The concept apparently emerged, some while ago, of a musician having a Desert Island list. Put simply, the premise is that you are banished to a desert island but you are allowed to have a record player and up to ten records to listen to. Question: what pieces would you want?
It's a flawed premise, since, if you're on a desert island, where and how do you plug in the record player? But perhaps you can be consoled that you have those ten records — potential energy, as we learned in science class.
The concept is useful if you teach music and about how and why you think it works. I play especially a lot of pieces in my orchestration class, and I not infrequently begin with "this is one of my desert island pieces." Then I get to explain the premise, and since most students nowadays are accustomed to getting their music on their phones, no one asks how it's plugged in. But when I've played one of these pieces without first identifying it, I get a sea of hands, and "Davy, what's that piece?" And, incidentally, I play and describe so many Ravel pieces at the beginning of the orchestration class, one student asked what "Ravel" meant.
I have taught all of these pieces.
I've never written down my desert island list, so I don't even know how many I've said I had. That ends here. Sort of.
Desert Island List, in no particular order.
Ravel Concerto in G, slow movement.
Mozart Piano Concerto No. 23, K. 488, slow movement.
Bach Agnus Dei and Dona Nobis Pacem, from the B minor mass.
Bach Brandenburg Concertos 2 and 3.
Mahler Symphony No. 2, 5th movement "Urlicht"
Stravinsky Le Sacre du Printemps
Strauss the 3-soprano ending of Der Rosenkavalier
Bartok Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta
Bernstein & Sondheim West Side Story
Jason Robert Brown Still Hurting from the Last 5 Years
I can add many, many more pieces to the list, of course, but 10 is the premise, and even two of the records have two pieces.
