The question was posed on a recent chat group, whether booing of a first performance was a commentary on the playing rather than the piece, which implied the greater question of whether a piece of music has validity apart from its performance.
Curious question. It used to be that performing and composing were pretty much the same impulse.
I'm all for getting that sense back into the training of musical people from day #1. Now in the midst of a sons-of-Bach study I realize how little prepared I was for the genius of Chopin and of Ravel until swimming around in the semi-improvisatory worlds of W.F. and C.P.E. Bach. It's not that I have an interpretation of their music; it's that I let it speak to me and, in so doing, hopefully make it speak to others as well.
So they have to be the same, the piece and the performance. If they are not it is because the performer did not do the appropriate preparation. Having done many unsuccessful performances of many works in the course of my lifetime I know all too well what that feels like and how risky it feels to step into unknown territory.
Monday, July 15, 2013
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Vocalism
Last night someone asked me what it means when I describe something as vocal.
Everyone has a voice; every voice has a center that identifies it--a tone that is its heart, so to speak, meaning, the core of its register. This is even more true for the trained voice.
Mozart and Verdi did not compose their operas for abstractions but with specific singers in mind for each role.
By extension of that animal nature of sound the core quality is subject to change when the voice departs too far in either direction from its center.
On the piano there are many registers, each with its characteristic sound. The pianist responds to this specificity and to departures from it as if it is an extension of her own voice.
It is a very real quality but not one that is subject to analysis.
Everyone has a voice; every voice has a center that identifies it--a tone that is its heart, so to speak, meaning, the core of its register. This is even more true for the trained voice.
Mozart and Verdi did not compose their operas for abstractions but with specific singers in mind for each role.
By extension of that animal nature of sound the core quality is subject to change when the voice departs too far in either direction from its center.
On the piano there are many registers, each with its characteristic sound. The pianist responds to this specificity and to departures from it as if it is an extension of her own voice.
It is a very real quality but not one that is subject to analysis.
Saturday, July 13, 2013
The Sound More Than "The" Music
Looking both forward and back on a lifetime of music I realize that what continues to fascinate me was/is not music in the abstract, or even as passed down on a printed page with the name of a composer on it. Rather it is very specifically sound itself.
First the sound of the neighbor's spinet that I played as a toddler.
Later, the sounds of cadences in Mozart sonatas.
Then, at some critical point, the sound of Artur Rubinstein playing the piano.
At another critical point, the sound of Mieczyslaw Horszowski playing the piano.
I didn't want to miss any small part of it--whatever made those specific magics was what I needed to pursue. It's not a question of what I do, but rather of who I am.
No compliment means more to me than someone who responds to my sound.
First the sound of the neighbor's spinet that I played as a toddler.
Later, the sounds of cadences in Mozart sonatas.
Then, at some critical point, the sound of Artur Rubinstein playing the piano.
At another critical point, the sound of Mieczyslaw Horszowski playing the piano.
I didn't want to miss any small part of it--whatever made those specific magics was what I needed to pursue. It's not a question of what I do, but rather of who I am.
No compliment means more to me than someone who responds to my sound.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Improvisation Wins Again
If the idea of reading is to get to the point, it becomes more and more evident to me that the point in music has to have something to do with spontaneity. The best way to evoke that is to cultivate listening for spontaneity, and the best way to do that is to listen to new music by young composers (some of whom are more involved with spontaneity than others, but it is interesting to taste the difference in music that is being performed for the first time).
There is not just the spontaneity of the composer, but also of the performer--many of whom, let's face it, are terrified at the prospect. Nothing in their training prepares them for what might happen if they let go.... I have performed with musicians who would never let anything really happen while in the midst of a huge uplift by Dvorak, say, or Beethoven. Everything would stay measurable and safe, impervious either to criticism or judgment. Who cares?
I say let it rip.
There is not just the spontaneity of the composer, but also of the performer--many of whom, let's face it, are terrified at the prospect. Nothing in their training prepares them for what might happen if they let go.... I have performed with musicians who would never let anything really happen while in the midst of a huge uplift by Dvorak, say, or Beethoven. Everything would stay measurable and safe, impervious either to criticism or judgment. Who cares?
I say let it rip.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Sons of the Father: II
Also on last evening's program were two Polonaises by W.F. Bach, and a Rondo by C.P.E. Bach.
On the face of it the pieces have nothing in common except for one thing: The most elusive element in Bach's music is its vocalism, an element that is increasingly foreign to present-day musicians, most of whom have never actually sung, but always concentrated only on instrumental mastery. But it is impossible to play any Bach without noticing the elements of sung usage that are freely interspersed with elements of instrumental virtuosity.
In the works of each of the sons the vocalism is exposed to an almost unbearable degree: I call it unbearable when there is a single unaccompanied treble tone at critical moments of a composition, as if I the player and you the listener are being dared to process this one! In the works of each of the sons there are twists of juxtaposition, completely unprepared musings on the power of single tones to undo you and me completely.
The Bach I used to equate with a kind of powerhouse infallibility, has been quite altered by my entering full-tilt into conversation with his sons, whose music comes pretty close to not making any sense at all on the printed page when read in the way most of us learn to read.
On the face of it the pieces have nothing in common except for one thing: The most elusive element in Bach's music is its vocalism, an element that is increasingly foreign to present-day musicians, most of whom have never actually sung, but always concentrated only on instrumental mastery. But it is impossible to play any Bach without noticing the elements of sung usage that are freely interspersed with elements of instrumental virtuosity.
In the works of each of the sons the vocalism is exposed to an almost unbearable degree: I call it unbearable when there is a single unaccompanied treble tone at critical moments of a composition, as if I the player and you the listener are being dared to process this one! In the works of each of the sons there are twists of juxtaposition, completely unprepared musings on the power of single tones to undo you and me completely.
The Bach I used to equate with a kind of powerhouse infallibility, has been quite altered by my entering full-tilt into conversation with his sons, whose music comes pretty close to not making any sense at all on the printed page when read in the way most of us learn to read.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Sons of the Father: I
In Japan saying you don't like Bach is, I'm told, a major faux pas.
There is a lot not to like in Bach, especially as the Bach in question usually bears no resemblance whatsoever to the real thing. Bach has become the business of Bach, as manufactured by generations of bar-line-obsessed piano teachers who miss the point entirely.
Last night I played two Two-Part Inventions and two Three-Part Sinfonias for a mixed audience that included, in addition to this extraordinary Bach-disliking Japanese pianist, an entirely unschooled improvising singer/songwriter. Each one in separate conversation noticed exactly the same thing about the Inventions--the very same thing: namely, that they are not really pieces. They do their thing and then, whoops, suddenly they end, but not a conventional ending. It is as if time runs out, there is no more room on the page, and so, well, let's make a cadence.
I have been trying to imagine these pieces through the eyes of Bach's 13-year-old son, Wilhelm Friedemann, for whom they were written. Games, surely; tricks to see what he catches and what he throws back in return.
And here were these two listeners, one a former chamber music student, the other my daughter, catching and throwing back. It made my day.
There is a lot not to like in Bach, especially as the Bach in question usually bears no resemblance whatsoever to the real thing. Bach has become the business of Bach, as manufactured by generations of bar-line-obsessed piano teachers who miss the point entirely.
Last night I played two Two-Part Inventions and two Three-Part Sinfonias for a mixed audience that included, in addition to this extraordinary Bach-disliking Japanese pianist, an entirely unschooled improvising singer/songwriter. Each one in separate conversation noticed exactly the same thing about the Inventions--the very same thing: namely, that they are not really pieces. They do their thing and then, whoops, suddenly they end, but not a conventional ending. It is as if time runs out, there is no more room on the page, and so, well, let's make a cadence.
I have been trying to imagine these pieces through the eyes of Bach's 13-year-old son, Wilhelm Friedemann, for whom they were written. Games, surely; tricks to see what he catches and what he throws back in return.
And here were these two listeners, one a former chamber music student, the other my daughter, catching and throwing back. It made my day.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Avoid Monotony!
Recently I heard a brilliant lecture on the subject of Rhetoric as the basis for the education of everyone who received any kind of formal schooling until, well, probably until the Industrial Revolution. The basic principle behind Rhetoric could be summed up in two words, delivered this morning by my extraordinary young adult student working on reading: Avoid monotony!
Monotony seems to have become the very thing pedagogues relied upon to get material across, otherwise how to explain what has been made of the Clementi Sonatina in C, especially the Vivace movement!
Today we worked on that one: Every sight-reading "error" made by my student signaled some truly exceptional compositional device that can only have been planted there to elicit a response just like his:
The two opening sixteenths are NOT slurred to the notes following.
The two repeated eighths are definitely a conundrum: which is the more important?
The boring left hand part is a call to action if ever there was one.
The dissonances in bar 3 likewise.
And so on it went. Paid strict attention to, the movement becomes a source of hilarity in the power of details such as precise releases, and the mandate that what looks like a repeat has to be a variation.
Monotony seems to have become the very thing pedagogues relied upon to get material across, otherwise how to explain what has been made of the Clementi Sonatina in C, especially the Vivace movement!
Today we worked on that one: Every sight-reading "error" made by my student signaled some truly exceptional compositional device that can only have been planted there to elicit a response just like his:
The two opening sixteenths are NOT slurred to the notes following.
The two repeated eighths are definitely a conundrum: which is the more important?
The boring left hand part is a call to action if ever there was one.
The dissonances in bar 3 likewise.
And so on it went. Paid strict attention to, the movement becomes a source of hilarity in the power of details such as precise releases, and the mandate that what looks like a repeat has to be a variation.
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