What is taste if not the sensation of "I like it" or "I don't like it"?
I once spent an extraordinary hour trying to get a nine-year-old who spoke very little English to relate to me. Seated at the piano before an extremely easy duet the idea was that we would play together stopping every time she heard a sound she did not like.
Apparently wishing she were anywhere else in the world but seated at a piano next to--heaven forbid--a piano teacher, she banged and banged.
"No," I insisted: "I really mean it: Stop when you hear something you don't like." This time, rather than wait for her to take the initiative, I stopped at the first ugly sound and asked whether she thought it sounded good.
"No!" she replied. I agreed; in fact we agreed that most of the piece sounded pretty awful. Very excited, she ran babbling to her mother in Croatian. Apparently, according to the mother, she was so excited because no one had ever asked her whether she thought something sounded good!
This was not the first time I had seen a strong reaction of a child to unpleasant sound.
Why am I on the lookout for it? Because of my own pronounced childhood reactions to unpleasant sounds--reactions I could never have expressed except by re-writing the compositions: "correcting" all the diminished triads, lengthening the unresolved cadences, or simply turning the page when the sounds became too much to bear.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
If Not Analysis, Then What?
A couple of days ago I noted that the expressive shifts in vocal quality are not subject to analysis. I'm sure that if you were an experienced vocal coach you would find yourself analyzing such shifts in the human voice. But for the listener, the invaluable audience member, the gut response is all.
I wonder how vivid the gut response is to piano playing these days. I recall a couple of instances of having a gut reaction so powerful that it haunted me until I "figured it out," which I did, not by analysis, but by shameless imitation.
Thinking about one such experience, that of hearing Horszowski for the first time, I was amazed to note that I recall the program he played that evening--over 50 years ago. Bach C minor Partita, CPE Bach Sonata, Clementi Sonata in F# minor and a work by a contemporary Finn whose name I do not recall. It might be, of course, that my memory is playing tricks on me and that I am recalling an amalgam of several programs I heard him play; but the outline is true to his programming style, as is the fact that he played works that no one else played.
I wonder how vivid the gut response is to piano playing these days. I recall a couple of instances of having a gut reaction so powerful that it haunted me until I "figured it out," which I did, not by analysis, but by shameless imitation.
Thinking about one such experience, that of hearing Horszowski for the first time, I was amazed to note that I recall the program he played that evening--over 50 years ago. Bach C minor Partita, CPE Bach Sonata, Clementi Sonata in F# minor and a work by a contemporary Finn whose name I do not recall. It might be, of course, that my memory is playing tricks on me and that I am recalling an amalgam of several programs I heard him play; but the outline is true to his programming style, as is the fact that he played works that no one else played.
Monday, July 15, 2013
Again, Sound vs? Music
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.
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.
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.
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