Stopping Time to Listen

Musical time is one of the most difficult phenomena to describe.  Most likely the typical listener assumes that rhythm represents all there is to know about time in music, but that is far from the case.  Actually, as musicians listen millions of events occur within every entity that passes for "a" beat.  I guess you might call it fine tuning.

I experienced one of the best examples of the difference watching a silent movie, of all things.  It was at a series of westerns being shown at the Museum of Modern Art many years ago.  There, in total silence, a drama was unfolding on the screen.  Behind me an elderly gentleman caught (and commented on) the gist of the successive frames long before I did.  Clearly he was used to this kind of event depiction, where the emphasis was on silence. 

We are by now so accustomed to being almost literally thrown around by sound that we can't imagine what might really be happening.  I say "we" because I, too, have fallen for it.

Elegance is Generosity

The past couple of days I have listened to almost 20 different ensembles at the annual conference of Chamber Music America, ensembles of all sorts performing a wide range of repertoire in all kinds of instrumental combinations, including flower pots.

I am struck by the particular elegance of two jazz pianists, in matters of touch and timing.  The assumption seemed to be flexibility rather than split-second accuracy.  There was plenty of that as well, however, as these musicians were in the company of very attentive colleagues.

It would be impossible to analyze the acoustical assumptions behind these diverse groupings, but in each band the piano played multiple roles, at times light and lyrical, at other times percussive and driven.

It is so refreshing to experience the definition of chamber music becoming broader by the minute.

Vulnerability on Canvas and on Stage

A splendid talk last night at the Galerie St. Etienne's 75th anniversary reception about the vulnerability of the human body seen frontally by artists of various periods and genres brought to mind the vulnerability of every artist who gets up to play music alone, unprotected.

It points up, too, the necessary vulnerability of the beholder, whether viewer or listener.  Dare to see and feel; dare to hear and be moved.  Not necessarily according to a textbook version of what that might be but simply on your own terms.

Do get to this show if you can.

Coordinate Your Two Hands at All Costs!

It comes up with alarming frequency, how the goal of so much early piano instruction is to get the kid's two hands to function in sync.  In the name of doing so music of all descriptions is rendered mechanical, boring, unbearable.

In a lesson this morning, as I try to cure a mature student of her allegiance to this ingrained objective, I recalled as a a child rebelling against this rattling-off style of playing; it seemed better to quit lessons than to kid anybody about this being a good idea.

Imagine my horror when I went to music school and heard it all around me. Fearing now that it was Haydn's fault I literally threw out every note of his that I owned.

Thank goodness I had the good sense some years later to fish those treasures back out of the trash.

Socrates was Probably Right After All

If alphabets have actually dulled the wits of human beings anywhere near as much as printed music has mangle-ironed the ears of musicians, one would have to concede that Socrates had a point.

How do I know this to be the case?  Because I fall into the trap, again and again.  I open a book of works I have never heard.  Upon first reading my reaction, again and again, is "Oh, I know how this goes: Piece of cake!"  In fact, I usually have not the foggiest idea how it goes.  Searching out that hidden gold nugget requires an effort I am usually too impatient to make.

So if I have the problem, what about you?

Going to the trouble of digging has revealed great treasures, some of which count among my most beloved music.

"That is Silly!"

Yesterday I played the Mozart German Dances K.506 I think it is, for a serious amateur musician: no introduction, no identification of any sort.  Reaction: "That is silly!"

Yes, indeed.  They are extremely silly but the preface to the Henle edition of Mozart pieces for the piano indicate notion but the utmost seriousness.  Deadpan editing, perhaps?  Hope so.  Whether most people would trust themselves to pronounce any music so obviously classical in style "silly" is an experiment I will conduct next week when I play these pieces in the next Mixed Bag performances.

If you're around NYC get in touch.  I'll tell you where and when.

New Mozart

1787 was one of Mozart's best years: Among other things, Figaro was enjoying huge success in Prague, where he went to spend some time visiting a house which I, too, have visited - a lovely manor on a gently sloping hill outside of the city. 

Today I found a set of German dances composed during his visit to Prague that year, music that no one plays, though 1787 was a year that saw many magnificent compositions, the G minor Piano Quartet among them.

These dances are hilarious parodies of everything gauche about German folk music viewed through the sophisticated eyes of the bourgeoisie and of the nobility.  Why have they not been used, as have other German dances, as pedagogical fodder?  They must be too hard.  Not in any obvious way, outside of the occasional leaping octaves; but mostly because bad voice leading is actually harder to play than good voice leading.