Beethoven, Sharps and Flats

The second movement of the "Moonlight" again: taking a really close "listen" to the opening triads yields a tremendous amount of information about consonance and dissonance on the piano.

It is hard for anyone trained in music theory to notice the subtle variation present here in the disposition of black and white keys, the various inversions, the octave placements of chord tones, etc.

Going over these sounds one by one was a fascinating exercise in how much trained musicians may miss in the pursuit of at least the illusion of ease with what we are playing.

It all started with noticing the actual sound of major triads on the piano:  They are not all the same, nor are they interchangeable.  Once having learned these notions it is very difficult, indeed, to face up to the reality of the sounds--a much more Beethovian requirement than any theoretical analysis will allow.

Incredibly Beautiful Choral Singing

At the Maundy Thursday mass at St. Ignatius of Antioch Episcopal Church in New York City the usually excellent professional choir produced some unforgettable moments, of two sorts:

First was when they stopped singing notes and responded to pure overtones.  At those moments, of which there were several, their numbers seemed to double.

Second was when their exuberance in Josquin des Prez's wondrously festive Pange Lingua mass  imparted a lusty energy, almost reckless in its joy.

These qualities reflect the brilliance of their young conductor/fellow singer James Kennerley, whose work I have praised before on this blog and will surely praise again in the future.

* * * * 

Several days after this writing, reflecting on this singing, I have become aware, as if reliving the entire service, of what a huge effect it had on everything that transpired that evening--not just on me, but on the celebrant.  It was a better-than-perfect merging of music and the listener.

Thank you!

Every once in a while, as happened yesterday, I receive an envelope with a foreign postmark containing a $20 bill and a note appreciating this blog.

It would be difficult to tally the minutes / hours / days of smile generated by that expression of support.  But it is far more than support if you stop to consider it.  And I treasure it.

Always More to Learn

Two things have come up during the past 24 hours, one enormously encouraging, the other the opposite.

Take the good news first: A student of mine, a scientist (who has appeared more than once in previous posts) has been taking "piano lessons" with me for over thirty (yup) years.  Surely we would have run out of legitimate subjects long ago, you might well be remarking at this point.  But no.  We are getting further and further into the real subject matter of the music and of her experience as she plays/listens.  This is not theoretical but empirical.  It works because I have learned to listen to what the student plays without imposing my own a priori hearing on the music.

The results are infinitely fascinating for both of us.  Most professional level players would be far too impatient to pursue this degree of involvement.

I call it Music Inside and Out.

The other news: An on-line discussion suggesting mp3 files and other handy-dandy means to facilitate individual students wanting to practice their duet parts by themselves.  Doesn't it by definition take two to play a duet?  Can the student possibly learn anything musical by singling out one part to play alone?

I used to discourage the chamber music students from practicing their parts on their own, knowing full well that all they would be doing would make it harder for them to hear and orient to the whole sound when they rehearsed with their colleagues.  Real live people, hmmmm, yes we do still exist.  Real live sound, hmmmm, yes we must make sure that it survives this switched-on era.

"I Don't Hear It!"

There is a difference between hearing something and knowing that one is hearing it.  Yesterday in rehearsal my violinist partner began by saying he did not hear what I have been describing to him, namely the overtone mix shared by both instruments, piano and violin.

Then, in the course of the rehearsal, he demonstrated, entirely involuntarily, that he does indeed hear what I am referring to.  An entire Beethoven movement sprang to new life out of precisely that kind of hearing.

In other words, there is a difference between hearing something and knowing that one is hearing it.

Sometimes saying that you don't get it is an indication that you are open to the awareness of whatever it is.

It reminds me of the frequent response I would get to questions the answer to which was a pitch: The child would sing, on the pitch that was the answer, the words "I don't know."  I wish I had kept track of how often that happened!

Do Children Really Hear?

I am always astonished at the evidence that, not only do small children hear, but that they understand what they hear, evidenced in their laughing when the music is funny.  I am not referring to music with text, but to music, plain and simple.

Recently it was the Mozart Sonata in A (with the Rondo a la Turk, one of my favorites) that brought expressions of glee to the face of a rapt three-year-old.

Many years ago it was the fugue in Beethoven's C Major Sonata for Piano and Cello that caused a two-year-old to giggle out loud.

When I was still able to tolerate teaching in a music school I noticed that the curriculum directed to young children was decidedly based on the assumption that they did not hear, that they needed to be told what to hear and how to hear it.

You may be sure I kept my children out of that environment.

Downbeats and Jazz

All my railing about downbeats should not be taken for an anti-jazz stance - quite the contrary.

The best jazz groups do not play successive identical downbeats - if you pay careful attention you will hear that.  In fact, one of the attributes of a jazz combo is the separation of the strictly rhythmic character of the beat (the drums) from its tonal aspect (the bass).  This is a modern-day rearrangement of the Baroque continuo, in which a cello or bassoon played the bass "melody" doubled also on harpsichord, organ, or lute.

The trouble arises when one person tries to combine the two functions.  Just because it is intended to be played by a single player, piano repertoire does not simplify the connection between tone and time.  It's just that it's harder for one person to activate two impulses at the same time.  In the struggle the more obvious element always wins, i.e., the beat.

That is probably why jazz musicians who long to play Brahms and Debussy (and I have been privileged to work with quite a few who meet that description) have so much trouble "getting" it.

A fascinating thing to ponder.