The weekend was spent celebrating Easter. It was an occasion to demonstrate once again that pitch is specific and that we humans respond accordingly.

Every American dislikes singing the national anthem because it has a high F, usually perceived to be much too high for comfort. But on Easter--on two occasions in the course of the two-day celebration, in fact--high church Episcopalians sing a response that has three high G's. The sound is unbelievable.

Today I sing the praises of Muzio Clementi! Remember him? He presents a good example of a casualty of standard music notation. I am talking about his brilliant collection of Preludes and Exercises for piano in all the major and minor keys.

What is a prelude? In his day they were improvisatory introductions to more formal works, usually fugues--as in Preludes and Fugues. The key word is improvisatory, a quality which is hard to notate and even harder to read. Every measure has the right number of notes and the correct disposition of note values. What makes it improvisatory is that it takes its timing, not from standard metric considerations but from the sound itself.

Yesterday working on the E minor Prelude a teenage student unearthed the brilliance of these insightful piano sound studies. The right hand seems to be playing normal E minor scales. The left hand elegantly enhances the lyrical disposition of each scale so that metric timing is outweighed by sensitive voicing.

Of course, the prelude can be played with the metric consideration foremost in one's mind. But that will only evoke memories of what you probably disliked about Clementi when you were a young piano student. The other way will evoke awareness of how sensitive the interaction can be between your ear and the piano.

Another great pianist to pay attention to: Julius Drake. A satisfying evening of Brahms songs sung by Ian Bostridge would not have been possible without this brilliant piano playing.

Brilliant is an interesting word to have used because I do not mean it the way it is usually applied to piano playing. This playing was sensitive to every minuscule vibration, every transition between songs, every tiny nuance of timing. Brilliant in that it illuminated the invisible.

Listening has two aspects: Paying attention is the most obvious one. But the other is equally important: expressing yourself with trust that you will be listened to.

Perhaps this best expresses why I became a musician--why it matters so much to me to pursue this way of life.

What I find truly magical is that every once in a while I feel as if I am hearing sounds that are still alive after hundreds of years. These are like memories that transcend the time frame of ordinary existence.

A friend was wondering aloud this morning about why we no longer have certain keys that are taboo. For centuries people were aware that certain sounds evoked strong feelings--some good, some not so good.

When pitch became neutralized and we were no longer supposed to notice the difference two things happened: First, our subconscious responses to tone got locked inside of us to such an extent that we have no idea they are there (though they nevertheless have physiological and sometimes psychological effect). Second, conductors and other conspicuous performers had to start pursuing interpretation because sounds had lost their inherent weight.

It has been utterly fascinating to ponder the juxtaposition of the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment and Pauline Oliveros.

I see no reason why people cannot take in all kinds of acoustical combinations. Some effort may be required and some rules may have to be observed. For example: a cappella singing is incompatible with equal temperament. That does not mean that all singing has to be a cappella nor does it mean that the piano is incompatible with temperaments that are not exactly equal.

Let me explain: If the ear of the pianist is open to the proposition that overtones of unlike instruments will not match no matter what, the fine arts of pedalling and touch can enable music of the most unlikely combinations with piano.

I know it's possible. I've done it, sometimes over the objection of colleagues. The most memorable occasion was a duo with piano and guitar which I performed with an extremely fussy guitarist, Massimo Felice. If that could work I dare say anything can be made to work.

What is required is an open, honest ear.

My first reaction at the beginning of a festive concert honoring Pauline Oliveros was delight at her inclusion of real life sounds in the definition of music. I couldn't agree more.

Then confusion began with an early electronic piece played with the projection of a photo of the antique gizmo she had used to make the tape. Not all the music on the concert was confusing: much of it was simply beautiful--well composed, beautifully played, sung and in one case danced to. What confuses me is that nobody laughs despite the obvious humor of much of her electronic music.

People are no less sanctimonious about the avant-garde than about 18th century music. Same disease; new wallpaper.