Con fuoco

It has come to my attention that people are reading a post from last February about what I observe to be the probable definition of agitato.  I would like to add con fuoco to the boiling pot of problematic tempo indications.

In the process of reading the Minuet and Trio of Beethoven Sonata Op. 10 #3, I am struck by two things: the Minuet itself is marked dolce and the Trio seems to be anything but: a too easy triplet against quarter note beat, out of proportion to the density of the minuet.  But wait!  say I to myself: it reminds me of other Beethoven metric dilemmas.

In the E-flat Sonata Op. 31 No. 2, the final movement, marked con fuoco, is in 6/8 with decidedly counter-rhythmic articulations in the other hand which, by the way, I have never heard anyone observe in performance.  So what if con fuoco refers to the disagreement of eighth notes, one hand in twos, the other in three -- one on, the other off the beat.  Con fuoco is then internalized, the tension enormous, the music infinitely more fun and harder all at the same time instead of just being fast or faster.

Listening and Sensory Awakening

A couple of posts ago (post of Nov. 28) I described three pre-schoolers listening as I played the piano.  They must have been listening because it was completely quiet except for the music.

One of them, the oldest, was physically active, responding to Schumann's unmistakable invitation to use her imagination in a vivid, communicative manner.  The other two, younger boys, were fascinated with the little stones around my potted plants.

Handling them, arranging them in rows, evidently absorbed by them, they were entirely focused.

It reminded me of some extraordinary work I did back in the late 60's when my being needed reorganizing after academic near-derailment.  The work involved awakening awareness of purely sensory experience.  One of the exercises involved closing my eyes and letting my fingers appreciate a small stone.

Arjomand and the Center of the Sound

Thinking about Ramin Arjomand's improvisation of about 10 days ago (how many piano performances am I still thinking about ten days later?):  He spent a lot of time centered on D.

As some of you know, D is the center of the piano sound, situated as it is midway between the first sharp (F#) and the first flat (B-flat), both of which figure prominently in an overtone series that includes D prominently.  Some of the greatest repertoire for piano is in that key, whether obviously or by inference, as is the case with Schumann's Waldszenen, the object of my current study.

It cannot be by chance that this is where he wanted us to be.  I don't have perfect pitch, by the way, but I believe strongly in the phenomenon that I call "the heart of the instrument."  That is why it doesn't matter to me whether the violins are tuned to A=440 or A=415; either way the sound will cause the entire instrument to resonate.

When that happens I, too, resonate.

A Couple of Pre-Schoolers Walk Into a Music Room

That's what happened here yesterday (actually, three).  The only rule is that there is to be no speaking in the piano area unless absolutely necessary.  Percussion instruments of various kinds are scattered around and the children are invited to join me in music as they desire.

So I begin--wrong, I did not begin.  The oldest (4 1/2) began rhythmic drumming on the drum she had brought.  So I joined her, playing a modern march for children from Lowell Liebermann's brilliant Album for the Young.  I segued into other less obviously square rhythms, one in 5/4, then a free-wheeling Serenade by Grieg with all kinds of ritards and dynamic extremes.  I pay no attention to the children, only to the sounds they make while I play, and I am continually astonished at the degree to which they are with me--not in the obvious sense of keeping the beat, but responding to highs and lows, registral as well as dynamic.

Sensing a heightened level of attentiveness I launch into Schumann's Geschwindmarsch.  The little girl gets it and, at Schumann's audible invitation, turns herself into a panther, hiding then pouncing, just as the music does.  Delighted, I broke the rule to say so. Meanwhile the two others, younger (one not quite 2) had become quietly fascinated with other objects in the room.  Were they listening?
Who knows?

I suspect they were because one of them announced that he was tired.  (See Sept. 12 post "A Young Listener Gets Tired" -- my most-read blog post ever.) I completely agreed with him that an awful lot had been happening.  So we changed course.

Unable to get them interested in singing Down in the Valley with a pianistic wind accompaniment (invented by a young student years ago), I sat one child on my lap, had him rest his hands on mine and played the Sicilienne by Alfredo Casella which ends, as do many of his pieces, with a tone cluster, played by the child.  Naturally the other older child wanted a turn, so we did it for Casella's Bolero.  Then we wound down and called it a day.

It might have baffled a parent to witness this mildly chaotic environment of active listening.  Listening to good music live should evoke a kaleidoscopic chaos of response.  No one should have to start out on a lifetime of musical involvement by sitting still (heaven forbid!) or even with pre-organized responses, like steady beats (there goes the vitality!).

Insightful Listening IS for Beginners

The first thing that happens to most piano students is that they are encouraged to not listen.  If they did listen (which, despite the teacher's best efforts, they do) they would notice that no two pianos sound the same and this would, it seems obvious, get them all loused up when they go to play an altogether new instrument in a recital.

Not teaching beginners that listening matters rather guarantees that all-too-familar louse-up.

With a confident ear the student can enjoy playing at whatever level of competence he or she needs to attain in order to explore their chosen repertoire.

With no practicing, just occasional immersion in bits of a Beethoven Sonata (Op. 10, #3), my young adult student relishes every nuance as if he is making it up himself which, in a way, he is, since everything happens in response to his uninhibited ear rather than by means of a visual or verbal command.

I learn a great deal about Beethoven from listening to him listen.

The Secret Terms and Tone

The master teacher Karl Ulrich Schnabel, son of Arthur Schnabel, used to describe musical dynamics using the analogy of a stage play in which one character says to another, "I'm going to kill you!"  It matters a lot where the speaker is standing in relation to the addressee, whether within arm's reach knife in hand, or half a room away.

Playing for musicians in the intimate circumstance of my home reveals repeatedly to them and to me the extent to which that distance variable is removed in our approach both to listening and to playing.
Sitting almost on top of the piano they hear things they have never heard before, even in the most familiar music.

Those are the vibrations, friends.  The variability of those vibrations is my secret place in which I move as if swimming in the safest waters.  Playing is not so much a matter of rendering the music as of living inside of it.

Last night I played Grieg's Poetic Tone Pictures, Op. 3.  What is poetic is tone itself: Nothing sentimental, nothing "romantic" about it.  I apply exactly the same principles to the tone universe of Mozart with the result, as described by a musician in the audience, that the music seems to speak.

It does speak to me; all I do is let you in on the secret of my hearing.

Your Life Does Depend On It

Teaching Schumann's Scheherezade this morning to an adult amateur brought up in the British graded system of piano training -  beats, beats, beats - who is very aware of the danger of music becoming, in her word, ploddy:

I learn how to read from students like her.  Sustaining interest in this piece is a challenge because of its constant moving eighth notes.  Isolating the top and bottom voices revealed the underlying counterpoint inside of which those eighth notes make real sense instead of driving the work relentlessly forward -- remember that in this case forward is to quicker decapitation.

There is a beautiful right hand slur in which a half note E tied to an eighth note literally slides off onto other pitches.  These are not "real" pitches, but the result of an inability to sustain the high E, which is an altogether different proposition.

Not everything that looks like a rise does actually lead up; the same, naturally, applies to down.