The Like Factor(y)

The word is in disrepute.  First there were the Valley girls, now ubiquitous.  I am allergic to the likes of them.

Then came Facebook.  From time to time I feel obliged to log in, to see what posts I may have received since the last time - probably a week previous - and this brings me face(book) to face(book) with the word used differently.  I am asked to like the pages of friends, acquaintances, organizations...

Sorry, my definition of the word does not allow me to participate in this idiocy. 

Why don't we reduce everything to out and out popularity contests and leave out the like factor?  If you really need to count your friends do so forthrightly and admit that is what you are doing.  If you need a count of how many people recognize your name, that's different, isn't it?  

Music and Real Time

Time in music exists on three levels simultaneously:  the faster than fast time experienced by the performer, the kind of time we associate with rhythm, and the time of a life affecting every element of tone and meaning, potentially of every note we play.

The first kind of time is almost entirely missing from music instruction.  Yet it is the manifestation of time most vivid to children as they play, as it is to professional musicians who are really serious about their sound.  Inside of this time one is open to whatever is happening in a way that invites involvement in every instant to come.

The rhythm level of time is all too readily associated with rote learning, with repetition, with boredom.

Alas.

The lifetime is most difficult to discuss as it varies entirely from individual to individual.

Competition Holds Us Back - Especially the Winners

Winning a competition is just that: being judged better than the other competitors.  It has nothing to do with mastering the art or reaching the fullness of one's potential.  (How is one to accomplish that before the tender age of 25 or 30, the usual cutoff ages for prominent piano competitions?)

Having won the competition is a guarantee of some sort of livelihood.  But what sort?  In our media-dominated climate it means more of the same, thank you.  And don't by any means suddenly discover something new and unlikely.

Whether or not I enjoy someone's playing is completely separate from my admiration for anyone sticking her or his neck out and trying something new: new repertoire, new performance outfits, new venues.

But we are at an ironic time where sticking one's neck out may have to do with deciding to focus on repertoire that has become so stultified that no one knows anymore how great it is:  Mozart sonatas, Schubert sonatas, Brahms pieces, Beethoven sonatas, even Fuer Elise, one of the most perfect compositions ever written.

Of Course We Hear in Utero!

I wrote yesterday's post without thinking through the known facts about prenatal hearing.  I was concerned, rather, with the assumption of many young parents that their baby has not heard anything yet.

Heartbeats, breathing, digestion, all those sounds of life must have been intensely magnified in that environment, not to mention the music that the mother listened ot, perhaps even danced to, while pregnant.

It is adult assumptions that are off, not the infant's hearing.

Is Music Only Outside of Us?

From what I see of young children responding to live sound I don't believe that music exists only outside of ourselves.  Those eyes light up with an expression of recognition, as if they are responding to something with which they identify.

Isn't it possible that vibration pre-exists external music?

Has anyone checked the amount of auditory activity in newborns?  I would be surprised if it turned out to be zero.

By the time most Americans have reached the age of about ten that sense of wonder seems in danger of being chewed up by over-stimulation of the most boring sort, either Muzak or MuzApp.  Which is worse, I wouldn't venture to guess.

My ideal audience reaches out to me as much as I to them: open-minded, curious, eager.  It is definitely a mutual adventure.

Classical Music is Too Boring

It only takes an occasional foray into contemporary music concerts to get the point:  Sound itself is no longer a subject matter that instrumentalists care about or know how to pay attention to.

There are many notable exceptions to this: most percussionists, a lot of club musicians, early music people, for example.  And there are living composers who know how to address the beauty problem in such a way that musicians who still know how to respond to their instruments make you aware of that as you listen.  My friend Ursula Mamlok is such a composer.

But among the "serious" musicians I hear, some of whom are very good, indeed, I get the feeling that difficulty has become their substitute for beauty.  In order for them to concentrate as they practice the music has to be difficult.

Too often I go to the concert and all I hear is difficulty.  I am rarely moved. 

Why Not Boo?

It is not polite to boo in concert halls.  It is apparently polite to fall asleep and show other signs of boredom.

I say bah! to that.  If you can't get yourself to boo at least get up and walk out at the first available opportunity.

At a nursing home where I used to play with some frequency I recall showing up once early enough to chat with some of the potential audience.  They were disappointed that I was not going to play the music they really enjoyed: pop stuff.  I told them that if I were good at it I would play it, but I'm not.

Then I made a deal.  They should come and listen and, if they didn't like it, leave - but do so in between pieces.  I kept track of the departures.   None.

It should be assumed that audience will get up and go if you don't hold their attention.  The standards might change.  I was going to say "would change" but I realize that the definition of listening has been so eroded by constant background music that it may be that people don't know any more what it feels like to really listen.

I think often with gratitude of Lily Tomlin's joke: I had a terrible nightmare the other night.  I dreamed that the man who invented Muzak invented something else.

He did: It's what we now call music.