Leon Rosselson 1991
Nancy Kerr: "'Nannerl' is Maria Anna Mozart (1751-1829) and I'd always heard this as an 'ignored woman genius' biography. Deeper listening also uncovers the speaker's subtle disdain not just for the wayward brother but for art itself. 'In the end, what good did all that music do?' Of course, this should really be played on the clavier, but I decided to use viola - the ignored genius of the string section." Rosselson: "The bicentenary of Mozart's death in 1991 seemed to me to be worth a small song. Nannerl, like her younger brother, was a wonder child on the clavier. Both were paraded round Europe by their proud father for the entertainment and amusement of the aristocracy."
Nancy Kerr: https://nancykerr.bandcamp.com/track/whatever-happened-to-nannerl
Chorus:
Whatever happened to Nannerl, Nannerl?
She showed such promise as a girl
With her nimble little fingers
Racing up and down the keyboard
Why do we never hear her name, her name?
And we thought she was bound for fame.
Sitting playing duets at the harpsichord
What a pretty pair they made
She was so demure she hardly said a word
He was such a show-off, always on parade
Expecting to be worshipped like a god
He was a cocky little sod
She showed no resentment that her father lavished
All of his attention on the boy
Spoiled him so that if he felt he wasn’t loved
Tears would be the girlish weapon he’d employ
While she was always smiling, being good
Behaving as a daughter should
(talent as a girl)
Trouble was he didn’t understand the times
Never learned to bend of knew his place
Always telling smutty jokes and playing games
Mocking his superiors, such a disgrace
To say that the Archbishop was a prick
The man was definitely sick
(talent as a girl)
Nannerl married well and was her pa’s support
Settled down to lead a useful life
Her brother went his own way, broke his father’s heart
With his wilful ways and foolish choice of wife
Lived it up as if he was a lord
You don’t spend what you can’t afford
(promise, for a girl)
Arrogance, in my view, was what brought him low
Thought that he could make it on his own
And in the end what good did all that music do
Spent his last days scrounging, begging for a loan
You must obey the rules, work hard and save
Or end up in a pauper’s grave
(talent, for a girl)