Music could be described as going where the ear takes you. Listening to music being made up on the spot is particularly exciting if the improviser wants you to go along, to include you in the process of going where the ear takes you.
Too often printed music acts as an excuse to leave the ear out altogether, both that of the player and of the listener. I am fascinated by the difference between reading for sound and reading for the MuzApp notion of what is happening. I play with the score because that's what I do - also I do so many other things that playing from memory is out of the question, with some noteworthy exceptions.
The MuzApp notion is based on themes. Nonsense, say I. What the MuzApp people call a theme is one acoustical event compelling more acoustical events. Maybe they line up to produce a sort of idea that is easy to remember, but that is not what they are, nor is it why they exist (I am talking about real composers, not writers of tunes...)
As you may know I am a knitter. I no longer follow instructions but make things up as I go along. I am struck by how musical an exercise it is: the need for variation comes out of the string itself as it becomes too one-dimensional and I need it to cast shadows. I think of music constantly as I do it, music pure, not this piece or that.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Playing Without a Printed Program
The season takes off with a new experiment: No printed programs.
I did my first such program last night with astonishing results. I had planned the program, even announced it on-line; the composers' names were the subject of the evening. But I decided not to distribute programs until after the playing. The result was amazing.
It freed me to hear as I wanted the listeners to hear, as if every note were a challenge to pay attention, to become immersed in a never-to-be-repeated moment. It was truly like an improvisation. And my interpretation of a Clementi Sonata (F# minor - a great work) was entirely different from the last time I performed it several years ago.
I did my first such program last night with astonishing results. I had planned the program, even announced it on-line; the composers' names were the subject of the evening. But I decided not to distribute programs until after the playing. The result was amazing.
It freed me to hear as I wanted the listeners to hear, as if every note were a challenge to pay attention, to become immersed in a never-to-be-repeated moment. It was truly like an improvisation. And my interpretation of a Clementi Sonata (F# minor - a great work) was entirely different from the last time I performed it several years ago.
Friday, September 12, 2014
When A Piece Is Not In a Key
Somewhere along the line music teachers decided that the only way to teach music to children was to teach them about keys, scales, all that formulaic stuff.
But that is just what it is: formulaic. As such it is of limited usefulness. One must always be on the lookout for pieces that do not conform to the formula.
Today it was a piece by Bartok that relies on the dichotomy between black and white keys. After musing (!) about all kinds of motion within a total black-key sound he suddenly introduces the two "missing" white keys: C and F (below). This sudden stark perfect fifth arrests all forward motion. Along with it comes a new note value: so far the longest value has been the equivalent of four eighths, all of a sudden it is five.
I asked the student what the difference is. His answer: "immeasurable." Spot on. The musical distance between four and five is not simply one unit; rather it is leaving the universe of balance and symmetry for the opposite, which feels foreign, even intolerable.
But that is just what it is: formulaic. As such it is of limited usefulness. One must always be on the lookout for pieces that do not conform to the formula.
Today it was a piece by Bartok that relies on the dichotomy between black and white keys. After musing (!) about all kinds of motion within a total black-key sound he suddenly introduces the two "missing" white keys: C and F (below). This sudden stark perfect fifth arrests all forward motion. Along with it comes a new note value: so far the longest value has been the equivalent of four eighths, all of a sudden it is five.
I asked the student what the difference is. His answer: "immeasurable." Spot on. The musical distance between four and five is not simply one unit; rather it is leaving the universe of balance and symmetry for the opposite, which feels foreign, even intolerable.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Why Musical Compositions Have Titles
After an evening of listening to cabaret music-making, most of the songs led into with stream-of-consciousness-type comments on recent news stories or events in the life of the singer/songwriter, the question arose in my mind as I contemplated preparing the printed program for the in-house recital I will play tomorrow... why have a printed program?
Without the distraction of a printed program, the roomful of people listens for what is coming in a way that is overwhelmingly persuasive. Nobody knows what is about to happen, sometimes not even the bass player who has an uncanny ability to read the singer's mind, even when she changes it at the last minute, or changes key.... So when the moody intro turns out to yield a hilarious song everyone is caught off-guard and the laughter is immediate and deep.
Deep in both senses: the moody intro gives an edge to the laughter indicating that nothing is probably as simple as it seems.
Probably the jazziest song of the evening was about death, yup. What was hilarious about it? Everything, especially the simple fact that we were all together facing it, sooner or later, or now.
The printed program should be a gateway to participatory listening. Maybe I'll scrap it and see what happens. Part of the problem with it is that it presupposes too much on the part of the listener, not in the Muz App sense of knowledge, but simply in terms of whether you are about to hear a song or a dance or some kind of intellectual exercise perhaps somber perhaps rollicking. But the music may actually belie its title. Maybe it's not the serious piece you ordinarily expect of a "fugue." I have to think some more about this problem.
Without the distraction of a printed program, the roomful of people listens for what is coming in a way that is overwhelmingly persuasive. Nobody knows what is about to happen, sometimes not even the bass player who has an uncanny ability to read the singer's mind, even when she changes it at the last minute, or changes key.... So when the moody intro turns out to yield a hilarious song everyone is caught off-guard and the laughter is immediate and deep.
Deep in both senses: the moody intro gives an edge to the laughter indicating that nothing is probably as simple as it seems.
Probably the jazziest song of the evening was about death, yup. What was hilarious about it? Everything, especially the simple fact that we were all together facing it, sooner or later, or now.
The printed program should be a gateway to participatory listening. Maybe I'll scrap it and see what happens. Part of the problem with it is that it presupposes too much on the part of the listener, not in the Muz App sense of knowledge, but simply in terms of whether you are about to hear a song or a dance or some kind of intellectual exercise perhaps somber perhaps rollicking. But the music may actually belie its title. Maybe it's not the serious piece you ordinarily expect of a "fugue." I have to think some more about this problem.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
A Celebration Worthy of the Name
Today* is my birthday. It will be celebrated, ironically, with an evening of chamber music shared with friends old and new. The irony of this did not actually hit me until I began that last sentence.
It lies in the realization that the traditional familial birthday celebration among European families of a certain social standing would include chamber music readings for which every family member would have been assigned a part. When I was privileged to take part in that culture, which I did during my Fulbright year, I was aware of two things: 1) how wonderful it was and 2) how utterly out of whack that would be in terms of modern American life: the assumption of conformity within the family seemed at the time and still seems un-American to me. I firmly believe that every generation has to find or make its own musical expression.
And here I will be, playing the Brahms Horn Trio together with my son Jacob on natural horn and Gregor Kitzis playing violin, and the whole undertaking was Jacob's idea. Among those listening will be my daughter Rachelle, a self-taught singer/songwriter/musician on all sorts of instruments, and a listener beyond compare.
Unbelievable. Such a thing could never happen.
*The post is written several days before it is posted....
It lies in the realization that the traditional familial birthday celebration among European families of a certain social standing would include chamber music readings for which every family member would have been assigned a part. When I was privileged to take part in that culture, which I did during my Fulbright year, I was aware of two things: 1) how wonderful it was and 2) how utterly out of whack that would be in terms of modern American life: the assumption of conformity within the family seemed at the time and still seems un-American to me. I firmly believe that every generation has to find or make its own musical expression.
And here I will be, playing the Brahms Horn Trio together with my son Jacob on natural horn and Gregor Kitzis playing violin, and the whole undertaking was Jacob's idea. Among those listening will be my daughter Rachelle, a self-taught singer/songwriter/musician on all sorts of instruments, and a listener beyond compare.
Unbelievable. Such a thing could never happen.
*The post is written several days before it is posted....
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Listening in Advance
Much fuss is made about the necessity of hearing in advance of playing. I would like to make an argument for that not always being such a good idea.
A professionally trained musician is under a lot of pressure: to play the right notes, play them on time, and cause as little trouble as possible so that the rehearsal can proceed according to schedule and we can get on with it.
But every once in a while even the best-trained professional is brought up short by notes she has played a million times within just the past month but which present in such unlikely context that they cannot simply be played and be done with it.
I am thinking of one well-known professional flutist whose specialty is new music. She told me once that, no matter what else was on the program, a trio by Haydn always took the most rehearsing. And this from a member of a prominent ensemble who, when they have to premiere a work, analyze it in terms of how many rehearsal hours it will take to get it together.
People who always only listen in advance risk making up their minds before giving music a chance to be what it is.
A professionally trained musician is under a lot of pressure: to play the right notes, play them on time, and cause as little trouble as possible so that the rehearsal can proceed according to schedule and we can get on with it.
But every once in a while even the best-trained professional is brought up short by notes she has played a million times within just the past month but which present in such unlikely context that they cannot simply be played and be done with it.
I am thinking of one well-known professional flutist whose specialty is new music. She told me once that, no matter what else was on the program, a trio by Haydn always took the most rehearsing. And this from a member of a prominent ensemble who, when they have to premiere a work, analyze it in terms of how many rehearsal hours it will take to get it together.
People who always only listen in advance risk making up their minds before giving music a chance to be what it is.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Why are Some Pieces so Long?
It used to bug me when I was a child that some pieces seemed to go on forever, especially the slow ones.
Thinking back on those feelings I see myself seated far back in an auditorium the size of Chicago's Orchestra Hall, supposed to be grateful to be there, but baffled as to what it was all about.
As a professional chamber musician I spent countless hours listening to performance tapes of complex works like piano trios, quartets and quintets--Dvorak comes first to mind in this regard. His music perhaps more than that of any other composer is crafted to cause tonal instability to arise not because of structural reasons but strictly out of the auditory excitement of now this player, now that.
The good musician does not stop this excitement from affecting the course of the work, perhaps by throwing it momentarily out of tune, or causing some jagged entrances or other rhythmic upheaval. All too often a well-meaning guest player would pull it all back in order, stressing the repeat aspects of a "theme" even though in entirely differently tonalities rather than relishing the variation aspects so skillfully composed into the work.
Trained to expect repetition where there is none we are not truly immersed in what is happening. The music seems to never end.
Thinking back on those feelings I see myself seated far back in an auditorium the size of Chicago's Orchestra Hall, supposed to be grateful to be there, but baffled as to what it was all about.
As a professional chamber musician I spent countless hours listening to performance tapes of complex works like piano trios, quartets and quintets--Dvorak comes first to mind in this regard. His music perhaps more than that of any other composer is crafted to cause tonal instability to arise not because of structural reasons but strictly out of the auditory excitement of now this player, now that.
The good musician does not stop this excitement from affecting the course of the work, perhaps by throwing it momentarily out of tune, or causing some jagged entrances or other rhythmic upheaval. All too often a well-meaning guest player would pull it all back in order, stressing the repeat aspects of a "theme" even though in entirely differently tonalities rather than relishing the variation aspects so skillfully composed into the work.
Trained to expect repetition where there is none we are not truly immersed in what is happening. The music seems to never end.
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