Tom and I were feeling all the emotions as we made this recording this morning. Our 88-day #UriPosteJukeBox journey — a day for each piano key — has been one of the most memorable and meaningful experiences of our lives; we’ve mentioned to each other repeatedly that in many ways this project has embodied our most authentic musical selves. You, dear audience, have made #UriPosteJukeBox what it is, and we are unspeakably grateful for the connections it has allowed us to feel with friends old and new, and for all the amazing requests we received. At this hour of reckoning for the world, when we’re physically separated from loved ones, more conscious than ever of inequalities and injustices, and, in the arts world, perilously aware of the fragility of our entire existence, we have been truly overwhelmed by the warmth, love, and kindness shown by this community, and by the power of music of all kinds to bring us together as we try to process everything that’s going on. This definitely isn’t a goodbye — this daily chapter may be closing, but we’ll still be popping up with posts now and then, and are busy figuring out how we can incorporate JukeBox elements into our live concerts in the future. All of our videos will remained archived at www.elenaurioste.com/jukebox and on my YouTube channel in a handy #UriPosteJukeBox playlist. We are always a message away. So, for Day 88, we leave you with Richard Strauss’s radiant song ‘Morgen!’ (‘Tomorrow!’), written as a wedding present for Strauss’s wife Pauline, setting words by John Henry Mackay (which I’ve shared below in translation). Of course the one thing our arrangement misses is a singer; that “lost” voice seems an apt metaphor for our friends, families, and musical partners we miss terribly, and with whom we look forward to being reunited very soon. With acknowledgement of each past moment that has led us here; with every ounce of my love and gratitude for Tom, my greatest present of all; and with hope for a brighter future for each of you, for our planet, for all, we take a little bow... for now. ♥️ Morgen! (Tomorrow!) And tomorrow the sun will shine again And on the path that I shall take, It will unite us, happy ones, again, Amid this same sun-breathing earth... And to the shore, broad, blue-waved, We shall quietly and slowly descend, Speechless we shall gaze into each other’s eyes, And the mute silence of bliss shall fall on us...

It’s Day 87, and time for the penultimate post in our daily #UriPosteJukeBox series. The general kazoo-appreciation vibe here inspired Tom to have one more go at a Glenn Miller number, In the Mood... and despite the many, many reasons to despair these days, we hope you’ll allow yourself two and a half minutes of mood-lifting sillies. Inching closer towards the end of JukeBox has given me a bit of space to think and process — leaping into “action” so soon after lockdown began was in many ways a coping mechanism for us both, and we haven’t given ourselves much time to be still and truly process all that’s been happening, on levels both macro and micro. This morning, after a particularly grueling virtual yoga class with my beloved Intermission family, I realized just how much I miss all of my people, how much sadness there is to sit with and let flow, and how helpless I so often feel; but it also afforded me the space to recognize how fortunate I am — for so many things, among them to connect with so many of you through this funny little project. Oh a peppier note (more in keeping with the spirit of Tom’s insanely brilliant arrangement for today!) some of you may have seen that the Royal Philharmonic Society recently announced a new category for its 2020 #RPSAwards: Inspiration Awards, nominated by the public, to celebrate work which has moved or inspired people during lockdown. We’d heartily encourage anyone who wishes to cast a vote, and needless to say, if anyone feels like nominating #UriPosteJukeBox — though we recognize that in the grand scheme of things, it’s rather trivial — it would mean the world to us. https://royalphilharmonicsociety.org.uk/awards/rps_music_awards/inspiration-awards/inspiration-awards-nomination-form See you tomorrow for the final installment... ♥️

For today’s pre-penultimate #UriPosteJukeBox post, some thoughtful words from Tom, which — along with his performance today — have touched me immensely, particularly the last paragraph: “This is the slow movement of Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G major, his last major work, completed in 1931. While the outer movements are filled with joy and brilliance, here Ravel spins one of the most perfect, seemingly infinite melodies ever written. Though it’s music which seems to have been plucked fully-formed from paradise, its apparent spontaneity actually caused Ravel great pain (“That flowing phrase! How I worked over it bar by bar! It nearly killed me!”) Though the piano is the first to sing out the melody, the movement contains a succession of extraordinary orchestral solos, mainly for the wind players, with the biggest jewel being reserved for the cor anglais. In transcribing the orchestral parts for Elena to play alone, we’ve managed to keep all the melodies and countermelodies intact, though of course there’s no substitute for Ravel’s incomparable orchestrations. I miss live performance more than I can say, and was keen to get my mind into an ‘on-stage’ zone for this. Sure enough, as soon we sat down to record, I felt a huge swell of adrenaline, and all the good and bad things that come with it - the quickening heartbeat, that slight trembling of the fingers (and sometimes the mind!), an emotional intensity, that heightened desire to communicate as if it might be the last time…”

We’ve reached Day 85 of #UriPosteJukeBox, and fittingly — with only three further daily JukeBox posts to go — we’ve returned to Philadelphia, where this whole adventure began. This is ‘You and I’, from the 1972 album Talking Book by Stevie Wonder, a mutually beloved artist of me and Tom and one of my very favorite songs in the world. Without wishing to get too sappy in public, this is a song which had particular significance in the early days of our relationship. But I first heard it at the coffee shop at Marlboro, nearly 10 years ago, on one of those starlit Vermont summer nights where everything feels possible and limitless and twinkly. I dreamed then and there, breathing in the mountain air and feeling so in love with music in its myriad forms, of finding someone with whom I could, in fact, “conquer the world”. There are so many wrongs to right, minds to change, and steps to take, but in this moment, I feel fortunate beyond words to have a partner with whom I can hope, cry, laugh, dream, be my truest self, and make music. You and I, indeed. ♥️

A return to Argentina for Day 84 of #UriPosteJukeBox: ‘El día que me quieras’ (The day that you love me) by the incomparable Carlos Gardel, often described as the King of Tango. Written in 1935, very shortly before the tragic plane crash which ended Gardel’s life, we can think of few melodies more beautiful. And for any arts supporters who might be interested... The Royal Philharmonic Society has announced a new category for its 2020 #RPSAwards: Inspiration Awards, nominated by the public, to celebrate work which has moved or inspired people during lockdown. Tom and I have been moved to tears/laughter/yelps of glee by the outstanding content that many of our fellow musicians have put out over these last few months, proving once again that while the arts won’t necessarily save our lives, it definitely makes them worth living. It would mean the world to us if anyone felt like nominating #UriPosteJukeBox (or any of our amazing colleagues!), and it only takes a minute to fill in the online form: https://royalphilharmonicsociety.org.uk/awards/rps_music_awards/inspiration-awards?token=zCpH_2JxJ72qE8SYXMnaRSxPoNT3Wdjr

In the early days of #UriPosteJukeBox, we received a request for the slow movement of Beethoven’s tenth and final violin sonata. Daunted by the idea of including what is one of the most perfect chamber works ever written, we found many an excuse to put it off: the piano was too out of tune to do it justice; it felt unnatural to take a movement of a late Beethoven sonata out of context, especially as it ends on an unresolved chord; it’s impossible not to feel a weight of responsibility with these iconic pieces; etc. etc. etc. But at the end of the day, it’s music, like everything else we’ve played. We’re taught from such an early age to be reverent, afraid, and even filled with guilt, daring to tackle the pieces which for so long have been the core of what is considered the canon of Western classical music. People talk about Beethoven being a great casualty of the coronavirus — this year is his 250th birthday, and festivals and concerts featuring wall-to-wall Beethoven have been cancelled. I feel strongly that he is NOT the composer most in need of extra advocacy, during his centenary years or any other; his music is played and heard all over the world every day of every year (rightly so, of course), and both Tom and I often wish such celebratory programming efforts could be redirected to highlight unfairly neglected composers. That said, this piece is heavenly. So here — with all our human imperfections — is the Adagio from Beethoven’s final sonata for piano and violin, left unresolved…