Scarbo, the third movement of Maurice Ravel’s Gaspard de la Nuit, is a haunting masterpiece that many consider the pinnacle of pianistic terror. While some may debate its title as “the most challenging piano piece ever composed,” few can deny the nightmarish demands of its lightning-fast passages, ghostly whispers of triple pianissimos, and relentless polyrhythmic complexities. Attempting Scarbo requires extraordinary technical skill, endurance, and a touch of madness.

At the heart of this story lies a moment of ambition and probably rivalry. At that time, Mily Balakirev’s Islamey was the undisputed benchmark of pianistic difficulty. Balakirev composed the piece as a direct challenge to Franz Liszt, whose works had already pushed the limits of what pianists thought possible. Yet Ravel, ever audacious, sought to outdo Islamey, not just in technical challenge but in emotional and psychological depth. His mission: to create something far darker and infinitely more sinister: a piece that wasn’t merely difficult but utterly demonic in its essence.

Ravel found inspiration in the macabre prose poems of Aloysius Bertrand’s Gaspard de la Nuit. From this collection, he chose three haunting texts to form the suite: Ondine, Le Gibet, and Scarbo. Each movement paints a distinct musical and emotional landscape, but it is Scarbo that continues to haunt the nightmares of pianists who dare to challenge it. Here’s a closer look at these three movements:

Ondine (C# Major)

A seductive water nymph sings to a man, luring him to her shimmering, otherworldly realm beneath the waves. Her song is both enchanting and deceptive, like a siren’s call. Rippling arpeggios and cascading scales evoke the glimmer of water under moonlight, capturing the allure and danger of her invitation.

Le Gibet (E-flat Minor)

A chilling vision of death: the silhouette of a hanged man swaying in the twilight. The movement’s oppressive stillness is punctuated by the tolling of Bb octaves, evoking funeral bells from a distant, ghostly city. The mortifying ambiance, reminiscent of Chopin’s Funeral March, leaves listeners transfixed in a morbid trance.

Scarbo (G# Minor)

The true demon of the suite. A sinister goblin stalks the night, scratching at walls and casting monstrous shadows in the moonlight. Here, Ravel’s diabolical genius reaches its zenith, demanding from the pianist blistering repeated notes, finger-twisting double-note scales, and perilous leaps across the keyboard. The movement’s relentless pace and dynamic extremes hover on the edge of madness, making it the most feared of the three.

Scarbo is the reason Gaspard de la Nuit is often considered the most terrifying piano suite ever written. To play it is to tempt fate with the demons. A feat few pianists dare to attempt, and even fewer survive unscathed. Ravel’s devilish ambitions did not merely surpass Islamey; they forged a masterpiece that continues to haunt the imagination of those who attempt to play it.

Amidst the soaring melodies and dramatic scenes of Verdi's 1842 opera "Nabucco," a simple chorus ignited a firestorm: "Va, pensiero" ("Fly, Thought"), inspired by Psalm 137, the mournful song of exiled Hebrews in Babylon, transcended the stage and became a battle cry for a nation yearning to be free.

In Italy, then fragmented and under Austrian rule, the yearnings of the exiled Hebrews resonated powerfully with the dreams of a unified Italy. The opera's depiction of oppression, injustice, and ultimate liberation mirrored the Italian people's own struggle for a homeland.

In the opera’s libretto, the word “Babylon” was replaced with “foreign lands,” thus transforming the lament for Zion into a longing for a unified Italy. The music of Verdi took these words and painted them with vibrant emotions, where the melody of “Va, Pensiero” is sung by a yearning chorus, capturing the collective grief and the unwavering hope for freedom.

As the chorus soared, so did the spirits of countless Italians. In opera houses across the peninsula, audiences saw their own aspirations reflected in the plight of the Hebrews. "Va, pensiero" became more than just an operatic aria; it became an anthem of the Risorgimento, the movement for Italian unification.

Secretly sung at gatherings, passed on through whispers, and performed with defiant gusto, "Va, pensiero" fueled the flames of revolution. It provided a sense of solidarity, a shared dream of a sovereign Italy where the chains of foreign domination would be cast off.

The impact of "Va, pensiero" was undeniable. It galvanized the Risorgimento movement, providing a potent symbol of resistance and a shared vision of a free nation. Its legacy continues to inspire, reminding us of the power of art to ignite flames of freedom and give voice to the yearning for a just and unified world.

So, the next time you hear "Va, pensiero," remember that it's not just a beautiful melody; it's a testament to the transformative power of art, a whisper that became a roar, and a song that helped bring a nation together.

It appears hard to defend the existence of free will in light of the mountain of rational and scientific evidence that goes against it. For example, Alex O’Connor proposes a logical argument based on the principle of excluded middle ¬ (P ∨ ¬P) (fancy for "choices gotta be A or B, no in-between”) stating that any kind of mental activity is either determined or it is not. He explains that if our mental activity is undetermined, then it must be random, and thus we are not in control. If it is determined, then it must be external to our mind, and therefore we are not in control. So, either way, Alex’s conclusion is that free will cannot exist.

My problem with Alex's argument hinges on his idea that determinism implies that we have no choices or that our choices are predetermined. This seems to be a misinterpretation of determinism. Determinism simply means that every event has a cause, and that includes our actions. It does not mean that our actions are predetermined in the sense that we have no free will to choose what to do. I would argue that our subjective experience of free will is evidence that we must have free will.

Enter Robert Sapolsky, a neuroendocrinology researcher and teacher of neurological sciences and neurosurgery at Stanford University. He contends in his book "Determined: A Science of Life without Free Will" that the intricate operations of our brains, which are subject to physical laws and chemical processes, are ultimately what determine our actions. He highlights the role of neural activity, genetic predispositions, and environmental factors in shaping our choices.  He even suggests that our subjective experience of free will is an illusion, a product of our brains' ability to construct narratives and explanations for our actions, challenging the traditional notions of personal responsibility, punishment, and reward, arguing that we need to reconsider our moral framework considering the scientific understanding of human behavior.

This argument seems stronger, but even if our actions are predetermined, we still need to hold people accountable for their choices and assume that those choices are made consciously after careful thought and reflection.

The natural question becomes: Where do such conscious choices come from? What is that "conscience,” and how were we able to get it?

Let’s go back a couple of billions of years to the time when the Earth was a vast nucleotidic sea, filled with the building blocks of life but not with any single form of life yet. In this primordial soup, protocells began to form and were constantly exchanging molecules with their surroundings. At some point, these protocells began to distinguish between “themselves” and “other” cells in their environment.

The astrophysicist and astrobiologist Carl Sagan observed this phenomenon and suggested that this distinction between "self" and "other” was crucial for preventing self-consumption of vital resources, such as sugars, which would lead to inevitable death.

But how did this critical distinction arise? It is likely that through evolutionary processes, cells developed the ability to "choose" which resources to consume. This choice, although seemingly simple, represents a rudimentary form of free will. By actively selecting between "self" and "other," the cell exercised a degree of autonomy over its own fate.

As life forms evolved into more complex organisms, the concepts of "self" and "other" became increasingly sophisticated. The development of nervous systems allowed for more nuanced perception and decision-making, further expanding the scope of this fundamental distinction.

With the emergence of complex organisms, the stakes of choosing between oneself and others also escalated. Social interactions and the need for cooperation introduced a new level of complexity to the equation. Decisions now impact not only individual survival but also the fate of entire groups and communities.

This evolutionary journey from simple cellular choices to complex social interactions suggests that free will may not be a uniquely human phenomenon. It is possible that the basic need for self-preservation and the capacity to choose between "self" and "other" planted in the seeds of this human trait were present in the very beginnings of life itself.

Ultimately, the question of whether we have free will may not have a definitive answer, but the search for understanding this fundamental aspect of human experience remains a fascinating and important pursuit. At the very end, this debate seems far from settled by science.

In Milton’s poem, evil is not the absence of good but rather an active force that seeks to corrupt and destroy. In this regard, Satan is the embodiment of evil, and he is portrayed as a powerful and intelligent being who is determined to annihilate humanity.

If this were true, some evildoer would be making decisions on our behalf, and we would not be able to do anything about it. We would be like puppets whose actions are dictated by forces beyond our control.

So, if we are not free to choose our actions, then we cannot be held morally responsible for them. If our actions are predetermined, then we are not blameworthy for our wrongdoing, nor are we deserving of praise for our good deeds.

In that sense, a punishment from God’s red right hand would be unjust and morally reprehensible and make us rethink our understanding of the nature of human agency, morality, and consciousness. While determinism may offer a tidy and parsimonious explanation of the universe, it comes at a high price: the loss of free will, moral responsibility, and the very meaning of our lives.

I, for starters, chose free will…

The “Nuevo Tango” is a new musical genre created by the genius of Astor Piazzolla. It is basically a fusion of the traditional Argentinian tango with elements of jazz, like improvisation and syncopated rhythm. One of his most celebrated works, "Libertango," is a shining example of this innovative style.

Another important aspect of "Libertango" is its theme of freedom. The title itself is a portmanteau of "libertad," the Spanish word for freedom, and "tango." At the time the piece was composed, it was crucial to make a strong statement about the value of freedom and individuality. In that particular year, Juan Domingo Perón, the socialist president of Argentina, died, and Isabelita, his third wife and vice president, took over the government. She must not be confused with his second wife, Evita. Yes, the same Evita that used to sing “Don’t cry for me, Argentina."

Months later, a military junta staged a coup d'état, took over the government, and put Isabelita under domicile arrest. They captured, tortured, and killed the rest of the loyal Peronistas. That was the beginning of what is known as the “Dirty War” of Argentina's military dictatorship. Thus, libertango is a cry for liberty and self-determination.

I believe this piece is powerful enough to transmit that message of freedom, yet you’ll be the judge, and so, our journey begins…