As always, the Christmas season has been full of music that has been meaningful, joyful, and deep, as well as light, at times.
My first highlight was the Southeastern University Christmas concert. This year, I had no musical responsibilities in this concert, so I was free to enjoy being an audience member. It was a real pleasure to take in live music. Plus, it was a worshipful experience.
Next, I coordinated a couple of performances of my advent cantata, The Promise of a Child. One was at our house and involved church members and school colleagues and students. The most meaningful part of this for me was the presence of student-friends who share these events with me.
The second performance took place in Lasker when I returned for my annual Christmas concert. This year, I traveled to Lasker alone. A thirteen hour drive puts a performance in a unique perspective for someone like me who mostly performs nearby. Plus, this program kept changing as personnel also changed. All the performers who joined me in this endeavor were great and did nothing less than make the event possible and successful. Plus, they were all friends. Baritone Greg Parker sang his air "And a Great Portent Appeared in Heaven" with refinement and meaning. I'd like to travel around giving art song recitals with Greg. Unfortunately, our society doesn't really support that. Flutist Jeremy McEntire was, as always, fun to make music with. The afternoon of the concert we read through a few arrangements and chose several to play. The ones we chose formed a little suite of tunes that are about non-biblical Christmas-related stories: The Cherry Tree Carol; Bring a Torch, Jeannette, Isabella; and Good King Wenceslas.
Upon returning to Lakeland, I settled in for the central worship of the season: Christmas Eve and Christmas Sunday services. I came to these events with a refreshed mindset. Through playing for worship lately I have been reminded that solo playing and accompanying congregational singing are two different things, and not just in the more surface differences. The congregational accompanist needs to support and shape as well as providing commentary and energy. All of this is undergirded by reflection on what types of things we say and sing in worship.
I am learning to embrace the electronic keyboard I play every Sunday. But before I express this embrace, I must articulate why the embrace is difficult. My love, calling, and training involve the acoustic instrument and music designed for it. The experiences of acoustic versus electric instruments are two different experiences. Some will tell you they are not, but they are. Of course, many people seeking to buy pianos can be convinced that an electronic instrument will suit their needs, but this does not mean that the experiences are the same. A keyboard salesman is not the person to ask. A concert pianist or a handcrafter of fine instruments can clarify what is at stake in the absence/loss of an acoustic instrument. This is not intended to disparage electronic instruments. There is music that sounds good on them. But it generally isn't piano music or music conceived for voices two or three hundred years ago. Also, in spite of the electronic instrument's seeming variety of sounds, I can only express a small portion of the nuance on them that I am capable of on even a bad acoustic instrument. Really, I am not making my own sounds. I am playing someone else's sounds.
With those things said, I am moving forward with trying to figure out how and what to play on the keyboard. Towards that end, I am undertaking a composition project. I am envisioning a set of 24 short pieces, mostly offertories, that sound good to me on the keyboard. I started by composing a little lullaby of sorts for Christmas Eve. Already I have learned to keep things simple - few fast notes and transparent textures seem to work best.
Keeping things simple was also part of my musical Christmas worship. Instead of improvising all of the carol accompaniments, I used some very basic techniques and limited the improvisation to several specific moments for particular reasons. Since it was Christmas, I utilized more of the color options than usual, though. That seems to be my tradition.
I'll share a few notes about the accompaniments for my own records and for any interested readers.
On Christmas Eve, we opened with O Come All Ye Faithful - lyrically played since it is a piece of invitation to see the Savior. Second verse, alto doubled an octave higher for a bit of a sonic aura for a verse about angels.
Advent chorus "Christ Be Our Light" played with bell patch which is the timbre we've associated with the piece through Advent. Last verse, addition of eighth notes to express the greater intensity of its concluding ideas.
Away in a Manger - guitar patch, emphasis on tenor in second verse to resonate with the text about lowing cattle
Hark the Herald - Kathy played along on horn, bass double in octaves for fullness, third verse improvised a rising line to underscore the theme of rising in the text.
Go Tell It on the Mountain - Again, I basically stayed with the hymnal version instead of making it sound more gospel-like as I usually do. However, I did listen for a more authentic inflection of syncopations and added some clangorous eighths in the verse abut ringing out.
Angels from the Realms of Glory - bass doubling and strong shaping of the phrases: the phrases of the verse rise quickly and then fall, and in the chorus they build on one another "Come and worship, Come and worship, Worship Christ the newborn King!"
O Little Town of Bethlehem - organ patch, alto double on verse two, again for angels, and a cappella on third verse "How silently, how silently . . ."
Silent Night - improvised obliggato for "glories stream from Heaven above."
And on Christmas Sunday morning,
a carol medley:
How Great Our Joy - again, emphasis on phrasing. This is the mediant/submediant song. Check out the structure of the melody if you're interested. It's almost minimalistic or cubist in its varying patterns of the same pitches and movements around tonic.
followed by Joy to the World
verse 1 - a few added dotted notes for the regal nature of the text
verses 2 and 3 - paying attention to the text painting of the tune of words like "floods" and "flow"
verse 4 - more dotted notes
and Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee with a Christmas text
Mostly flowing eighth note accompaniment with a decrescendo to the third line in which the lowliness of the Christ child's birth is referenced.
Rise Up Shepherd and Follow - call and response a cappella
What Child is This? - harpsichord patch and baroque sounding ornaments and pacing. Also, noting the questioning nature of the text and the tune/harmony. More kingly references, too, in the third verse.
Conclusion of the service, bringing Luke and Matthew stories together - The First Noel -
We moved through the first five verses rather quickly and broadened the sixth which deals most with our response and unity. Unison with unity texts.
Pastor Tim spoke to God's call for a more humble world and of the Christmas message of an enduring peace that starts in the heart and works its way out.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Christmas Music 2010
As always, the Christmas season has been full of music that has been meaningful, joyful, and deep, as well as light, at times.
My first highlight was the Southeastern University Christmas concert. This year, I had no musical responsibilities in this concert, so I was free to enjoy being an audience member. It was a real pleasure to take in live music. Plus, it was a worshipful experience.
Next, I coordinated a couple of performances of my advent cantata, The Promise of a Child. One was at our house and involved church members and school colleagues and students. The most meaningful part of this for me was the presence of student-friends who share these events with me.
The second performance took place in Lasker when I returned for my annual Christmas concert. This year, I traveled to Lasker alone. A thirteen hour drive puts a performance in a unique perspective for someone like me who mostly performs nearby. Plus, this program kept changing as personnel also changed. All the performers who joined me in this endeavor were great and did nothing less than make the event possible and successful. Plus, they were all friends. Baritone Greg Parker sang his air "And a Great Portent Appeared in Heaven" with refinement and meaning. I'd like to travel around giving art song recitals with Greg. Unfortunately, our society doesn't really support that. Flutist Jeremy McEntire was, as always, fun to make music with. The afternoon of the concert we read through a few arrangements and chose several to play. The ones we chose formed a little suite of tunes that are about non-biblical Christmas-related stories: The Cherry Tree Carol; Bring a Torch, Jeannette, Isabella; and Good King Wenceslas.
Upon returning to Lakeland, I settled in for the central worship of the season: Christmas Eve and Christmas Sunday services. I came to these events with a refreshed mindset. Through playing for worship lately I have been reminded that solo playing and accompanying congregational singing are two different things, and not just in the more surface differences. The congregational accompanist needs to support and shape as well as providing commentary and energy. All of this is undergirded by reflection on what types of things we say and sing in worship.
I am learning to embrace the electronic keyboard I play every Sunday. But before I express this embrace, I must articulate why the embrace is difficult. My love, calling, and training involve the acoustic instrument and music designed for it. The experiences of acoustic versus electric instruments are two different experiences. Some will tell you they are not, but they are. Of course, many people seeking to buy pianos can be convinced that an electronic instrument will suit their needs, but this does not mean that the experiences are the same. A keyboard salesman is not the person to ask. A concert pianist or a handcrafter of fine instruments can clarify what is at stake in the absence/loss of an acoustic instrument. This is not intended to disparage electronic instruments. There is music that sounds good on them. But it generally isn't piano music or music conceived for voices two or three hundred years ago. Also, in spite of the electronic instrument's seeming variety of sounds, I can only express a small portion of the nuance on them that I am capable of on even a bad acoustic instrument. Really, I am not making my own sounds. I am playing someone else's sounds.
With those things said, I am moving forward with trying to figure out how and what to play on the keyboard. Towards that end, I am undertaking a composition project. I am envisioning a set of 24 short pieces, mostly offertories, that sound good to me on the keyboard. I started by composing a little lullaby of sorts for Christmas Eve. Already I have learned to keep things simple - few fast notes and transparent textures seem to work best.
Keeping things simple was also part of my musical Christmas worship. Instead of improvising all of the carol accompaniments, I used some very basic techniques and limited the improvisation to several specific moments for particular reasons. Since it was Christmas, I utilized more of the color options than usual, though. That seems to be my tradition.
I'll share a few notes about the accompaniments for my own records and for any interested readers.
On Christmas Eve, we opened with O Come All Ye Faithful - lyrically played since it is a piece of invitation to see the Savior. Second verse, alto doubled an octave higher for a bit of a sonic aura for a verse about angels.
Advent chorus "Christ Be Our Light" played with bell patch which is the timbre we've associated with the piece through Advent. Last verse, addition of eighth notes to express the greater intensity of its concluding ideas.
Away in a Manger - guitar patch, emphasis on tenor in second verse to resonate with the text about lowing cattle
Hark the Herald - Kathy played along on horn, bass double in octaves for fullness, third verse improvised a rising line to underscore the theme of rising in the text.
Go Tell It on the Mountain - Again, I basically stayed with the hymnal version instead of making it sound more gospel-like as I usually do. However, I did listen for a more authentic inflection of syncopations and added some clangorous eighths in the verse abut ringing out.
Angels from the Realms of Glory - bass doubling and strong shaping of the phrases: the phrases of the verse rise quickly and then fall, and in the chorus they build on one another "Come and worship, Come and worship, Worship Christ the newborn King!"
O Little Town of Bethlehem - organ patch, alto double on verse two, again for angels, and a cappella on third verse "How silently, how silently . . ."
Silent Night - improvised obliggato for "glories stream from Heaven above."
And on Christmas Sunday morning,
a carol medley:
How Great Our Joy - again, emphasis on phrasing. This is the mediant/submediant song. Check out the structure of the melody if you're interested. It's almost minimalistic or cubist in its varying patterns of the same pitches and movements around tonic.
followed by Joy to the World
verse 1 - a few added dotted notes for the regal nature of the text
verses 2 and 3 - paying attention to the text painting of the tune of words like "floods" and "flow"
verse 4 - more dotted notes
and Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee with a Christmas text
Mostly flowing eighth note accompaniment with a decrescendo to the third line in which the lowliness of the Christ child's birth is referenced.
Rise Up Shepherd and Follow - call and response a cappella
What Child is This? - harpsichord patch and baroque sounding ornaments and pacing. Also, noting the questioning nature of the text and the tune/harmony. More kingly references, too, in the third verse.
Conclusion of the service, bringing Luke and Matthew stories together - The First Noel -
We moved through the first five verses rather quickly and broadened the sixth which deals most with our response and unity. Unison with unity texts.
Pastor Tim spoke to God's call for a more humble world and of the Christmas message of an enduring peace that starts in the heart and works its way out.
My first highlight was the Southeastern University Christmas concert. This year, I had no musical responsibilities in this concert, so I was free to enjoy being an audience member. It was a real pleasure to take in live music. Plus, it was a worshipful experience.
Next, I coordinated a couple of performances of my advent cantata, The Promise of a Child. One was at our house and involved church members and school colleagues and students. The most meaningful part of this for me was the presence of student-friends who share these events with me.
The second performance took place in Lasker when I returned for my annual Christmas concert. This year, I traveled to Lasker alone. A thirteen hour drive puts a performance in a unique perspective for someone like me who mostly performs nearby. Plus, this program kept changing as personnel also changed. All the performers who joined me in this endeavor were great and did nothing less than make the event possible and successful. Plus, they were all friends. Baritone Greg Parker sang his air "And a Great Portent Appeared in Heaven" with refinement and meaning. I'd like to travel around giving art song recitals with Greg. Unfortunately, our society doesn't really support that. Flutist Jeremy McEntire was, as always, fun to make music with. The afternoon of the concert we read through a few arrangements and chose several to play. The ones we chose formed a little suite of tunes that are about non-biblical Christmas-related stories: The Cherry Tree Carol; Bring a Torch, Jeannette, Isabella; and Good King Wenceslas.
Upon returning to Lakeland, I settled in for the central worship of the season: Christmas Eve and Christmas Sunday services. I came to these events with a refreshed mindset. Through playing for worship lately I have been reminded that solo playing and accompanying congregational singing are two different things, and not just in the more surface differences. The congregational accompanist needs to support and shape as well as providing commentary and energy. All of this is undergirded by reflection on what types of things we say and sing in worship.
I am learning to embrace the electronic keyboard I play every Sunday. But before I express this embrace, I must articulate why the embrace is difficult. My love, calling, and training involve the acoustic instrument and music designed for it. The experiences of acoustic versus electric instruments are two different experiences. Some will tell you they are not, but they are. Of course, many people seeking to buy pianos can be convinced that an electronic instrument will suit their needs, but this does not mean that the experiences are the same. A keyboard salesman is not the person to ask. A concert pianist or a handcrafter of fine instruments can clarify what is at stake in the absence/loss of an acoustic instrument. This is not intended to disparage electronic instruments. There is music that sounds good on them. But it generally isn't piano music or music conceived for voices two or three hundred years ago. Also, in spite of the electronic instrument's seeming variety of sounds, I can only express a small portion of the nuance on them that I am capable of on even a bad acoustic instrument. Really, I am not making my own sounds. I am playing someone else's sounds.
With those things said, I am moving forward with trying to figure out how and what to play on the keyboard. Towards that end, I am undertaking a composition project. I am envisioning a set of 24 short pieces, mostly offertories, that sound good to me on the keyboard. I started by composing a little lullaby of sorts for Christmas Eve. Already I have learned to keep things simple - few fast notes and transparent textures seem to work best.
Keeping things simple was also part of my musical Christmas worship. Instead of improvising all of the carol accompaniments, I used some very basic techniques and limited the improvisation to several specific moments for particular reasons. Since it was Christmas, I utilized more of the color options than usual, though. That seems to be my tradition.
I'll share a few notes about the accompaniments for my own records and for any interested readers.
On Christmas Eve, we opened with O Come All Ye Faithful - lyrically played since it is a piece of invitation to see the Savior. Second verse, alto doubled an octave higher for a bit of a sonic aura for a verse about angels.
Advent chorus "Christ Be Our Light" played with bell patch which is the timbre we've associated with the piece through Advent. Last verse, addition of eighth notes to express the greater intensity of its concluding ideas.
Away in a Manger - guitar patch, emphasis on tenor in second verse to resonate with the text about lowing cattle
Hark the Herald - Kathy played along on horn, bass double in octaves for fullness, third verse improvised a rising line to underscore the theme of rising in the text.
Go Tell It on the Mountain - Again, I basically stayed with the hymnal version instead of making it sound more gospel-like as I usually do. However, I did listen for a more authentic inflection of syncopations and added some clangorous eighths in the verse abut ringing out.
Angels from the Realms of Glory - bass doubling and strong shaping of the phrases: the phrases of the verse rise quickly and then fall, and in the chorus they build on one another "Come and worship, Come and worship, Worship Christ the newborn King!"
O Little Town of Bethlehem - organ patch, alto double on verse two, again for angels, and a cappella on third verse "How silently, how silently . . ."
Silent Night - improvised obliggato for "glories stream from Heaven above."
And on Christmas Sunday morning,
a carol medley:
How Great Our Joy - again, emphasis on phrasing. This is the mediant/submediant song. Check out the structure of the melody if you're interested. It's almost minimalistic or cubist in its varying patterns of the same pitches and movements around tonic.
followed by Joy to the World
verse 1 - a few added dotted notes for the regal nature of the text
verses 2 and 3 - paying attention to the text painting of the tune of words like "floods" and "flow"
verse 4 - more dotted notes
and Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee with a Christmas text
Mostly flowing eighth note accompaniment with a decrescendo to the third line in which the lowliness of the Christ child's birth is referenced.
Rise Up Shepherd and Follow - call and response a cappella
What Child is This? - harpsichord patch and baroque sounding ornaments and pacing. Also, noting the questioning nature of the text and the tune/harmony. More kingly references, too, in the third verse.
Conclusion of the service, bringing Luke and Matthew stories together - The First Noel -
We moved through the first five verses rather quickly and broadened the sixth which deals most with our response and unity. Unison with unity texts.
Pastor Tim spoke to God's call for a more humble world and of the Christmas message of an enduring peace that starts in the heart and works its way out.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Inspired
I am grateful for the sense of inspiration that comes from a lot of my work these days. It has something to do with there being a good match between my specific gifts and the specific needs and interests of my students.
Today has been the culmination of several lines moving through my life as of late, and that puts me in a particularly gratifying place this evening.
Before Thanksgiving, I was reminded of a truth that one learns to be true by living for a while: We can and do change. I always need that reminder when I stumble. Our efforts over time do change us.
Something I'm learning about being healthy: When challenges appear, try not to let every area of your life slip into crisis mode. If I can keep some practicing or composing going on a nice schedule, or if I keep some exercise regiment or can keep some semblance of discipline in my eating, then I have a better chance at keeping the real issues I'm struggling with in perspective.
Today I had the privilege and blessing of meeting with one student and hearing their story of becoming a pianist. Knowing and telling the stories of how we became musicians is so powerful and grounding.
My ear training students gave me some fine insight into what would make their experience better. Actually, one of their ideas is something I've known or suspected for many years but just wasn't sure about how to bring it about. Now I'm thinking I really need to do it because the students also believe it would help. It will take some work, but there will be more joy and success because of it.
Then I got to teach a lesson on Haydn D Major Concerto. Here are some of the ideas from that lesson.
- Performance is about projection and communication of all that we have discovered and practiced. In that way, it's a lot like public speaking. Talk/play to the person on the last row, and your voice will have enough energy for the whole room.
- The dynamic of piano and orchestra: the piano is a piano but might also be an orchestra, so look out orchestra.
- The importance of communicating clear and convicted pulse when playing with orchestra; the idea of telegraphing the nature and timing of the orchestral entrance by the way you play the preceding beats.
- The need for "hard rhythm" or rhythmic spine, often in the left hand, at moments that might otherwise feel a little indefinite and mushy.
- The value of solfege for understanding the tensions of voice leading - what a tremendous tool for teaching the feeling of music.
- The fact that a score can look and sound simple and clear but can convey such an incredibly rich record of the human experience.
- The spiraling pattern of passages of repeated harmonic or thematic patterns with variation: much like the book of Isaiah in which a message continually develops through commentary.
That lesson was followed by a faculty meeting that concluded with a time of prayer in which we prayed for the various needs of individuals and our institution.
Tonight I'm enjoying our scotch pine Christmas tree that's full musical ornaments. We also have Floyd the Illuminated Christmas Flamingo in the guest bedroom window.
And my son and I had a good talk about what it means to be family tonight.
Thank you everybody for a day that has meant a lot to me.
Monday, November 07, 2011
Recording
Over the weekend, a colleague and I recorded ten art songs at a studio a couple of hours away. I thought it might useful to somebody for me to share a few reflections on the experience.
If you're working with a studio or engineers that don't have a lot of experience recording classical music, you will need to let them know what you want. You'll also need to plan how you want to perform so that you're happy with the end result.
It's not unusual to have the mics within three feet of your face or instrument. A lot of recording people feel that closer is better. A problem with that approach for classical musicians is that we do not prepare our way of performing to be heard from that distance. The piano sound is too direct, plus there can be extra mechanical noises within the instrument that normally don't make it off the stage to the audience. The singer's breath will be much more present than is intended and much more detail of the voice will be heard. In addition, the singer's normal range of dynamics and intensity may create issues when recorded from so close.
In the case of art song, engineers who don't do lots of classical work won't necessarily know that the "vocals" don't need to be way in front and might make the piano seem to have only a hint of its normal body. Neither singer nor pianist is likely to be happy with such a mix. Once the mix moves in the direction of what we'd expect to hear in the concert hall, the engineers might be a little anxious that the voice that the voice doesn't seem dominant enough. Of course, your singer will know what he or she wants.
One up-side of all of this capability for technological manipulation is that you really don't have to worry about balance if you're being recorded with separate mics in separated spaces. For the pianist, that means that you don't have worry much about using a transparent sounds so as not to compete with the singer's timbre. The engineers can create something like that for you.
Another positive is that you don't have to keep repeating things to get one complete and acceptable take. Some editing can be done. It's a good idea to think through where complete breaks in sound can occur in your repertoire because editing at those points will be easiest.
Musically speaking, it's probably best to go for clarity. Look for places where it could easily become a little unclear as to what beat or part of the beat is being heard. Then, plan to play those spots with appropriate inflection so as not to confuse the listener. Strong, clear lines are also important. They might even need to be stronger and more compelling than in a public performance since there are no visual cues for the listener.
If you have two or three days in the studio, I think it's wise to use all of the time available toward the beginning of the process. Even if you are feeling less fresh towards the end of the first day and want to go home early, you'll be glad you pushed through when things get bogged down in editing, etc., on the second or third day.
Finally, try to stay relaxed. It can be very hard to do, but I think it's highly unlikely that you'll perform better if you're uptight. Here's how it goes for me:
1. I don't want to create the need for any extra takes as I want to make things as smooth as possible for my singer. Thus, my baseline is to not make any silly errors - wrong notes and so forth. That's not normally my focus in live performance.
2. Add to that the way one focuses when accompanying - mostly focusing on being together in time. I don't want to be early ever, and I don't want to be noticeably out of sync.
3. If a wrong note happens or if we're not as coordinated as I like to be, then my brain tries to fill up with "How bad did that sound? How not together were we?" while we're still recording the rest of that take. More often than not, those things don't sound as bad in the playback. I have to trust that fact and dismiss the unhelpful questions that come up in midstream so they don't take over. At least that's what I try to do.
4. Then there's the constant starting and stopping which is also foreign to live performance. Here, it's worthwhile to truly wait until you're ready before you begin each take. Your focus is the most important thing in the recording situation.
One more idea: take along some candy to keep your energy up.
If you're working with a studio or engineers that don't have a lot of experience recording classical music, you will need to let them know what you want. You'll also need to plan how you want to perform so that you're happy with the end result.
It's not unusual to have the mics within three feet of your face or instrument. A lot of recording people feel that closer is better. A problem with that approach for classical musicians is that we do not prepare our way of performing to be heard from that distance. The piano sound is too direct, plus there can be extra mechanical noises within the instrument that normally don't make it off the stage to the audience. The singer's breath will be much more present than is intended and much more detail of the voice will be heard. In addition, the singer's normal range of dynamics and intensity may create issues when recorded from so close.
In the case of art song, engineers who don't do lots of classical work won't necessarily know that the "vocals" don't need to be way in front and might make the piano seem to have only a hint of its normal body. Neither singer nor pianist is likely to be happy with such a mix. Once the mix moves in the direction of what we'd expect to hear in the concert hall, the engineers might be a little anxious that the voice that the voice doesn't seem dominant enough. Of course, your singer will know what he or she wants.
One up-side of all of this capability for technological manipulation is that you really don't have to worry about balance if you're being recorded with separate mics in separated spaces. For the pianist, that means that you don't have worry much about using a transparent sounds so as not to compete with the singer's timbre. The engineers can create something like that for you.
Another positive is that you don't have to keep repeating things to get one complete and acceptable take. Some editing can be done. It's a good idea to think through where complete breaks in sound can occur in your repertoire because editing at those points will be easiest.
Musically speaking, it's probably best to go for clarity. Look for places where it could easily become a little unclear as to what beat or part of the beat is being heard. Then, plan to play those spots with appropriate inflection so as not to confuse the listener. Strong, clear lines are also important. They might even need to be stronger and more compelling than in a public performance since there are no visual cues for the listener.
If you have two or three days in the studio, I think it's wise to use all of the time available toward the beginning of the process. Even if you are feeling less fresh towards the end of the first day and want to go home early, you'll be glad you pushed through when things get bogged down in editing, etc., on the second or third day.
Finally, try to stay relaxed. It can be very hard to do, but I think it's highly unlikely that you'll perform better if you're uptight. Here's how it goes for me:
1. I don't want to create the need for any extra takes as I want to make things as smooth as possible for my singer. Thus, my baseline is to not make any silly errors - wrong notes and so forth. That's not normally my focus in live performance.
2. Add to that the way one focuses when accompanying - mostly focusing on being together in time. I don't want to be early ever, and I don't want to be noticeably out of sync.
3. If a wrong note happens or if we're not as coordinated as I like to be, then my brain tries to fill up with "How bad did that sound? How not together were we?" while we're still recording the rest of that take. More often than not, those things don't sound as bad in the playback. I have to trust that fact and dismiss the unhelpful questions that come up in midstream so they don't take over. At least that's what I try to do.
4. Then there's the constant starting and stopping which is also foreign to live performance. Here, it's worthwhile to truly wait until you're ready before you begin each take. Your focus is the most important thing in the recording situation.
One more idea: take along some candy to keep your energy up.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Authority
Good discussion in our Faith Integration Seminar today: What is the place of power in the classroom? What about coercion? What about students who resist involvement in the process?
A passage from Parker Palmer's The Courage to Teach inspired these questions. I've continued to think on these things throughout the day and have been attempting to state answers for myself.
I desire voluntary cooperation in all of life. To get very far, this has to be an attitude adopted by a community, not just an individual.
Palmer suggests that real authority replaces the emphasis on power. Power becomes irrelevant in the presence of such authority. This would be authority that is developed over time through building trust and respect within a community. In my experience, it seems like caring too much about having power prevents a person from developing this sort of authority. But those who are genuinely engaged with the work to be done and who treat those around them with the dignity that fellow human beings deserve develop it in the context of their communities.
This is an image of the path to the chapel on campus and an emblem of the activities of our seminar.
A passage from Parker Palmer's The Courage to Teach inspired these questions. I've continued to think on these things throughout the day and have been attempting to state answers for myself.
I desire voluntary cooperation in all of life. To get very far, this has to be an attitude adopted by a community, not just an individual.
Palmer suggests that real authority replaces the emphasis on power. Power becomes irrelevant in the presence of such authority. This would be authority that is developed over time through building trust and respect within a community. In my experience, it seems like caring too much about having power prevents a person from developing this sort of authority. But those who are genuinely engaged with the work to be done and who treat those around them with the dignity that fellow human beings deserve develop it in the context of their communities.
This is an image of the path to the chapel on campus and an emblem of the activities of our seminar.
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
With the Furniture
In the midst of a University Assessment Committee meeting yesterday, I looked at my hand resting on the table in front of me and had this strange new thought:
That's a nearly forty-year-old piece of equipment. (My hand, not the table.)
Not long before the meeting, I had been practicing some Liszt pieces I've known for a while. More and more, I enjoy playing works I've know for a while. My hands and arms appreciate moving through familiar patterns and producing combinations of sounds that they figured out how to produce comfortably some time in the past.
I have very few machines that are forty years old and still function. But much of my furniture is at least that old. Maybe that's part of why we appreciate older things as we age: we start to belong with the antiques in that they have a few years on them but are still sturdy and functional. They're even a little elegant which might inspire us. They're a little more human in these ways than some of our newer things - gadgets that will be displaced and replaced in a few years.
And there's something else I have that's a little old like me: music. I play stuff that's stood the test of time and spoken to the human heart, in some cases, for centuries. Thinking about that makes me want to play something really old - millenia old, not just centuries.
That's where I am - at home with my old stuff and my old self.
And my beagle. She and her ilk have also been hanging out with humans for a long, long time. And I think I can sense her passion for her human family in her greetings and her desire for quality time with us.
Paul, my personal apostle, (I'm referring to Dr. Paul Harlan my colleague at Southeastern who designed the theory curriculum I teach) reminded me that the extraordinary difference between the machine of my hand and the clothes washer that no longer works is that the hand is made of human tissue that rebuilds and refreshes itself. It's kind of a miracle when you put it in those terms.
It occurs to me that the aging of the hands and the mind were not particularly addressed in my musical education. The health of the hands was in a big way, but there was no intentional discussion of what happens or might happen as one grows older.
That's a nearly forty-year-old piece of equipment. (My hand, not the table.)
Not long before the meeting, I had been practicing some Liszt pieces I've known for a while. More and more, I enjoy playing works I've know for a while. My hands and arms appreciate moving through familiar patterns and producing combinations of sounds that they figured out how to produce comfortably some time in the past.
I have very few machines that are forty years old and still function. But much of my furniture is at least that old. Maybe that's part of why we appreciate older things as we age: we start to belong with the antiques in that they have a few years on them but are still sturdy and functional. They're even a little elegant which might inspire us. They're a little more human in these ways than some of our newer things - gadgets that will be displaced and replaced in a few years.
And there's something else I have that's a little old like me: music. I play stuff that's stood the test of time and spoken to the human heart, in some cases, for centuries. Thinking about that makes me want to play something really old - millenia old, not just centuries.
That's where I am - at home with my old stuff and my old self.
And my beagle. She and her ilk have also been hanging out with humans for a long, long time. And I think I can sense her passion for her human family in her greetings and her desire for quality time with us.
Paul, my personal apostle, (I'm referring to Dr. Paul Harlan my colleague at Southeastern who designed the theory curriculum I teach) reminded me that the extraordinary difference between the machine of my hand and the clothes washer that no longer works is that the hand is made of human tissue that rebuilds and refreshes itself. It's kind of a miracle when you put it in those terms.
It occurs to me that the aging of the hands and the mind were not particularly addressed in my musical education. The health of the hands was in a big way, but there was no intentional discussion of what happens or might happen as one grows older.
Monday, September 12, 2011
9/11/11
Following the events of September 11, 2001, I found myself unable to stop thinking about the destruction of the Towers and the suffering that happened there. The idea of lives extinguished in the most horrifically painful way took over my consciousness. I played my first solo recital as an adjunct faculty member at the University of Richmond on September 23, 2001. At that point, I still couldn't stop thinking of planes striking great structures. Those images changed my way of hearing and interpreting my repertoire on that occasion, and I prefaced the concert by saying so. The program was Bach's E Flat Minor Prelude from the first book of the Well-Tempered Clavier, Debussy's prelude "The Sunken Cathedral", Liszt's Petrarch Sonnet 104, and the F Minor Sonata of Brahms. I added "A Mighty Fortress is Our God" as a closing meditation.
_________________________________________________________
When I first heard about the second plane, it seemed inevitable to me that we would respond to these events by going to war. As I experienced my shock and grief at what happened on that day, and as I reflected on its impact on my own understanding of my art, I thought that 9/11 would be the defining event for my generation of artists in the United States. Perhaps that has come to pass, but so much has happened since 9/11 that has moved us away from the grief and, in some ways, away from the possibility of healing, that I'm not sure if 9/11 itself has become the theme I expected it to be.
__________________________________________________________
While watching footage from that day this weekend, my sense of the immense grief of 9/11 was renewed, although I still can't get myself to accept (for more than a few moments at a time) that those events really happened . I accept them as facts of history, but the parts of my mind and heart that could try to feel the maginitude of their human significance seem inaccessible to me. This has generally been my experience of grief: at some point, my system simply stops trying to make sense of what has happened. Maybe that's what is meant by "acceptance." But when I closely observe my inner workings, I haven't accepted anything. I just don't seem to have the capacity to grieve non-stop indefinitely.
__________________________________________________________
I played Bach's F Minor Prelude from the second book of the Well-Tempered Clavier for offertory at church on this tenth anniversary of 9/11. As I prepared and as I played, I thought a bit about "Why Bach?" and as we drove to church, I noted that I was not the only one who turned to Bach on this day. As names were read at Ground Zero, Bach was played on the flute.
Why Bach? For me, it's not because of his context or some detail of his biography. While those things may affirm my faith and assure me that the human experience and the experience of art transcend any single time and place, what I discovered in the midst of the living and researching of playing the music is that somehow Bach's music is a gift from God. It ministers to us, and we intuitively turn to it at times like this. As such a gift, it seems to be able to convey the pain of the individual as well as the grief of the entire race while also sounding a note of hope.
As I played, I realized that my generation can find an authentic voice in interpreting our work, our music, and the great classics of our civilization in light of 9/11. No other generation can do this and noone can define what it is to do this but us. Perhaps this is a profound truth that each generation learns. As Fleisher puts it, the structure of the musical work is a vessel into which we pour our feeling.
As I grieve and seek to console others at the piano, I learn afresh how to phrase, how to wait, how to aspire, and how to end.
_________________________________________________________
When I first heard about the second plane, it seemed inevitable to me that we would respond to these events by going to war. As I experienced my shock and grief at what happened on that day, and as I reflected on its impact on my own understanding of my art, I thought that 9/11 would be the defining event for my generation of artists in the United States. Perhaps that has come to pass, but so much has happened since 9/11 that has moved us away from the grief and, in some ways, away from the possibility of healing, that I'm not sure if 9/11 itself has become the theme I expected it to be.
__________________________________________________________
While watching footage from that day this weekend, my sense of the immense grief of 9/11 was renewed, although I still can't get myself to accept (for more than a few moments at a time) that those events really happened . I accept them as facts of history, but the parts of my mind and heart that could try to feel the maginitude of their human significance seem inaccessible to me. This has generally been my experience of grief: at some point, my system simply stops trying to make sense of what has happened. Maybe that's what is meant by "acceptance." But when I closely observe my inner workings, I haven't accepted anything. I just don't seem to have the capacity to grieve non-stop indefinitely.
__________________________________________________________
I played Bach's F Minor Prelude from the second book of the Well-Tempered Clavier for offertory at church on this tenth anniversary of 9/11. As I prepared and as I played, I thought a bit about "Why Bach?" and as we drove to church, I noted that I was not the only one who turned to Bach on this day. As names were read at Ground Zero, Bach was played on the flute.
Why Bach? For me, it's not because of his context or some detail of his biography. While those things may affirm my faith and assure me that the human experience and the experience of art transcend any single time and place, what I discovered in the midst of the living and researching of playing the music is that somehow Bach's music is a gift from God. It ministers to us, and we intuitively turn to it at times like this. As such a gift, it seems to be able to convey the pain of the individual as well as the grief of the entire race while also sounding a note of hope.
As I played, I realized that my generation can find an authentic voice in interpreting our work, our music, and the great classics of our civilization in light of 9/11. No other generation can do this and noone can define what it is to do this but us. Perhaps this is a profound truth that each generation learns. As Fleisher puts it, the structure of the musical work is a vessel into which we pour our feeling.
As I grieve and seek to console others at the piano, I learn afresh how to phrase, how to wait, how to aspire, and how to end.
Friday, September 02, 2011
Definitions
I'm feeling the most comfortable I've ever felt being a college music professor this semester. It seems like it can take quite a while to feel really settled in one's calling, particularly when there have been so many voices trying to define who and what one should be without reference to, or awareness/understanding of, that calling. I have sensed this most strongly in the area of performing. How much performing should I be doing? Where should I be doing it? How should I relate that performing to the rest of my work and life? What should I be performing? With whom should I be performing? . . . These are serious questions regarding how to conduct my professional life, how to spend my time, and what my identity is. After all, the performing part of my life existed before the college professor part and will probably be with me long after the college professor part. (I hope to have a long and productive academic career and a long and productive time of retirement afterwards during which I continue to make music!)
What is a performance?
Here's my current definition:
A performance is a committed effort that explores one’s capabilities, and in so doing, becomes a valuable human achievement.
There are all sorts of ways in which a rendering can be a committed effort. I like the idea that a committed effort involves a balance of the thinking, feeling, and acting parts of us. It seems like commitment falls apart when these are not in balance.
This definition is about exploring what one can do, not comparing it with what someone else can do. Perhaps competition makes us work harder at times, but the opposite can also be true. If we compare our efforts to the efforts of those around us, sometimes we'll think "what I'm doing is good enough" but we might be falling short of our actual potential by letting our context define what is good enough. We might also be diminishing the value of our human achievement.
Finally, these efforts are valuable as human events because they apply commitment to exploring our capabilities. These efforts can happen at many stages and levels from a child learning to clap a rhythm to the greatest actors performing Shakespeare on film for posterity. There is something pure in this pursuit that distinguishes the human race each time it happens.
Another definition - music theory:
Music theory is the activity of making valid statements about the experience of a piece of music.
Sometimes theory seems really abstract to students and other musicians, but it's not really. To some extent, any endeavor involving words will be a bit of an abstraction since words are abstracts. But music theory is about using words and other means to describe and discuss the experience of music.
I call it an activity, but the word "discipline" could replace that word since it is a discipline. But I have chosen "activity" since all sorts of people do it who aren't intentional about it being a discipline. Anyone who listens and processes what they are hearing is doing theory, not just the student in school or the professional musician.
There are at least two types of knowledge that need to inform our more specifically "theoretical" statements about music to bolster their validity: knowledge of history and knowledge of performance. Since the score only conveys what would not have been assumed (as Robert Levin says) we need to know the context to intelligently deal with the score. And hearing lots of music performed live helps us develop a sense of what details can be clearly heard in performance and which move more into the background.
Finally, Theory is about the experience of a piece of music. As Dr. Falby taught us, good theory is about what we hear, not about circling notes on a page. Theory deals with the organization of the sounds within a given work. That organization is what we are experiencing if we are experiencing that work.
What is a performance?
Here's my current definition:
A performance is a committed effort that explores one’s capabilities, and in so doing, becomes a valuable human achievement.
There are all sorts of ways in which a rendering can be a committed effort. I like the idea that a committed effort involves a balance of the thinking, feeling, and acting parts of us. It seems like commitment falls apart when these are not in balance.
This definition is about exploring what one can do, not comparing it with what someone else can do. Perhaps competition makes us work harder at times, but the opposite can also be true. If we compare our efforts to the efforts of those around us, sometimes we'll think "what I'm doing is good enough" but we might be falling short of our actual potential by letting our context define what is good enough. We might also be diminishing the value of our human achievement.
Finally, these efforts are valuable as human events because they apply commitment to exploring our capabilities. These efforts can happen at many stages and levels from a child learning to clap a rhythm to the greatest actors performing Shakespeare on film for posterity. There is something pure in this pursuit that distinguishes the human race each time it happens.
Another definition - music theory:
Music theory is the activity of making valid statements about the experience of a piece of music.
Sometimes theory seems really abstract to students and other musicians, but it's not really. To some extent, any endeavor involving words will be a bit of an abstraction since words are abstracts. But music theory is about using words and other means to describe and discuss the experience of music.
I call it an activity, but the word "discipline" could replace that word since it is a discipline. But I have chosen "activity" since all sorts of people do it who aren't intentional about it being a discipline. Anyone who listens and processes what they are hearing is doing theory, not just the student in school or the professional musician.
There are at least two types of knowledge that need to inform our more specifically "theoretical" statements about music to bolster their validity: knowledge of history and knowledge of performance. Since the score only conveys what would not have been assumed (as Robert Levin says) we need to know the context to intelligently deal with the score. And hearing lots of music performed live helps us develop a sense of what details can be clearly heard in performance and which move more into the background.
Finally, Theory is about the experience of a piece of music. As Dr. Falby taught us, good theory is about what we hear, not about circling notes on a page. Theory deals with the organization of the sounds within a given work. That organization is what we are experiencing if we are experiencing that work.
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