The singing on the recording of Mozart's Idomeneo by the Freiburg Baroque Orchestra, a Harmonia Mundi release, is exquisite: fearless, stylish, convincingly alive.
It was a surprise to find a period instrument recording of this extraordinary work and even more surprising that the recording process did not destroy the vocal colors.
We should all take lessons from singers; by that I mean listen carefully to how they make us feel. When a singer is truly singing every note is as vivid as the taste of a good chocolate or fine wine.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Thursday, October 11, 2012
As true today as two years ago
Looking over prior posts I noted this one from 2010 that somehow was never published. As it stills rings true and is no less timely, here it is.
One of my students, a woman in her early 20's, is an expert dressmaker. I asked her what is the hardest thing about hand sewing. She responded without hesitation, "Getting even stitches."
I made the analogy between those individual stitches, each one subject to so many variants, and the individual sounds in the Bartok piece she is learning.
She was surprised that, though she can fluently play the piece at home, when she comes here it stalls from time to time. But the variant produced by the difference between her instrument and mine is huge. It caused me incredible angst as a student--even for an accomplished artist managing strange instruments is a huge issue, one that only pianists face.
The intimacy of her response to every sound was incredibly beautiful. Satisfying on every level. Would any conventional teacher have given her the time of day? Probably not.
What I do with students is often referred to as "music therapy" but it is not. I merely strive to legitimatize the ear of the student so that the standard is of the highest possible level of beauty. Execution? Anytime the student wants to spend hours a day practicing to achieve dexterity I happily show them how. In the meantime, realistically, I find that the other option works wonders.
One of my students, a woman in her early 20's, is an expert dressmaker. I asked her what is the hardest thing about hand sewing. She responded without hesitation, "Getting even stitches."
I made the analogy between those individual stitches, each one subject to so many variants, and the individual sounds in the Bartok piece she is learning.
She was surprised that, though she can fluently play the piece at home, when she comes here it stalls from time to time. But the variant produced by the difference between her instrument and mine is huge. It caused me incredible angst as a student--even for an accomplished artist managing strange instruments is a huge issue, one that only pianists face.
The intimacy of her response to every sound was incredibly beautiful. Satisfying on every level. Would any conventional teacher have given her the time of day? Probably not.
What I do with students is often referred to as "music therapy" but it is not. I merely strive to legitimatize the ear of the student so that the standard is of the highest possible level of beauty. Execution? Anytime the student wants to spend hours a day practicing to achieve dexterity I happily show them how. In the meantime, realistically, I find that the other option works wonders.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
"Hear First; Then Play"
Thus did Artur Schnabel sum up the art of playing the piano. I used to wonder what he meant: what exactly was one supposed to hear? You might say that my musical life has been a pursuit of the answer to that question.
It begins with listening to the instrument--to every particular piano that we play, not to a generic non-existent Platonic piano. Ideally this begins with earliest exposure to the piano. Properly nurtured it can lead to depths of insight into the greatest compositions written for the instrument. Proper nurturing means avoiding theoretical notions until the student is more confident of what he/she hears than of what is printed on the page. Too much theory is based on visual identification. Here are two examples of what I mean, both as it happens, concerning Beethoven.
The boy of eleven reacting to an unusually widely spaced harmony in the F major Sonatina: "It looks like an F major triad in root position but it certainly does not sound like one!"
The girl of seventeen reacting to her very first reading of the G minor Sonata: "It is strange: It looks like it is in G minor but it is not convincingly minor."
Such observations expose a critical flaw in my education: I read the score, identify the harmonies, then try to make the music conform to my notion of the sound, rather than respond directly to the sound itself.
It begins with listening to the instrument--to every particular piano that we play, not to a generic non-existent Platonic piano. Ideally this begins with earliest exposure to the piano. Properly nurtured it can lead to depths of insight into the greatest compositions written for the instrument. Proper nurturing means avoiding theoretical notions until the student is more confident of what he/she hears than of what is printed on the page. Too much theory is based on visual identification. Here are two examples of what I mean, both as it happens, concerning Beethoven.
The boy of eleven reacting to an unusually widely spaced harmony in the F major Sonatina: "It looks like an F major triad in root position but it certainly does not sound like one!"
The girl of seventeen reacting to her very first reading of the G minor Sonata: "It is strange: It looks like it is in G minor but it is not convincingly minor."
Such observations expose a critical flaw in my education: I read the score, identify the harmonies, then try to make the music conform to my notion of the sound, rather than respond directly to the sound itself.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Magic
Percussion has become the sonic centerpiece of much contemporary music. I think it is in reaction to a cleaned-up sound that simply does not excite curiosity. What is more exciting than a gong or a chime or a triangle!
The piano's capacity for magic has all but disappeared from modern playing. Pianists take full pedal with each harmony, changing when the harmony changes whether or not this is called for--and there are plenty of occasions when it is not only not called for but when it is a downright bad idea. When this leads to full pedal changes at every barline, for instance.
The most amusing instrumentation is pairing the piano with vibraphone. It is as if the composer wants to put the pedaled sound back into play and knows that the pianist will not do it (after years of being told not to).
The piano's capacity for magic has all but disappeared from modern playing. Pianists take full pedal with each harmony, changing when the harmony changes whether or not this is called for--and there are plenty of occasions when it is not only not called for but when it is a downright bad idea. When this leads to full pedal changes at every barline, for instance.
The most amusing instrumentation is pairing the piano with vibraphone. It is as if the composer wants to put the pedaled sound back into play and knows that the pianist will not do it (after years of being told not to).
Monday, October 8, 2012
Lowell Liebermann Wakes Up the Ear
This is an entirely unsolicited post praising the work of Lowell Liebermann. I first knew of him after stumbling on his Album for the Young, a collection of piano pieces that has proved a surprising hit with my students of all ages, and with me. The pieces cover a considerable range of genre and difficulty; but most important, they stimulate instrumental sensitivity, and they relate to the soundscape of our time.
The other evening he conducted MACE, a new ensemble at Mannes, dedicated to the performance of living American composers. Like the pieces in the piano album, his selection of works covered a considerable range, peaking in one that required minutest attention to tuning by the ensemble's individual winds and strings. The students were so obviously really into it that I didn't want to miss an instant of their attentiveness. Afterward some of them said they had had a wonderful time playing that piece.
How unlike the standard fare of everyone sounding like everyone else. Here was music that wouldn't allow the players for a moment to get away with that. Though not a piece of Liebermann's own composition it was clear from his programming that he understands the needs of today's audience and of today's players.
The other evening he conducted MACE, a new ensemble at Mannes, dedicated to the performance of living American composers. Like the pieces in the piano album, his selection of works covered a considerable range, peaking in one that required minutest attention to tuning by the ensemble's individual winds and strings. The students were so obviously really into it that I didn't want to miss an instant of their attentiveness. Afterward some of them said they had had a wonderful time playing that piece.
How unlike the standard fare of everyone sounding like everyone else. Here was music that wouldn't allow the players for a moment to get away with that. Though not a piece of Liebermann's own composition it was clear from his programming that he understands the needs of today's audience and of today's players.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Sensing and Knowing
Recently there has been some attention in the media on the phenomenon whereby animals, including humans, react physiologically to imminent threats (the presence of a rattlesnake, for example) before knowing consciously what the threat actually is. Sensing precedes knowing.
The process of Tonal Refraction exposes that moment in playing, that nano-second during which we feel that the sound we are about to make is going either to hurt or elate us and we adapt our touch to reflect that feeling. This, I am convinced, is the basis of artistry at the instrument. It has nothing to do with interpretation, since interpretation involves conscious decisions. It is immediate, sensual, and completely transparent.
I have seen young children experience this moment, hovering over the decision as to when to actually play the offending interval.
I have seen adults hesitate to make the first sound at a lesson; by their hesitation I can tell that they are anticipating playing on their own out-of-tune piano.
Do you find this incredible? Please let me know.
The process of Tonal Refraction exposes that moment in playing, that nano-second during which we feel that the sound we are about to make is going either to hurt or elate us and we adapt our touch to reflect that feeling. This, I am convinced, is the basis of artistry at the instrument. It has nothing to do with interpretation, since interpretation involves conscious decisions. It is immediate, sensual, and completely transparent.
I have seen young children experience this moment, hovering over the decision as to when to actually play the offending interval.
I have seen adults hesitate to make the first sound at a lesson; by their hesitation I can tell that they are anticipating playing on their own out-of-tune piano.
Do you find this incredible? Please let me know.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
More on Fast, Faster
For the past 19 years I have been applying the sense of Tonal Refraction in my playing and my teaching. To my surprise, this is what I have found:
The act of listening is so fast that as both player and listener I can hear intention as well as actual sounds. This action between the notes, as Victor Zuckerkandl so brilliantly described it in Sound and Symbol is what turns sounds into music. His work, a huge revelation when I read it in the 1960's, provided the basis for my life as a musician.
In order to listen this quickly I have had to slow myself down. It is a question of forest and trees: The notes were getting in the way of the music. My conscious mind was missing the point.
Tonal Refraction provided a reliable means of getting the point by forcing me to depict the many dimensions of sound, one vibration at a time.
Listening this way has deepened my insights into the music I play and the music I listen to. It makes it possible for me to relate to the labored playing of a less than fluent student--often the one who really wants and needs affirmation of their deeply musical being.
You can find out more about Tonal Refraction on my website www.tonalrefraction.com, which will soon be remodeled; or by contacting me.
The act of listening is so fast that as both player and listener I can hear intention as well as actual sounds. This action between the notes, as Victor Zuckerkandl so brilliantly described it in Sound and Symbol is what turns sounds into music. His work, a huge revelation when I read it in the 1960's, provided the basis for my life as a musician.
In order to listen this quickly I have had to slow myself down. It is a question of forest and trees: The notes were getting in the way of the music. My conscious mind was missing the point.
Tonal Refraction provided a reliable means of getting the point by forcing me to depict the many dimensions of sound, one vibration at a time.
Listening this way has deepened my insights into the music I play and the music I listen to. It makes it possible for me to relate to the labored playing of a less than fluent student--often the one who really wants and needs affirmation of their deeply musical being.
You can find out more about Tonal Refraction on my website www.tonalrefraction.com, which will soon be remodeled; or by contacting me.
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