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.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Poem on the Eve of Another Year of Music Education
Running by Lake Hollingsworth
I see a cormorant standing on a pier
wings outstretched in the sun's spotlight
like a conductor
about to give the downbeat
for the lake's morning music
I see another bird with an amber glow
This one I don't know
I pass big men
who are walking
and perspiring hard
And I meet old men with knee braces
who are still moving
And young women
who want to avoid heart disease as much as I do
One wearing roller-blades
sits on a bench between two palm trees
keeping her thought processes going
as she looks at the lake
In and out of the shade I go
as gallinules grub
beneath the fresh growth of water lettuce
It's rural and exotic and urban here
like jazz
Looking at the lotus blossoms
I think of the people who got me here
parents, teachers -
quite an association
And I think of young people
who are learning that cheesecake is a city dessert
and also not exactly a cake
And I thank the Spirit behind all of this
Two-thirds through my run
I see the white portico
of the house
that marks
my stopping point
I remember that it is by example
that we learn how not to give up on the important things
Friday, July 29, 2011
Piano Teachers
The last stop on our recent three-week trip through the Carolinas, Virginia, and Maryland was Rock Hill, SC where I lived from 3rd grade until 11th grade. We had the privilege of being hosted by my high school chorus director, Marianne Helton, and we also had a delightful dinner catching up with Dr. Judith Barban who was the first piano teacher I studied with after my mother.
Each time I think of these three great ladies, I am reminded of the many layers of musicality they instilled in me. For the last few days, I have continued to meditate on the conversation I had with Dr. Barban during that meal. The more I reflect, the more I realize how much of my musicality, my understanding of myself as a person who feels in an artistic fashion, my understanding of my calling, and my spirituality come from the hours I spent with her as a child.
Certainly we can benefit from masterful teachers at every stage of our learning, and each of these teachers needs to address a wide range of issues including musicality, technique, how to structure our work, and how to view ourselves. With that said, it seems that my student career involved the following sorts of layers:
In the musical womb - learning the basics of playing and reading, and having joy in sharing music
Musical mid-wifery or toddlerhood - learning to see oneself as an artist who relates personally to pieces of music
Days of discipline, adolescence? - learning to practice and have some poise and self-control
Preparation - getting ready for undergrad auditions
Professionalism - learning technique and musicianship as an adult who wants to take a place with professionals
The final challenge - working with a master who pushes you to strive for the excellence of the great artists
Thursday, June 09, 2011
So True: Things I Was Told and Subsequently Learned About Composing
Here's a post I wrote in June but for some reason never published until now (July 11).
1. Composing = editing.
Dr. Benjamin made this point repeatedly and I disliked it back then. But now I know it's true and I have accepted it.
Finale is great for this process because you easily create draft after draft after draft without feeling the tediousness that rewriting and copying by hand involve.
2. For me, composition seems to work best when I keep it in the realm of the experimental.
Writing for my reputation, for an effect, for posterity - all of these seem to shut down my creativity and bring on writer's block. But when I give myself a clear musical assignment, a one-time exploratory activity, things flow much, much better.
The assignment, or plan, is the generator, as le Corbusier put it. It gets things started and powers them. But often, once things get going, the logic of the sounds takes over and pilots the course of the piece from there on out.
The semesterly composers' concerts and writing for Meherrin Chamber Orchestra at Chowan gave me plenty of opportunities to write with this experimental mindset. Since I wasn't in a formalized composition program in school, I missed out on participating in the regimen of composers' concerts and forums, but my experience at Chowan provided something like those things. Kudos to my colleague, James M. Guthrie, who continues this good work at Chowan. Also, thank you to him for his faith and subtle mentoring. His musing comments in the hallway often led to my own compositional assignments - questions like "Have you ever written a piece in which the pedal stays down the whole time?" or "Have you tried any mirror writing?"
3. Most of the time, composing is not about creating new materials. It's about what to do with the musical materials that already exist.
We've had centuries of creation of materials. It's pretty hard to come up with some completely new basic musical idea at this point. But how to use the ideas and styles that already exist, and what you can say by how you use them, that's the name of the game.
I don't mean to discourage the garage-band musician who believes he or she is working in complete freedom and disdains all rules. That musician's involvement with music may be an expression of non-conformity, but composition itself is almost always a dialog with the principles of an existing style or styles, whether or not the composer is conscious of this. (I suppose non-conformity is too, actually.)
4. It's okay to be tonal.
Since composing is about dialoging with a style or styles, it stands to reason that one would do well to write in dialog with a style they know well. That's part of why I feel okay about being a tonally-based composer. It worked out just fine for Bach and Beethoven as well as Schnittke and Part, also Alice Parker and Bernstein, as well as tons of film composers and composers of music for worship, etc. This is not to disparage atonality but to recognize that I have a good sense of how the materials of tonality work and how they have been used by many composers over the centuries. So tonality is naturally a big part of my vocabulary.
1. Composing = editing.
Dr. Benjamin made this point repeatedly and I disliked it back then. But now I know it's true and I have accepted it.
Finale is great for this process because you easily create draft after draft after draft without feeling the tediousness that rewriting and copying by hand involve.
2. For me, composition seems to work best when I keep it in the realm of the experimental.
Writing for my reputation, for an effect, for posterity - all of these seem to shut down my creativity and bring on writer's block. But when I give myself a clear musical assignment, a one-time exploratory activity, things flow much, much better.
The assignment, or plan, is the generator, as le Corbusier put it. It gets things started and powers them. But often, once things get going, the logic of the sounds takes over and pilots the course of the piece from there on out.
The semesterly composers' concerts and writing for Meherrin Chamber Orchestra at Chowan gave me plenty of opportunities to write with this experimental mindset. Since I wasn't in a formalized composition program in school, I missed out on participating in the regimen of composers' concerts and forums, but my experience at Chowan provided something like those things. Kudos to my colleague, James M. Guthrie, who continues this good work at Chowan. Also, thank you to him for his faith and subtle mentoring. His musing comments in the hallway often led to my own compositional assignments - questions like "Have you ever written a piece in which the pedal stays down the whole time?" or "Have you tried any mirror writing?"
3. Most of the time, composing is not about creating new materials. It's about what to do with the musical materials that already exist.
We've had centuries of creation of materials. It's pretty hard to come up with some completely new basic musical idea at this point. But how to use the ideas and styles that already exist, and what you can say by how you use them, that's the name of the game.
I don't mean to discourage the garage-band musician who believes he or she is working in complete freedom and disdains all rules. That musician's involvement with music may be an expression of non-conformity, but composition itself is almost always a dialog with the principles of an existing style or styles, whether or not the composer is conscious of this. (I suppose non-conformity is too, actually.)
4. It's okay to be tonal.
Since composing is about dialoging with a style or styles, it stands to reason that one would do well to write in dialog with a style they know well. That's part of why I feel okay about being a tonally-based composer. It worked out just fine for Bach and Beethoven as well as Schnittke and Part, also Alice Parker and Bernstein, as well as tons of film composers and composers of music for worship, etc. This is not to disparage atonality but to recognize that I have a good sense of how the materials of tonality work and how they have been used by many composers over the centuries. So tonality is naturally a big part of my vocabulary.
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
Summer Lessons
I like teaching piano lessons to college students in the summer. I'm more relaxed and so are they, plus, we have more time, so we don't feel rushed and can take on projects that we'd never have time for during the school year.
Yesterday, I spent most of the day with a student working on Bach and Haydn.
We started with an hour on Bach C-minor Prelude and Fugue from the Well Tempered Clavier, Book I. We noticed similarities in Bach's prelude style between this prelude and the C-major and D-minor preludes from the same volume: they are improvisatory in nature, elaborate on standard chord progressions, and have a one-handed passage preparing for the final cadence in which the rhythmic groupings change. We discussed performance practice for Bach, the instruments Bach wrote for, and idiomatic expression on these instruments. We analyzed the fugue a bit, noting the spiraling form of the subject beginning with a 4th, then a 5th, then a 6th. We discussed how memorizing imitative contrapuntal music is different from learning more homophonic music, and we tracked the keys as well as the alterations the intervals in the subject undergo in these different keys and as they appear in various sequences. I also emphasized that the name of the game is fingering if you want a solid learning experience with a fugue. In making decisions about fingering, we need to balance the helpfulness of not having too many different hand positions and the necessity of not over-extending the hand. Also, relying on scale and arpeggio fingers we already know will save a great deal of time and give us more security.
Then we moved on to the first movement of Haydn's Major Concerto in D Major which we discovered feels like a sonata form but only has one really clear theme. We highlighted passages in which the pianist needs to be very clear about the rhythm/meter for the sake of the conductor and the orchestra. We also explored how to interpret the absence of a dynamic marking such as at the first piano entrance in this work. This led to a little discussion of musical editions and what goes into creating them.
We also noticed several textures and figurations that are very typical of Beethoven, which appear to have there source in Haydn. In addition, we pinpointed one of Haydn's "life motives" as Michael White at Juilliard would say: rhythms that go "short short long" as in the "Surprise" Symphony and in this concerto.
Then, we took a break for lunch at our local German restaurant. I tried a chicken aubergine sandwich, which is pretty much like eating chicken parmigiana and eggplant parmigiana at the same time on a sandwich - a great accompaniment to analyzing cadenzas. So during our meal, we did harmonic and motivic analysis of the cadenza printed in the score we were using for the Haydn. The goal of our analysis was to prepare to write our own cadenza. (Haydn didn't write one for this concerto.) After lunch, we listened to the cadenzas Richter and Argerich play on Youtube and charted what happens in those cadenzas, as well.
Things we reviewed/discovered about cadenzas:
They are lengthy elaborations of cadences, usually ending on a trill on scale degree 2.
Cadenzas are usually based on material from the movement in which they are found, and first-movement cadenzas often seem to be more substantial than last-movement cadenzas, keeping with the tradition and mood of the first movement being the intellectual center of gravity for the entire work and the last movement being a rousing conclusion.
Some cadenzas, like the one in our score, further celebrate the most significant theme or themes of the movement.
Some cadenzas are motivically freer and are based on significant harmonic ideas from the movement. The one Richter plays picks up on the low-six scale degree going to scale degree five from an Italian 6th chord in the movement.
Some cadenzas, such as the one Argerich plays,develop more obscure ideas from the movement.
Another strategy is to build on what was heard immediately before the cadenza.
We can also vary our concluding trill so as to play on the expectations of the listeners - a familiar Beethoven trick.
Our composition assignment is to determine the overall chord progression, then flesh it out with motivic material from the movement and appropriate Viennese classical-style figurations. I loaned my student my copy of Czerny's School of Velocity to be used as a catalog of such figurations.
My student was interested in featuring the more obscure aspects of the concerto in this new cadenza. I think it's a good idea as it brings some balance by drawing our attention to the motives and ideas that have remained mostly in the shadows during the movement. But I suggested also having one or more really obvious references to the main theme that every listener would be able to hear in addition to the development of the more obscure details that the connoisseurs can enjoy.
I'm looking forward to seeing the results!
Yesterday, I spent most of the day with a student working on Bach and Haydn.
We started with an hour on Bach C-minor Prelude and Fugue from the Well Tempered Clavier, Book I. We noticed similarities in Bach's prelude style between this prelude and the C-major and D-minor preludes from the same volume: they are improvisatory in nature, elaborate on standard chord progressions, and have a one-handed passage preparing for the final cadence in which the rhythmic groupings change. We discussed performance practice for Bach, the instruments Bach wrote for, and idiomatic expression on these instruments. We analyzed the fugue a bit, noting the spiraling form of the subject beginning with a 4th, then a 5th, then a 6th. We discussed how memorizing imitative contrapuntal music is different from learning more homophonic music, and we tracked the keys as well as the alterations the intervals in the subject undergo in these different keys and as they appear in various sequences. I also emphasized that the name of the game is fingering if you want a solid learning experience with a fugue. In making decisions about fingering, we need to balance the helpfulness of not having too many different hand positions and the necessity of not over-extending the hand. Also, relying on scale and arpeggio fingers we already know will save a great deal of time and give us more security.
Then we moved on to the first movement of Haydn's Major Concerto in D Major which we discovered feels like a sonata form but only has one really clear theme. We highlighted passages in which the pianist needs to be very clear about the rhythm/meter for the sake of the conductor and the orchestra. We also explored how to interpret the absence of a dynamic marking such as at the first piano entrance in this work. This led to a little discussion of musical editions and what goes into creating them.
We also noticed several textures and figurations that are very typical of Beethoven, which appear to have there source in Haydn. In addition, we pinpointed one of Haydn's "life motives" as Michael White at Juilliard would say: rhythms that go "short short long" as in the "Surprise" Symphony and in this concerto.
Then, we took a break for lunch at our local German restaurant. I tried a chicken aubergine sandwich, which is pretty much like eating chicken parmigiana and eggplant parmigiana at the same time on a sandwich - a great accompaniment to analyzing cadenzas. So during our meal, we did harmonic and motivic analysis of the cadenza printed in the score we were using for the Haydn. The goal of our analysis was to prepare to write our own cadenza. (Haydn didn't write one for this concerto.) After lunch, we listened to the cadenzas Richter and Argerich play on Youtube and charted what happens in those cadenzas, as well.
Things we reviewed/discovered about cadenzas:
They are lengthy elaborations of cadences, usually ending on a trill on scale degree 2.
Cadenzas are usually based on material from the movement in which they are found, and first-movement cadenzas often seem to be more substantial than last-movement cadenzas, keeping with the tradition and mood of the first movement being the intellectual center of gravity for the entire work and the last movement being a rousing conclusion.
Some cadenzas, like the one in our score, further celebrate the most significant theme or themes of the movement.
Some cadenzas are motivically freer and are based on significant harmonic ideas from the movement. The one Richter plays picks up on the low-six scale degree going to scale degree five from an Italian 6th chord in the movement.
Some cadenzas, such as the one Argerich plays,develop more obscure ideas from the movement.
Another strategy is to build on what was heard immediately before the cadenza.
We can also vary our concluding trill so as to play on the expectations of the listeners - a familiar Beethoven trick.
Our composition assignment is to determine the overall chord progression, then flesh it out with motivic material from the movement and appropriate Viennese classical-style figurations. I loaned my student my copy of Czerny's School of Velocity to be used as a catalog of such figurations.
My student was interested in featuring the more obscure aspects of the concerto in this new cadenza. I think it's a good idea as it brings some balance by drawing our attention to the motives and ideas that have remained mostly in the shadows during the movement. But I suggested also having one or more really obvious references to the main theme that every listener would be able to hear in addition to the development of the more obscure details that the connoisseurs can enjoy.
I'm looking forward to seeing the results!
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Maps
I'm reading a good book by Gerald Danzer entitled Atlas of World History. A couple of points have stood out as being relevant to music.
The term "geography" is often used very generally today, but it traditionally fit into this scheme:
topography - mapping a small enough region that the local level details of the landscape like hills and streams can be shown
chorography - mapping a region or continent
geography - mapping in a global context
I extrapolate this idea of several meaningful levels to music study.
For example,
local-level analysis of harmonies, motives, and so forth (topography)
consideration of the form of the work at hand (chorography)
understanding of the work in the context of the composer's output or the style (geography)
Another scheme might go this way:
intra-opus style (the first two levels from above)
inter-opus style (the third level from above)
and finally, the place of the work's performance in broader culture which would include musicological and ethnomusicological topics
We musicians need a bit of all this in our lives.
A second point is what I think is an extremely well-stated definition regarding the concept of "classic" or "classical."
Danzer writes:
"A society develops a classic culture when it gathers together traditional ways of life and expresses their values in such a powerful way that it sets standards of achievement for future generations."
Here's a link to a fascinating program for preserving valuable elements of the cultures on our planet.
The term "geography" is often used very generally today, but it traditionally fit into this scheme:
topography - mapping a small enough region that the local level details of the landscape like hills and streams can be shown
chorography - mapping a region or continent
geography - mapping in a global context
I extrapolate this idea of several meaningful levels to music study.
For example,
local-level analysis of harmonies, motives, and so forth (topography)
consideration of the form of the work at hand (chorography)
understanding of the work in the context of the composer's output or the style (geography)
Another scheme might go this way:
intra-opus style (the first two levels from above)
inter-opus style (the third level from above)
and finally, the place of the work's performance in broader culture which would include musicological and ethnomusicological topics
We musicians need a bit of all this in our lives.
A second point is what I think is an extremely well-stated definition regarding the concept of "classic" or "classical."
Danzer writes:
"A society develops a classic culture when it gathers together traditional ways of life and expresses their values in such a powerful way that it sets standards of achievement for future generations."
Here's a link to a fascinating program for preserving valuable elements of the cultures on our planet.
Saturday, May 07, 2011
Friday, April 01, 2011
May in April
Amaryllis and lilies blooming - looks like May to me here on April 1.
Also, fighter jets are scrambling over Lakeland - part of the big Lakeland air show, but still unnerving at times.
Excellent theory students pulled several April Fools pranks on me today:
First, a happy-looking sign on the door said that our class was cancelled.
A single student was waiting just inside the door with a string attached to a dollar bill on the floor. The student said she was the only who showed up.
Then, the rest of the students came in through the back door. Coincidentally, there were no lights in the room due to a momentary power outage.
At the end of class, my attention was drawn to a snail that had been placed on the podium.
I particularly enjoyed the incongruity of all these things happening in conjunction with each other. Most of all, I appreciate the caring and imagination my students expressed in this playful way. I'm glad we can have fun together and learn, too. Thank you all!
Now, back to those interval class vectors!
Also, fighter jets are scrambling over Lakeland - part of the big Lakeland air show, but still unnerving at times.
Excellent theory students pulled several April Fools pranks on me today:
First, a happy-looking sign on the door said that our class was cancelled.
A single student was waiting just inside the door with a string attached to a dollar bill on the floor. The student said she was the only who showed up.
Then, the rest of the students came in through the back door. Coincidentally, there were no lights in the room due to a momentary power outage.
At the end of class, my attention was drawn to a snail that had been placed on the podium.
I particularly enjoyed the incongruity of all these things happening in conjunction with each other. Most of all, I appreciate the caring and imagination my students expressed in this playful way. I'm glad we can have fun together and learn, too. Thank you all!
Now, back to those interval class vectors!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Storm
Campus was hit by an intense storm around noon today. My class prayed, told alligator stories, and practiced identifying 13th chords by ear.
Maintenance workers were darting about campus within minutes of the peak of the storm to address the possibility of any dangerous issues that could have developed. It was very impressive to see the immediacy of their response.
The rains and winds continue.
The Divine Servant Fountain looked particularly substantial and persistent in the midst of the storm.
Maintenance workers were darting about campus within minutes of the peak of the storm to address the possibility of any dangerous issues that could have developed. It was very impressive to see the immediacy of their response.
The rains and winds continue.
The Divine Servant Fountain looked particularly substantial and persistent in the midst of the storm.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Music!
Reading C.S. Lewis on the problem of animal pain this morning - excellent and serendipitous preparation for teaching a lesson on the very poignant "Little Shepherd" from Debussy's Children's Corner.
Driving to and from school today, listening to the last movement of Beethoven's fifth piano concerto - marvelous imagination and variety expressed with basic scales and triads!
Now I'm watching an episode of The Incredible Hulk. Great soundtrack in this series: sensitive reiteration of a handful of motives in a range of settings, and played beautifully by live musicians. Joe Harnell's "Lonely Man" theme from the closing of the show.
Driving to and from school today, listening to the last movement of Beethoven's fifth piano concerto - marvelous imagination and variety expressed with basic scales and triads!
Now I'm watching an episode of The Incredible Hulk. Great soundtrack in this series: sensitive reiteration of a handful of motives in a range of settings, and played beautifully by live musicians. Joe Harnell's "Lonely Man" theme from the closing of the show.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Birthday
After a week, I'm still 39.
On my birthday, I went for a drive to Zephyr Hills 30-some miles from Lakeland. It's a town with a water-bottling plant and an old-fashioned touristy strip of buffets and waffle houses.
On the drive back, I heard this moving interview with Fleisher that touches on his relationship with Brahms First Concerto and his struggles with his hand.
I also heard a portion of another interview with a musician. Unfortunately, I didn't learn who it was that was being interviewed, but the important and timely thing for me was his description of a time in his life when he started asking what he would contribute to the musical world. Perhaps I'm entering that type of season, too. I realize that it is probably time for me to determine some priorities amongst my many goals and focus time and energy on the most important of my goals.
On my birthday, I went for a drive to Zephyr Hills 30-some miles from Lakeland. It's a town with a water-bottling plant and an old-fashioned touristy strip of buffets and waffle houses.
On the drive back, I heard this moving interview with Fleisher that touches on his relationship with Brahms First Concerto and his struggles with his hand.
I also heard a portion of another interview with a musician. Unfortunately, I didn't learn who it was that was being interviewed, but the important and timely thing for me was his description of a time in his life when he started asking what he would contribute to the musical world. Perhaps I'm entering that type of season, too. I realize that it is probably time for me to determine some priorities amongst my many goals and focus time and energy on the most important of my goals.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
Written at 5:39 A.M.
I'm turning 39 today. Not yet a fan!
Spring Break is here - a great thing about life in academia. You can feel the break arriving for about two weeks.
So far, I've seen the mini-shuttle fly across the sky, I've gone for a jog with a friend in the Circle B Bar Reserve - an excellent place to see alligators, and I watched the Yankees stomp the Phillies in an exhibition game.
A post by a friend reminds me that rest is part of God's plan.
I also discovered the amazing work of a very talented friend from high school. I'm purchasing a copy of the film for my birthday.
There's so much I don't know.
I do know:
I'm where I should be doing work I believe in.
I have a way of working that is my own.
And I miss my students.
Spring Break is here - a great thing about life in academia. You can feel the break arriving for about two weeks.
So far, I've seen the mini-shuttle fly across the sky, I've gone for a jog with a friend in the Circle B Bar Reserve - an excellent place to see alligators, and I watched the Yankees stomp the Phillies in an exhibition game.
A post by a friend reminds me that rest is part of God's plan.
I also discovered the amazing work of a very talented friend from high school. I'm purchasing a copy of the film for my birthday.
There's so much I don't know.
I do know:
I'm where I should be doing work I believe in.
I have a way of working that is my own.
And I miss my students.
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
King David
On Friday, I was listening to a recording of Josef Hoffmann playing Rachmaninoff's C-Sharp Minor Prelude, and with the first three notes, I remembered the term "sound picture" or "tone picture" that I think I first encountered in an older book about Beethoven.
That Rachmaninoff prelude is so vivid that images and emotions immediately came into play and moved me away from thinking of musical values like harmonic progressions and the performer's inflections that usually occupy my mind when I'm listening.
Friday evening, I attended Rich Balach's senior recital and had similarly fresh and transporting experiences listening to Wolf's "Schlafendes Jesuskind" and "Begegnung."
Last night, I had the privilege and fun of playing piano in Southeastern's performance of Honneger's King David. The work is a compelling choice for a college department to present. It's a masterpiece involving a variety of 20th century techniques in addition to being a little Hebraic and a little Handelian. It's challenging for the performers, but not as forbiddingly difficult as a 20th century work can be. There are lots of solos, each of which is brief, of a distinct character, and has a few difficulties of pitch or rhythm. Thus, lots of students get to sing manageable but challenging solos.
In the midst of all of this is the conductor who, on this occasion, was our own very capable Dr. Dan Gordon. This was my first time playing an extended work with him and I was impressed with his conducting clarity and presence of mind. He made me think of a World War I fighter pilot, exposed to the elements, piloting, sometimes upside down, through clouds of bitonal bullets and metrical mayhem - an odd image, but an appropriate one for a work premiered in 1921.
As a member of the chamber orchestra playing this performance, I had the perspective of a pianist sitting in front of singers, behind trumpets, next to a keyboardist (playing harmonium and celesta parts), and at the opposite side of the room from the percussion, cello, and trombone. What I heard was not what the audience heard since I was sitting two feet from the piano and positioned as I just described. So while I'd like to hear the overall product, I did get to know about some details that the audience didn't experience as fully as I did. This is one of the reasons that playing in performances of works like this is so valuable. You get an entirely different perspective on the work involving a different kind of intimacy. While the experience provides another way of understanding the work that I could share with others, it is primarily meaningful and special to me.
This particular piano part is a very enjoyable part to play once you get over the fact that you are counting for much of an hour and half while also trying to calibrate your musicality to the movements of the conductor. Actually, those things can be pleasurable, too, but they require discipline.
During our rehearsals and the performance, I started to appreciate the extent and power of Honneger's "tone painting" in this work. Similar to my experiences with Hindemith, once I accepted Honneger's techniques as a part of his language, I could more readily focus on how masterfully clear he is in conveying the experiences that his "symphonic psalm" is all about. His constant responsiveness to text is something he shares with Handel.
A few examples from the piano corner:
#2 The Song of David, the Shepherd - the chromatic counterpoint within a small range throughout beautifully conveys the feeling of the "quiet pool" of the text, but it can also convey a sense of disquietude as David desires restoration of spirit, protection from pain, and so forth.
#4 Song of Victory - the energy of this choral writing is totally galvanizing. I'm surprised that this brief chorus hasn't become a musical icon to be used by HBO and others alongside the opening of Carmina Burana and the Dies Irae from Verdi's Requiem.
#6 Psalm: In the Lord I put my Faith - the piano chimes in with tremelo and vaulting patterns at "Flee like any bird unto the mountain" instantaneously transporting the listener to a different clime. It is also in this number that the pianist gets to strum the first harp-like chords that frequently accompany David in his many moods throughout the oratorio.
#11 Psalm: God the Lord shall be my light - the rhythm of the piano part is positively infectious and underscores the joy of triumph over a dangerous foe as described in the text.
#12 Incantation of the Witch of Endor - I've been involved with a couple of performances of King David and this number seems to capture the imaginations of the listeners the most. It's about an incident with Saul and a witch that is probably kind of obscure to a lot of us. Honneger has his own fresh way of painting the creepy sound-world of such a scene. In a way, it's in the tradition of Berlioz. But it strikes me that to paint his scene, Honneger doesn't resort to anything particularly novel in terms of instrumentation or instrumental techniques (for his time) as Berlioz did. To me, the two pianissimo interjections played by the piano at "Appear! Appear!" seem as erie as any woodwind bending its pitches. Of couse, a lot of the imaginative impact of this movement comes from the spoken monodrama.
At the end of #12 there's a strange chord, one that's physically uncomfortable to play for both hands. There's so much sound going on when you play it that I doubt anyone could discern if you just played a more comfortable cluster in each hand. I tried that in rehearsal and it sounded pretty much the same to me. But in the performance, I played Honneger's chord. Maybe he wanted the pianist to feel a little uncomfortable there, and at the very least, I'm sure the pitches he wrote fit logically with everyone else's notes at that moment.
#16 The Dance before the Ark - includes a very striking chord change in an already sparkly bit of writing for the piano at the word "splendour" in the phrase "O radiance of the morn and the splendour of noon, Mighty God be with us."
#18 Song of the Handmaid - has a questionable instrumentation choice, I think. In a pretty transparent texture, piano and flute play short notes together in a high register, and the tuning is problematic, given the nature of the instruments themselves. But maybe that slight disagreement about pitch is what Honneger wanted - an imitation of the sounds of crickets David could have heard when he rose from his bed to walk around the roof of the palace one evening and saw Bathsheba.
#19 Psalm of Repentance - puts words of repentance in the mouths of both male and female choristers which made me think of David and Bathsheba repenting together. That's a scene I'd never thought of before.
This brings me to a final general reflection on King David. Before the concert, Dr. Gordon prayed a thoughtful prayer that emphasized that David was human in all the best and worst ways that we are, too. I believe Honneger's music communicates the richness of that human story. Indeed, it restores humanity to a familar character from the pages of the Bible.
That Rachmaninoff prelude is so vivid that images and emotions immediately came into play and moved me away from thinking of musical values like harmonic progressions and the performer's inflections that usually occupy my mind when I'm listening.
Friday evening, I attended Rich Balach's senior recital and had similarly fresh and transporting experiences listening to Wolf's "Schlafendes Jesuskind" and "Begegnung."
Last night, I had the privilege and fun of playing piano in Southeastern's performance of Honneger's King David. The work is a compelling choice for a college department to present. It's a masterpiece involving a variety of 20th century techniques in addition to being a little Hebraic and a little Handelian. It's challenging for the performers, but not as forbiddingly difficult as a 20th century work can be. There are lots of solos, each of which is brief, of a distinct character, and has a few difficulties of pitch or rhythm. Thus, lots of students get to sing manageable but challenging solos.
In the midst of all of this is the conductor who, on this occasion, was our own very capable Dr. Dan Gordon. This was my first time playing an extended work with him and I was impressed with his conducting clarity and presence of mind. He made me think of a World War I fighter pilot, exposed to the elements, piloting, sometimes upside down, through clouds of bitonal bullets and metrical mayhem - an odd image, but an appropriate one for a work premiered in 1921.
As a member of the chamber orchestra playing this performance, I had the perspective of a pianist sitting in front of singers, behind trumpets, next to a keyboardist (playing harmonium and celesta parts), and at the opposite side of the room from the percussion, cello, and trombone. What I heard was not what the audience heard since I was sitting two feet from the piano and positioned as I just described. So while I'd like to hear the overall product, I did get to know about some details that the audience didn't experience as fully as I did. This is one of the reasons that playing in performances of works like this is so valuable. You get an entirely different perspective on the work involving a different kind of intimacy. While the experience provides another way of understanding the work that I could share with others, it is primarily meaningful and special to me.
This particular piano part is a very enjoyable part to play once you get over the fact that you are counting for much of an hour and half while also trying to calibrate your musicality to the movements of the conductor. Actually, those things can be pleasurable, too, but they require discipline.
During our rehearsals and the performance, I started to appreciate the extent and power of Honneger's "tone painting" in this work. Similar to my experiences with Hindemith, once I accepted Honneger's techniques as a part of his language, I could more readily focus on how masterfully clear he is in conveying the experiences that his "symphonic psalm" is all about. His constant responsiveness to text is something he shares with Handel.
A few examples from the piano corner:
#2 The Song of David, the Shepherd - the chromatic counterpoint within a small range throughout beautifully conveys the feeling of the "quiet pool" of the text, but it can also convey a sense of disquietude as David desires restoration of spirit, protection from pain, and so forth.
#4 Song of Victory - the energy of this choral writing is totally galvanizing. I'm surprised that this brief chorus hasn't become a musical icon to be used by HBO and others alongside the opening of Carmina Burana and the Dies Irae from Verdi's Requiem.
#6 Psalm: In the Lord I put my Faith - the piano chimes in with tremelo and vaulting patterns at "Flee like any bird unto the mountain" instantaneously transporting the listener to a different clime. It is also in this number that the pianist gets to strum the first harp-like chords that frequently accompany David in his many moods throughout the oratorio.
#11 Psalm: God the Lord shall be my light - the rhythm of the piano part is positively infectious and underscores the joy of triumph over a dangerous foe as described in the text.
#12 Incantation of the Witch of Endor - I've been involved with a couple of performances of King David and this number seems to capture the imaginations of the listeners the most. It's about an incident with Saul and a witch that is probably kind of obscure to a lot of us. Honneger has his own fresh way of painting the creepy sound-world of such a scene. In a way, it's in the tradition of Berlioz. But it strikes me that to paint his scene, Honneger doesn't resort to anything particularly novel in terms of instrumentation or instrumental techniques (for his time) as Berlioz did. To me, the two pianissimo interjections played by the piano at "Appear! Appear!" seem as erie as any woodwind bending its pitches. Of couse, a lot of the imaginative impact of this movement comes from the spoken monodrama.
At the end of #12 there's a strange chord, one that's physically uncomfortable to play for both hands. There's so much sound going on when you play it that I doubt anyone could discern if you just played a more comfortable cluster in each hand. I tried that in rehearsal and it sounded pretty much the same to me. But in the performance, I played Honneger's chord. Maybe he wanted the pianist to feel a little uncomfortable there, and at the very least, I'm sure the pitches he wrote fit logically with everyone else's notes at that moment.
#16 The Dance before the Ark - includes a very striking chord change in an already sparkly bit of writing for the piano at the word "splendour" in the phrase "O radiance of the morn and the splendour of noon, Mighty God be with us."
#18 Song of the Handmaid - has a questionable instrumentation choice, I think. In a pretty transparent texture, piano and flute play short notes together in a high register, and the tuning is problematic, given the nature of the instruments themselves. But maybe that slight disagreement about pitch is what Honneger wanted - an imitation of the sounds of crickets David could have heard when he rose from his bed to walk around the roof of the palace one evening and saw Bathsheba.
#19 Psalm of Repentance - puts words of repentance in the mouths of both male and female choristers which made me think of David and Bathsheba repenting together. That's a scene I'd never thought of before.
This brings me to a final general reflection on King David. Before the concert, Dr. Gordon prayed a thoughtful prayer that emphasized that David was human in all the best and worst ways that we are, too. I believe Honneger's music communicates the richness of that human story. Indeed, it restores humanity to a familar character from the pages of the Bible.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Good Times in Florida
My 200th blog post!
I started the day with the discovery of this creature moping around our screened-in porch. He's the creepiest frog I've come across.
His body looks pretty much like the head of a snake, which leaves you wondering where the rest of the snake is.
He's mean-looking, too.
(Click on the photos to see up close, if you dare.)
This afternoon, I rehearsed my beginning band piece with the beginning band. I learned several things from the process:
Harmonic 4ths, 5ths, and octaves chosen from a minor pentatonic collection that I thought would sound austere and bluesy by turns are much more dissonant and complex-sounding due to the tuning difficulties of beginners.
True accelerandi require too much coordination with the conductor to really work at this level.
On the positive side, I think my piece is a good teaching tool that invites awareness of some jazz traditions as well as allowing for a little culture to be built up around studying the piece. It's a rhapsody that begins with a fanfare, has a 12-bars blues progression, a stop-time in which the low brass get to stand up and play Glenn Miller-style, and a call-and-response build-up at the end.
Back at home, we had fresh tangelo juice squeezed from the crop of our own tree. Very sweet juice.
After supper, I took a cool jog to Lake Hunter.
I started the day with the discovery of this creature moping around our screened-in porch. He's the creepiest frog I've come across.
His body looks pretty much like the head of a snake, which leaves you wondering where the rest of the snake is.
He's mean-looking, too.
(Click on the photos to see up close, if you dare.)
This afternoon, I rehearsed my beginning band piece with the beginning band. I learned several things from the process:
Harmonic 4ths, 5ths, and octaves chosen from a minor pentatonic collection that I thought would sound austere and bluesy by turns are much more dissonant and complex-sounding due to the tuning difficulties of beginners.
True accelerandi require too much coordination with the conductor to really work at this level.
On the positive side, I think my piece is a good teaching tool that invites awareness of some jazz traditions as well as allowing for a little culture to be built up around studying the piece. It's a rhapsody that begins with a fanfare, has a 12-bars blues progression, a stop-time in which the low brass get to stand up and play Glenn Miller-style, and a call-and-response build-up at the end.
Back at home, we had fresh tangelo juice squeezed from the crop of our own tree. Very sweet juice.
After supper, I took a cool jog to Lake Hunter.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Spice of Life
A varied day in music here in sunny Lakeland:
five minutes reminding my hands how Chopin First Scherzo goes
attended faculty prayer
a little intro to Dalcroze Eurythmics with a student doing an informal independent-study version of Keyboard Skills for Music Educators
a piano lesson drilling letter names and rhythms with an adult beginner
Ceasar salad for lunch
gave a theory test on chromatic mediants, various pitch collections, tritone substitutions, and jazz harmonization
post-test orange juice sitting on a bench
put new horn obliggato for Malotte's Lord's Prayer into Finale
played for choral rehearsal of the dance from Honneger's King David
coached "Super Boy and the Invisible Girl" and "Little Shop" for Night on Broadway event
listened to some of Mahler 7 first movement on the way home - wondrous fanfares, nature sounds, and sweeping lines that feel like syrup poured on my soul
Monday, February 14, 2011
Imagination
Those of you that know me well know that exploring the intersection of music and faith is my passion. That pursuit has led me to the more general recognition that we human beings need help with re-integrating our faith into the various compartments into which we've separated our lives. The end result is hopefully a more joyful, peaceful, and connected existence.
To put this in another way, I find myself working for a fuller expression of God's image in us. To me, that means that we exist as a cooperative and loving community of creators, which is what I think the Trinity is.
I remember writing in cover letters for job applications seven or eight years ago that I was interested in teaching imagination. At that time, that mostly meant getting my students to think and feel more personally about the music they perform. I'm now realizing that those words about teaching imagination were prophetic. It recently dawned on me that, as I help students recognize God's image expressed through creativity, I am teaching imagination. The word "image" is right there in the word "imagination" but I've been missing the deep connection to God's image in us.
I don't think this realization will necessarily radically change the way I teach, but it does allow me to see how my various musical and pedagogical activities serve a single spiritual goal. When I help my students organize their thinking about music, when I show them how to develop proficiency at the keyboard, when we experiment with ways to communicate in performance, I am nurturing their creativity, their God-image-ness. When I am patient with them, when I challenge them to live in community, when I'm honest about myself, I model wholesome productivity in my relationships with them.
I am grateful for the distinct opportunity of working in an environment in which I can realize these truths about my calling. The culture of faith integration at Southeastern was a providential surprise for me, and it affirms my faith that the Holy Spirit coordinates our lives in very specific ways.
Years ago, I introduced myself to new acquaintances as a classical pianist. Frequently, that led to the response "But what do you do for a living?" or something to that effect. Once I had a full-time college job, I started introducing myself with "I teach in the music department at such-and-such university." That sounded more conventional and sometimes led to more substantive conversations about music.
Now, I think I'm going to start telling people that I teach imagination. That will be unusual, but I think it will lead to the most meaningful conversations and connections yet - a type of witnessing that is rooted in what I do everyday and that focuses on what I believe to be the beauty of God's will as expressed from the very first chapter of the Bible.
To put this in another way, I find myself working for a fuller expression of God's image in us. To me, that means that we exist as a cooperative and loving community of creators, which is what I think the Trinity is.
I remember writing in cover letters for job applications seven or eight years ago that I was interested in teaching imagination. At that time, that mostly meant getting my students to think and feel more personally about the music they perform. I'm now realizing that those words about teaching imagination were prophetic. It recently dawned on me that, as I help students recognize God's image expressed through creativity, I am teaching imagination. The word "image" is right there in the word "imagination" but I've been missing the deep connection to God's image in us.
I don't think this realization will necessarily radically change the way I teach, but it does allow me to see how my various musical and pedagogical activities serve a single spiritual goal. When I help my students organize their thinking about music, when I show them how to develop proficiency at the keyboard, when we experiment with ways to communicate in performance, I am nurturing their creativity, their God-image-ness. When I am patient with them, when I challenge them to live in community, when I'm honest about myself, I model wholesome productivity in my relationships with them.
I am grateful for the distinct opportunity of working in an environment in which I can realize these truths about my calling. The culture of faith integration at Southeastern was a providential surprise for me, and it affirms my faith that the Holy Spirit coordinates our lives in very specific ways.
Years ago, I introduced myself to new acquaintances as a classical pianist. Frequently, that led to the response "But what do you do for a living?" or something to that effect. Once I had a full-time college job, I started introducing myself with "I teach in the music department at such-and-such university." That sounded more conventional and sometimes led to more substantive conversations about music.
Now, I think I'm going to start telling people that I teach imagination. That will be unusual, but I think it will lead to the most meaningful conversations and connections yet - a type of witnessing that is rooted in what I do everyday and that focuses on what I believe to be the beauty of God's will as expressed from the very first chapter of the Bible.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Gesture
Four hours of rehearsal yesterday - Broadway, folk tunes, sacred anthems . . . and private piano teaching today . . .
From my current perspective, it seems that the root compelling thing in a performance of a piece of music is the grasp of gesture. If a performance conveys shape and movement, it acts upon me and I am moved. Tired and out-of-tune voices might be okay if the way they move through the music has purpose. I might experiment with having students focus on conveying the gestures of a work before thinking of the dynamics and tempi written in the score. Those markings can be used to refine the students' understanding of the gestures after they have really engaged with the basic gestures.
From my current perspective, it seems that the root compelling thing in a performance of a piece of music is the grasp of gesture. If a performance conveys shape and movement, it acts upon me and I am moved. Tired and out-of-tune voices might be okay if the way they move through the music has purpose. I might experiment with having students focus on conveying the gestures of a work before thinking of the dynamics and tempi written in the score. Those markings can be used to refine the students' understanding of the gestures after they have really engaged with the basic gestures.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Hearing
Several points regarding human hearing:
Rich Wilkerson Jr. spoke this week in an SEU chapel service. He mentioned that, according to scripture, hearing seems to be more important than seeing in the Kingdom of God. This is all bound up with relying on God's voice and living by faith. I plan to keep that in mind as I read scripture for myself.
Rev. Wilkerson went on to mention that we human beings don't see so well for our first six months of life, so much of our early knowledge and connection with our parents and surroundings comes through our hearing.
This morning, I happened to hear (and see) a bit of a music education presentation that compared our senses of sight and sound. The ratio of the wave lengths of violet to red light - the extremes of our visual range - is less than 2 to 1. We hear a much wider range of a least seven octaves with each octave being a 2 to 1 ratio. So in a way, we hear a lot better than we see.
Rich Wilkerson Jr. spoke this week in an SEU chapel service. He mentioned that, according to scripture, hearing seems to be more important than seeing in the Kingdom of God. This is all bound up with relying on God's voice and living by faith. I plan to keep that in mind as I read scripture for myself.
Rev. Wilkerson went on to mention that we human beings don't see so well for our first six months of life, so much of our early knowledge and connection with our parents and surroundings comes through our hearing.
This morning, I happened to hear (and see) a bit of a music education presentation that compared our senses of sight and sound. The ratio of the wave lengths of violet to red light - the extremes of our visual range - is less than 2 to 1. We hear a much wider range of a least seven octaves with each octave being a 2 to 1 ratio. So in a way, we hear a lot better than we see.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Beagles and Beginners
It's "raining up a storm" in Lakeland and has been since early morning. Sophie (the beagle) was disconsolate last night due to the lightning and thunder.
I'm writing a beginning band piece for a specific beginning band. I like writing to specifications. Clear parameters really help me know what to do and to feel good about it. They push me to engage very realistically with the craft of composition.
Here's my assignment as I understand it so far:
jazz-based or influenced
small number of low brass that play best together
clear and restricted ranges for all instruments (generally an octave or less)
clarinets are the strongest and largest section
parts need to be simple enough to be played but engaging enough not to bore the players
fairly simple rhythms
and nothing can move much faster than moderato
it would probably be a good idea to write music that sounds pretty good even if some of the players lose their place and keep playing anyway!
And I'm sure there are more things I'm not remembering at the moment or haven't realized yet.
This composition process is fun but slow: discovering what the piece is and can be. It's very true in this situation that the primary work of composition is editing. I write a little, trying to make something I like, I listen back and think of the parameters, adjust it accordingly, then I listen again to see if it works for me, then I adjust it accordingly, then I think about the parameters, adjust, put the passage back in context, adjust, etc. etc. etc.
Like I said, fun but slow. And good for me.
Composing is like building a house. That doesn't sound very original. But I like architecture and this image helps me. It's also good for appreciating, from the outside, the significance of what composers do.
When you build a house, you need to consider what that house is for - a single young professional, a large family with children . . . shelter in the tropics or on a mountain in New Hampshire . . .
And you need to make sure it's structured well. There are principles involved in making it a good "machine for living" and lots of wise people and regulations to help you do that.
And from time to time, someone comes along and suggests a totally new type of room or way to use an existing room. Then that catches on and changes the way we see houses and the way we live in them.
When composing, I need to take into account who's going to be using my music and where it will be used:
opera singer? congregation? children?
concert stage? church? classroom?
How will it be structured? Its structure will have something to do with the questions I just posed above - "form follows function."
And then Beethoven comes along and says "What if we make the first theme sound like an introduction, put the second theme in major mediant, and have a really long closing group? Oh yeah, and a quick appearance of the first theme transposed into the Neapolitan right when we think the piece is about to end. How did he come up with this stuff? But it really works, so we listen to him.
Finally (sort of a new topic) the other day I noticed that almost all the melody notes in "All the Things You Are" are the thirds of the chords that tend to be used to harmonize them. Anyone who tries to play the piece on the piano with good voicing has probably already noticed this. But it struck me because I've been thinking about the relationships between melodies and their accompaniments, and particulatrly about how what members of the chords are featured in the melodies contibutes to the mood of the music.
Before Christmas, I was meditating on the fact that Mary "pondered all these things in her heart." That sounds very inner to me. I was wondering how to write a melody that would express Mary's inner-ness, and I improvised some melodies that focused on the insides of chords - the thirds. It seems like that leads to melodies that are sweet and warm, and at times, rather innner in nature.
I'm writing a beginning band piece for a specific beginning band. I like writing to specifications. Clear parameters really help me know what to do and to feel good about it. They push me to engage very realistically with the craft of composition.
Here's my assignment as I understand it so far:
jazz-based or influenced
small number of low brass that play best together
clear and restricted ranges for all instruments (generally an octave or less)
clarinets are the strongest and largest section
parts need to be simple enough to be played but engaging enough not to bore the players
fairly simple rhythms
and nothing can move much faster than moderato
it would probably be a good idea to write music that sounds pretty good even if some of the players lose their place and keep playing anyway!
And I'm sure there are more things I'm not remembering at the moment or haven't realized yet.
This composition process is fun but slow: discovering what the piece is and can be. It's very true in this situation that the primary work of composition is editing. I write a little, trying to make something I like, I listen back and think of the parameters, adjust it accordingly, then I listen again to see if it works for me, then I adjust it accordingly, then I think about the parameters, adjust, put the passage back in context, adjust, etc. etc. etc.
Like I said, fun but slow. And good for me.
Composing is like building a house. That doesn't sound very original. But I like architecture and this image helps me. It's also good for appreciating, from the outside, the significance of what composers do.
When you build a house, you need to consider what that house is for - a single young professional, a large family with children . . . shelter in the tropics or on a mountain in New Hampshire . . .
And you need to make sure it's structured well. There are principles involved in making it a good "machine for living" and lots of wise people and regulations to help you do that.
And from time to time, someone comes along and suggests a totally new type of room or way to use an existing room. Then that catches on and changes the way we see houses and the way we live in them.
When composing, I need to take into account who's going to be using my music and where it will be used:
opera singer? congregation? children?
concert stage? church? classroom?
How will it be structured? Its structure will have something to do with the questions I just posed above - "form follows function."
And then Beethoven comes along and says "What if we make the first theme sound like an introduction, put the second theme in major mediant, and have a really long closing group? Oh yeah, and a quick appearance of the first theme transposed into the Neapolitan right when we think the piece is about to end. How did he come up with this stuff? But it really works, so we listen to him.
Finally (sort of a new topic) the other day I noticed that almost all the melody notes in "All the Things You Are" are the thirds of the chords that tend to be used to harmonize them. Anyone who tries to play the piece on the piano with good voicing has probably already noticed this. But it struck me because I've been thinking about the relationships between melodies and their accompaniments, and particulatrly about how what members of the chords are featured in the melodies contibutes to the mood of the music.
Before Christmas, I was meditating on the fact that Mary "pondered all these things in her heart." That sounds very inner to me. I was wondering how to write a melody that would express Mary's inner-ness, and I improvised some melodies that focused on the insides of chords - the thirds. It seems like that leads to melodies that are sweet and warm, and at times, rather innner in nature.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Something New
I ran my first 5K today. I ran with Clark, a friend from church. He's a more experienced runner with a good attitude - basically that running is a nice way to experience a nice day.
I don't think this means I'm in particularly good shape but that I'm not in such bad shape. It might also mean that I am, in fact, leading a healthier lifestyle, which was one of the goals I set for myself in moving to Florida.
Also new, I'm listening to a different recording each week as I drive to and from work. Watching various PBS arts events over the holiday inspired me to get back into learning about more repertoire.
So far, I've listened to Kyle Matthews's Timeless Christmas Child CD driving back and forth to visit family around Christmas. Kyle's work is accessible, fun, and profound, and sometimes, all three at the same time. The next week was Sondheim's A Little Night Music. This week I've been lisening to music of Richard Danielpour. I like his music, and I find that I like it more the more I listen to it.
Next week, Giordano's Fedora.
I don't think this means I'm in particularly good shape but that I'm not in such bad shape. It might also mean that I am, in fact, leading a healthier lifestyle, which was one of the goals I set for myself in moving to Florida.
Also new, I'm listening to a different recording each week as I drive to and from work. Watching various PBS arts events over the holiday inspired me to get back into learning about more repertoire.
So far, I've listened to Kyle Matthews's Timeless Christmas Child CD driving back and forth to visit family around Christmas. Kyle's work is accessible, fun, and profound, and sometimes, all three at the same time. The next week was Sondheim's A Little Night Music. This week I've been lisening to music of Richard Danielpour. I like his music, and I find that I like it more the more I listen to it.
Next week, Giordano's Fedora.
Saturday, January 08, 2011
A Day I Will Remember
While Kathy took one of the tests for certification as a music teacher in Florida, I explored north of Tampa. I stumbled upon the Hindu Temple of Florida, a beautiful structure. Just down the street is a residence that is a small replica of Graceland complete with Elvis's musical gate and stone wall. That sightseeing was followed by an excellent coffee at a Selena's Latin Cafe, a new place in that neighborhood.
After picking Kathy up at the end of her successful test taking, we went for a walk on a trail nearby and saw a rather large alligator sunning itself on the opposite side of a pond. We returned to Selena's for a fantastic Cuban-style pulled pork sandwich.
Back at home, I finished reading Daina Chaviano's Island of Eternal Love which is a beautiful and touching book that involves African, Spanish, and Chinese families who moved to Cuba; famous Cuban musical figures; and a phantom house, and imp, and ghosts. Also a highly ideological parrot named Fidelina.
After reading, I checked e-mail and saw a four-minute-old story about the shooting of Gabrielle Giffords. We have watched the story of that tragedy unfold into the evening.
I played some Lecuona.
After picking Kathy up at the end of her successful test taking, we went for a walk on a trail nearby and saw a rather large alligator sunning itself on the opposite side of a pond. We returned to Selena's for a fantastic Cuban-style pulled pork sandwich.
Back at home, I finished reading Daina Chaviano's Island of Eternal Love which is a beautiful and touching book that involves African, Spanish, and Chinese families who moved to Cuba; famous Cuban musical figures; and a phantom house, and imp, and ghosts. Also a highly ideological parrot named Fidelina.
After reading, I checked e-mail and saw a four-minute-old story about the shooting of Gabrielle Giffords. We have watched the story of that tragedy unfold into the evening.
I played some Lecuona.
Monday, January 03, 2011
Lots to Blog About
The holidays tend to be a time of abundant life for us musicians - lots of work, work that's inspiring, as well as some time to reflect on its meaning.
Kathy and I returned to Lasker (as well as Murfreesboro, Ahoskie, and Rich Sqaure) for the first time since our move. The occasion was my eighth Christmas concert in Lasker, an event in which Kathy joined me on her horn, also singing, and as piano four-hands partner.
It felt like returning home and like Christmas. Many friends came to the concert and visited with us during our time there.
I rarely travel so far for a performance. It puts a different emphasis on the work. This time, it was a good thing, and it usually is, in my experience.
As we prepared the concert, I thought of the many approaches composers have taken to Christmas. On this concert we played, among other things, pieces about
a town
heavenly bread
Mary and Joseph
a tree
a star
spreading the good news
meditation under the night sky
the ways Jesus is envisioned by children around the globe
joyful singing
gift giving
the night of Jesus' birth
snow
and riding in a sleigh!
Our goal was to match our energy to that of the music and to communicate with the audience. Kathy played very well and I was pleased with my effort, too. By the end of the evening, I was reminded that being one's self is what is really required and that so much of the other stuff is really stressful and extraneous.
I also connected more deeply with "I Wonder as I Wander" than ever before since I was a returning Carolinian playing a piece with roots in NC for Carolinians.
Former students attended and turned pages for me. We visited at the lovely reception afterwards. All these things were very special to me.
We were back in Lakeland in time for Christmas Eve at the Church in the Meadows. I always like to offer prayers for friends around Easter and Christmas services. These times deepen my sense of connection with the sacred, so it seems like more of heart might be in the prayers.
In that spirit, I tried something new. I offered my playing at the Christmas Eve service as a prayer for an old student that I learned had recently had to leave to school. I did this in the same sense that Mass might be said for someone or ones who are ailing.
I brought in the new ear with some Liszt, this year being the bicentennial of his birth. I practiced Sposalizio on the 1st. I'm building my relationship with the piece on a daily basis. On this occasion, I noticed how important it is to stayed tuned to the metrical flow of this music - especially in the single-line passages and phrases with lots of rests - so as to really hear what Liszt has written.
On the first Sunday of the year I played new stuff for our service: my own prelude on "Morning Has Broken" (an arrangement I wrote for a student in the fall) and for offertory, I premiered my tune MEADOWS. That was the first thing I wrote after moving to FL. It is a song expressing the concept of Christian community.
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