Chamber Music

Chamber music is a form of classical music that is composed for a small group of instruments—traditionally a group that could fit in a palace chamber. Most broadly, it includes any art music that is performed by a small number of performers, with one performer to a part. The word "chamber" signifies that the music can be performed in a small room, often in a private salon with an intimate atmosphere. However, by definition it usually does not include solo instrument performances.

Because of its intimate nature, chamber music has been described as "the music of friends." For more than 200 years, chamber music was played primarily by amateur musicians in their homes, and even today, when most chamber music performance has migrated from the home to the concert hall, many musicians, amateur and professional, still play chamber music for their own pleasure. Playing chamber music requires special skills, both musical and social, that differ from the skills required for playing solo or symphonic works.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe described chamber music (specifically, string quartet music) as "four rational people conversing." This conversational paradigm has been a thread woven through the history of chamber music composition from the end of the 18th century to the present. The analogy to conversation recurs in descriptions and analyses of chamber music compositions.

Read more about Chamber Music:  History, Chamber-music Performance, The Chamber Music Experience, Chamber-music Societies, Ensembles

Famous quotes containing the words chamber and/or music:

    Beautiful glooms, soft dusks in the noon-day fire,—
    Wildwood privacies, closets of lone desire,
    Chamber from chamber parted with wavering arras of leaves,—
    Cells for the passionate pleasure of prayer to the soul that grieves,
    Pure with a sense of the passing of saints through the wood,
    Cool for the dutiful weighing of ill with good;—
    Sidney Lanier (1842–1881)

    And in the next instant, immediately behind them, Victor saw his former wife.
    At once he lowered his gaze, automatically tapping his cigarette to dislodge the ash that had not yet had time to form. From somewhere low down his heart rose like a fist to deliver an uppercut, drew back, struck again, then went into a fast disorderly throb, contradicting the music and drowning it.
    Vladimir Nabokov (1899–1977)