. Whilst studying the collection, something caught the Musicologist’s eye; a 160 page bound collection of handwritten scores dating from 1780. One of these had the name Giovane Wolfgango Mozart written at the top. Now, it is known that Wolfgang’s Father, Leopold, employed the Italienate version of his name and it is strongly suspected that he likewise referred to his son in this manner.
The pages of music were apparently not written by the young Mozart himself, but rather had been copied, perhaps from the original that had been in the possession of Leopold. The date of the work suggests that it was composed by Mozart when he was about 10 or 11 years old.
The Musicologist from Innsbruck sent the work off to her colleagues in Salzburg and Vienna. These scholars confirmed some exciting news…this short work for piano, an Allegro Molto (meaning, to be played at a fast tempo…between 120 and 160 beats per minute or so) appears to indeed have been composed by Mozart and has, to date, been quite unknown. It does not appear in any of the catalogues of Mozart’s collected works. It had been apparently copied directly from the original score and came in some manner into the possession of Herr Dreier.
Now, one must be cautious about such things, as there are many examples of works attributed to one composer that, in the end, was found to have been composed by another. Still, the evidence that this was a heretofore unknown Mozart was quite convincing. The work was deemed authentic by the scholars, an announcement was sent out to the press, and the work was performed for the first time a few weeks ago…in Mozart’s birthhouse in Salzburg and on the pianoforte upon which he, his sister Nannerl and his Father Leopold had all played. 
With the clarity of hindsight, I’m delighted that the collection was sent for study to the Musicologist in Innsbruck; if I had purchased it, I might have played the work at some time, thinking “hmmm..a lovely piece…sounds abit like Mozart or Haydn”…and, not knowing better, possibly put it back on my shelf to be found by our children after they had buried me in the rich Pinswang soil in the cemetery behind the Ulrichskirche. Thereafter it probably would have gone to yet another, perhaps less inquisitive antique purchaser/seller. One shudders to think that it might have somehow have been destroyed.

First page of the Allegro Molto by W.A. Mozart. Original from Internationale Stiftung Mozarteum; referenced from

Indeed, one must wonder just how many such works have been ignored or lost…thrown out as refuse, crumbled to dust in an attic or library somewhere. I try to stay optimistic, wondering about the many works that remain to be found…rediscovered and reborn. In this regard, I have always strongly believed that regardless of when a work was composed, there is no such thing as ‘old music’, for the muse is timeless and comes to life…fresh, different and new, with each playing.

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