As a young child I felt isolated with my music; it was not a fascination I shared with anyone--anyone living, that is. For certain sounds of Mozart, which I stumbled on at about twelve, seemed to connect me to him in a most familial way, for want of a better term. Though he had lived 200 years earlier the sounds he had composed made me feel connected.
I contrast this experience to that of my own children who grew up in a household in which music was the main occupation--to the extent that every babysitter I hired had to play an instrument and practice while on the job so that the children would learn that "everyone" played music.
The results of their experience differ, of course. But one of them is an entirely contemporary musical soul; she loves but does not crave attachment to music of the past. She composes and performs music that speaks to her most present reality. The other is an avid amateur horn player whose love of the orchestra takes him however far back in time the orchestra goes.
All three of us connect viscerally to one another's music. What a blessing.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Monday, April 22, 2013
Touching the Sounds We Hear In Our Heads
That's how Rubinstein described piano playing: We do not touch keys, but rather the sounds we hear in our heads.
Just how important that is cannot be overemphasized, and it is important from day one of instruction. Once a child learns to hit the keys it is truly difficult to awaken a sense of touch.
Touch is the intimate connection between sound as imagined and sound as actually produced. It makes the difference between tedium and discovery. As a student put it this morning, it is what makes it possible to play on different pianos.
I teach children to read based on touch, not assuming it. They become better readers and they do not have to learn certain refined instrumental techniques as "add-ons."
Just how important that is cannot be overemphasized, and it is important from day one of instruction. Once a child learns to hit the keys it is truly difficult to awaken a sense of touch.
Touch is the intimate connection between sound as imagined and sound as actually produced. It makes the difference between tedium and discovery. As a student put it this morning, it is what makes it possible to play on different pianos.
I teach children to read based on touch, not assuming it. They become better readers and they do not have to learn certain refined instrumental techniques as "add-ons."
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Pitch Specificity
One of the hazards of our buying into equal-tempered tuning (the artificial system in which all half-steps are equi-distant) is that we stop responding to the particular aspects of particular pitches on particular instruments.
When I am listening to the radio and I hear a string quartet I can tell within seconds whether there is substance in their intonation or whether they are actually trying to sound like a piano. By substance I mean the awareness that certain pitches resonate differently on the strings according to the way the strings are tuned. This, in fact, was the entire point of composition for strings for hundreds of years.
Recently my son came into possession of a natural horn, i.e., the valveless horn for which Mozart composed his many horn concertos. Just imagining how he must have reacted to that sound in order to write such glorious music for it is reason enough to take the instrument seriously.
Turns out that Beethoven wrote one sonata for the instrument plus piano, Op. 17, in 1800. I checked on my Beethoven timeline: Before I knew this work I assumed that Beethoven's flow of fourteen brilliant sonatas involving piano began with Op. 22; I changed my mind this morning when I realized that this Op. 17 was written in 1800.
The piece is written off as "fluff" by people who cannot imagine fascination with pitches so colorful that their function disappears into pure lyricism, just by virtue of the intonation.
When I am listening to the radio and I hear a string quartet I can tell within seconds whether there is substance in their intonation or whether they are actually trying to sound like a piano. By substance I mean the awareness that certain pitches resonate differently on the strings according to the way the strings are tuned. This, in fact, was the entire point of composition for strings for hundreds of years.
Recently my son came into possession of a natural horn, i.e., the valveless horn for which Mozart composed his many horn concertos. Just imagining how he must have reacted to that sound in order to write such glorious music for it is reason enough to take the instrument seriously.
Turns out that Beethoven wrote one sonata for the instrument plus piano, Op. 17, in 1800. I checked on my Beethoven timeline: Before I knew this work I assumed that Beethoven's flow of fourteen brilliant sonatas involving piano began with Op. 22; I changed my mind this morning when I realized that this Op. 17 was written in 1800.
The piece is written off as "fluff" by people who cannot imagine fascination with pitches so colorful that their function disappears into pure lyricism, just by virtue of the intonation.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Singularity: Was it Ever in Fashion?
Given the level of musical conformity that surrounds us it is hard to imagine just how singular the people and the sensibilities were that composed stuff we take for granted as being playable by ten-year-olds.
Schubert's music is a case in point. Last night by chance I heard snippets of an old recording of Rubinstein playing a minuet movement from a Schubert sonata. I had to turn it off not because of the playing, but because it seemed unreal that the sound was so sterile: I know he didn't play like that! Somewhere in between his playing and the commercially released product the sound got cleaned up.
That cleaning up process corresponds to the notated aspects of the musical score which, being discreet in terms of ink and shapes on the page, encourage corresponding attitudes, no matter how inappropriate.
Along with this super-cleanliness goes an assumption of predictability, good behavior. You can have it.
Schubert's music is a case in point. Last night by chance I heard snippets of an old recording of Rubinstein playing a minuet movement from a Schubert sonata. I had to turn it off not because of the playing, but because it seemed unreal that the sound was so sterile: I know he didn't play like that! Somewhere in between his playing and the commercially released product the sound got cleaned up.
That cleaning up process corresponds to the notated aspects of the musical score which, being discreet in terms of ink and shapes on the page, encourage corresponding attitudes, no matter how inappropriate.
Along with this super-cleanliness goes an assumption of predictability, good behavior. You can have it.
Friday, April 19, 2013
When is a Phrase Mark Not a Phrase Mark?
Few articulation markings are as confusing as the slur. We are told that it indicates a phrase. How can that be true when the mark is used in so many different ways?
Aren't there different kinds of phrases, or different levels of phrase? A melodic phrase exerts its power with or without the articulations specified by slurs: we feel the tension of one tone leading to the next whether or not it goes there directly. Then, too, there are clearly phrases that are interrupted, by rests, for example. Mozart seems to have had a special fondness for these, as many of his rests are preceded and followed by the same pitch.
I have come to interpret slurs in the early days of piano composition (Beethoven, Schubert) as pedal indications. Try it; you may be surprised at what you unearth. If a single slur extends over what look like changes of harmony it might mean that the chords need to be voiced so as to resonate sympathetically under a single pedal.
I know it sounds radical as a proposition. The amazing thing is that it doesn't actually sound radical on the piano; it just requires an adjustment in favor of the ear over visual analysis.
Isn't it stunning that the first movement of what we call the "Moonlight Sonata" indicates that the whole movement is to be played "senza sordini" (without dampers, i.e., with the damper pedal down) and that there are very few slurs? This seems to me a clear indication that the melody is in the bass whole notes and that the famous boring triplets are enhancing overtones of the moving bass line.
Try it. You have nothing to lose but your probably not-previously-acknowledged boredom.
Aren't there different kinds of phrases, or different levels of phrase? A melodic phrase exerts its power with or without the articulations specified by slurs: we feel the tension of one tone leading to the next whether or not it goes there directly. Then, too, there are clearly phrases that are interrupted, by rests, for example. Mozart seems to have had a special fondness for these, as many of his rests are preceded and followed by the same pitch.
I have come to interpret slurs in the early days of piano composition (Beethoven, Schubert) as pedal indications. Try it; you may be surprised at what you unearth. If a single slur extends over what look like changes of harmony it might mean that the chords need to be voiced so as to resonate sympathetically under a single pedal.
I know it sounds radical as a proposition. The amazing thing is that it doesn't actually sound radical on the piano; it just requires an adjustment in favor of the ear over visual analysis.
Isn't it stunning that the first movement of what we call the "Moonlight Sonata" indicates that the whole movement is to be played "senza sordini" (without dampers, i.e., with the damper pedal down) and that there are very few slurs? This seems to me a clear indication that the melody is in the bass whole notes and that the famous boring triplets are enhancing overtones of the moving bass line.
Try it. You have nothing to lose but your probably not-previously-acknowledged boredom.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Eavesdropping
Today a listener from one of my recent house recitals described that it felt as though he was eavesdropping on a conversation between me and Haydn. What a lovely compliment, not just to myself, but also to him--that he would permit himself that degree of intimate involvement.
The cues in Haydn are vocal. Vocal cues do not require text to be vivid. They require a physical involvement in direction and in intervalic coloration, as in a descending vs an ascending half-step, or a black-key to white-key vs a white-key to black-key half-step.
Having sung all my life these colorations come naturally. Doesn't everyone hear them?
The cues in Haydn are vocal. Vocal cues do not require text to be vivid. They require a physical involvement in direction and in intervalic coloration, as in a descending vs an ascending half-step, or a black-key to white-key vs a white-key to black-key half-step.
Having sung all my life these colorations come naturally. Doesn't everyone hear them?
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