An op-ed piece in the Sunday NYTimes (Dec. 1, 2013) is about the absence in our economic system for the independent voice in the humanities. Sports are heavily subsidized by governmental agencies large and small. Sports generate money, big-time.
What do the arts and humanities generate?
What have you gained from the selfless dedication of a writer, painter, musician, thinker? Need it be that a monetary value be associated with everything? Well, the rent has to be paid.
Come on. Support the blogger at www.tonalrefraction.com. You can do it!
In fact, there are now two ways to do it:
1) In defiance of all logic, much the way artists and other independents do it, by subscribing, on the Books and CDs page at the link above.
2) In accordance with prevailing tax logic, by making a tax-deductible gift to support Tonal Refraction, which you may do on-line on the Financial Support page at the link above.
Either way I invite you to get involved. You cannot imagine how much this work means to me.
Perhaps you can imagine how much your support would mean to me.
Friday, December 6, 2013
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Sometimes It's Best Not to Know the Score
Years ago in my a cappella singing class we were having a devil of a time tuning a four-part Brahms folk song. I suddenly saw that in the passage in question each vocal line was actually in a different key: I don't recall anything beyond the key signature, two flats. The possibilities are interesting: B-flat, G minor, D minor, F major, C minor -- you get the picture. When we stopped trying to tune the sounds vertically but allowed each line to tune itself according to its own internal logic, the music coalesced as if effortlessly.
Chords can be overrated when it comes to specific compositions. The linear dimension potentially carries a lot of weight in determining the ensemble sound.
A reader recently contacted me about the difficulty she and her colleagues were having playing Mozart's G minor String Quintet. I have been thinking about it ever since -- unfortunately they are in Stockholm and I cannot just hop on a plane and go hear them rehearse. But I would put money on the above as a possible solution at best, a deeply insightful exploration at least.
The fashion these days is to tune vertical sound, definitely not to bring out counterpoint.
Chords can be overrated when it comes to specific compositions. The linear dimension potentially carries a lot of weight in determining the ensemble sound.
A reader recently contacted me about the difficulty she and her colleagues were having playing Mozart's G minor String Quintet. I have been thinking about it ever since -- unfortunately they are in Stockholm and I cannot just hop on a plane and go hear them rehearse. But I would put money on the above as a possible solution at best, a deeply insightful exploration at least.
The fashion these days is to tune vertical sound, definitely not to bring out counterpoint.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
The Panther Wants to Come Back...Every Day
The panther's* mother informs me that her daughter wants to come back every day. Since that is impractical she wonders whether we couldn't skype.
This is interesting.
No, we can't skype. Even if we could we couldn't, if you get my drift.
It is a matter of focus, which is in the room, in the air, in the tension between the child and myself and Schumann (or whichever not physically present except in his or her music it be). This, dear panther, is not skypeable.
New word.
New generation.
New demands on us musicians to keep it live.
*See post of November 30.
This is interesting.
No, we can't skype. Even if we could we couldn't, if you get my drift.
It is a matter of focus, which is in the room, in the air, in the tension between the child and myself and Schumann (or whichever not physically present except in his or her music it be). This, dear panther, is not skypeable.
New word.
New generation.
New demands on us musicians to keep it live.
*See post of November 30.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, December 2, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
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!).
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!).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)