Piano Lessons - MANDUCARE PIGMENTUM

This semester, I re-read Ruth Slenczynska's excellent book Music at Your Fingertips. It's a very practical manual for pianists, and I was encouraged and intrigued to discover how many of its lessons had become a part of my own work during the years since I had last read it.

Slenczynska suggests that a pianist think not so much in terms of learning musical works as absorbing them. The idea is that simply remembering a collection of facts to be recalled more or less at leisure (which might be what the word "learning" connotes for many of us) does not provide the broad and incisive grasp required to do the work of a pianist. Indeed, a pianist is expected to remember an astronomical number of facts which must then be reproduced in sequence and in real time through physical means that, ideally, convey a high level of thought and some spiritual engagement. I like to think these information-rich, real-time, pressure-performance qualities make being a pianist a little like being a trauma surgeon - only for a surgeon, the stakes are a tad higher.

To truly be up to the pianistic task, one must absorb the work to be performed. The work itself must become part of us, and the absorption process necessary to bring that about takes time. The numerous steps and sustained effort required are quite different from what we might picture ourselves doing to prepare for a quiz, for example.

Because of all this, and as odd as it sounds, "eat paint" has become our unofficial studio motto this semester, mostly because I've talked about it a lot.

Imagine the following. For some inexplicable reason, you want to literally ingest a large Rembrandt canvas. You're desire is to truly absorb a physical work of art into your system. How would you proceed?

The wise course, short of seeking psychological help, would be to eat the paint in tiny portions over a long period of time. Otherwise, it will very quickly make you very sick.

This silly scenario sheds important light on the music-learning process.

First and foremost, it helps us envision the tiny amounts of musical material we ought to consider at any moment in the practice room. The temptation to go with the flow of the music and just play through things is very strong and is often not even recognized as a temptation. Being in the moment with the music is what we desire, but slowing down and maybe even stopping the musical flow to zero in on the details is what we need. To continue with these liquid images, performance is baptism in a rushing river while practice is discovering the life in a few drops of water as viewed through a microscope.

In addition to helping us understand the appropriate scale for our musical study work, "eating paint" also reminds us that if we try to absorb too much too fast the experience will become toxic. I am sure this happens most days in most practice rooms. And the symptoms are probably pretty much the same as if we were to eat too much actual paint: frustration, fatigue, fuzzy thinking, physical discomfort, and other phenomena.

Click here to view and consider eating paintings by Rembrandt.

Piano Lessons - Practicing and Teaching

This semester, I returned to being the primary piano teacher for piano majors at my university. It was a good time to return to this role, and a number of basics came into sharper focus for me as I articulated them for students over the course of the semester. Over the next couple of weeks, I hope to write a series of posts about these concepts.

I begin with the fact that teaching piano is, in large part, teaching people how to practice.

More than performing, or even teaching, practicing is the lifeblood and daily bread of musical life. If, on some level, you don't enjoy practicing, then music is probably not the life for you.

But before you or I give up, let's make sure we have really given it a chance. What often passes for practicing - haphazardly running through music in a practice room - is not practicing.

Practice time is really a (preferably) daily time for engaging mindfully and intentionally in practices. These activities become effective and meaningful when repeated regularly. Short of that, little practicing is actually occurring.

When I think of my own journey with practicing, teaching, and performing, I realize that a life with music can be a good path to self-integration and personal growth, if we are willing to make the journey.

At an early age, most of us are affirmed for our performances. We develop the dream of being performers and that dream fits well with our self-ness.

Over time, we realize that teaching is, at the very least, part of making a living as a musician. With a broader view of the history of music, we realize that teaching simply is part of being a musician. An examination of virtually any style of music will reveal a series of mentors who have handed down and developed their tradition.

It also turns out that teaching fulfills our social aspect in a way that performing never could.   

In maturing, we also realize that our daily work at the instrument can help us to achieve a healthy inner balance. We learn to appreciate rich comforts of routine and discovery as we fulfill our callings in the quieter pursuits of musical study.

Altogether, this journey can deepen our empathy for, and recognition of, the experiences of our fellow musicians, whether they be young students, collaborators, or sages we know. From the path of a life in music, we can also see that our identity is not just that of performer or teacher, recording artist or adjudicator. All of these things and many more are facets of a shared identity that crosses boundaries of time and style, the identity of musician.

Possible Steps toward Self-Acceptance and Everyone-Else-Acceptance

For musicians and others,
and especially me:


Take a deep breath.

Notice something.

Consider where you are.

Do so many times a day.


Why?

Most of the time, we're so busy inside and so fixated on our activities
that we need steps like these to become aware of the world around us
and to get some perspective on ourselves and others.

When we pause and reconnect,
I think we have a better chance of seeing ourselves and others more like God sees us.

 

Above, a powerful panel on St. Paul's Church in Manhattan

where I often worshiped with my good friend, Lloyd,

and attended Mass with my parents after the 1994 Thanksgiving Parade.

Stress

A dull headache,
a slight bit of breathlessness,
a barely discernible tightening of the chest,
plus a touch of tunnel vision -

That's my state after fifteen minutes spent writing an e-mail to all those who might know whether or not I need to rearrange my morning to show up at a court date for a young friend I look out for. (And I'm actually in pretty good shape!)

I will be surprised if I receive any useful information as a result of my e-mail. I probably won't even get a response.

Add to that the constant flux of the many performance and creative projects in which a college music professor is enlisted, and the ongoing efforts to help students learn whether or not they are all ready to, and I also need to list grades on MyFire.

Stress!

I actually deal with it pretty well, but it's not just my problem.

I recently watched an excellent documentary that explains a lot and warns of even more. I recommend multiple viewings since its message is counter-cultural and of dire significance.
http://www.pbs.org/programs/killer-stress/

It turns out that our bodies frequently continue to prepare for life and death crises even when the stimulus is really just an internal psychological concern. The heart reorients to supply blood for fight or flight, blood pressure goes up, etc., not because we're being chased by a predator but because we have to speak in public!

Good stress helps us rise to a challenge. Mismatched stress paralyzes, impairs, and chips away at longevity.

Who are the most badly stressed? Those who are on the lower levels of a hierarchy they care about - those who feel they have no voice and few channels for expressing power positively. No wonder the powerless become subversive or just disengage. The instinct for self-preservation demands it.

What reduces this type of stress? A sense of autonomy and connectivity as well as collegial styles from those at the top.

Stressed people age remarkably faster. Stressed people's bodies put on weight in a way that contributes specifically to heart disease. And a great many things happen internally that spell disaster in the long-run for the chronically stressed individual.

On this Sunday, I confess feeling a little resentment toward those who cause me stress, but I am reminded that, in general, "they know not what they do." I desire to know the difference between working something out and stressing out. And I want to limit the bad stress my students experience in the educational process with me. So often, students help my stress with good attitudes and kind words.

What contributes to our stressful lifestyles? Here's some of what I think.

1. The way we have allowed technology to take over our time, and our internal functioning, and our relationships! The society into which I was born was peopled by professional folk and others who set about life in a reposeful and balanced fashion and were not inundated by unfiltered information and messages. There was a time in the day when the mail arrived and the letters were written. A limited number of folks used your phone number, and it was usually of some importance when they did.

Today, the computer sits on my desk alluringly suggesting that someone may be responding to me or reaching  out at any moment. My hopefulness for connection through that machine stays nervously engaged even when I am supposedly concentrating. Those born into this world have known no other way, so their mild ADD seems normal to them.

In today's professional world, instant response is the name of the game. E-mail waltzed in and took over before we had a plan for it or knew we should resist it. And so we become impatient if our document isn't passed around and edited by everybody before brunch, and we think that's a normal pace. We add stress to ourselves (and animosity between ourselves) when it doesn't happen that way.

I bet some of the best professionals limit their computer time when possible so they might set their whole persons to activities that build legacies and civilization.

Many good tips about slaying the e-mail monster can be found here: http://www.artofmanliness.com/2013/07/17/email-tips/

2. In college work, the ever-expanding layers of "assessment" fill up time and take away energy from traditional endeavors of scholars and teachers. I know it's the wave of today, and maybe of the future, but it wasn't the wave of twenty years ago or of the preceding thousands of years. And it's the role of educators to mention such things. Feel free to provide your own rant at this point.

3. Our society's celebration of the super-human who multi-tasks and keeps adding tasks and never says "that's asking too much of one person" is another contributor to the problem. Just as we don't do much to celebrate peacemakers, we also don't take out time to remember those who contributed something important to our world by moving at a deliberate pace and being fair to everyone in their lives. We need to be aware of other ways of being, and we might just need to push back while we can still function pretty well.

I'm yet to offer any solutions. I'm mostly sounding an alarm in my little community.

But here's what I know and keep rediscovering. Practicing sabbath keeps a bit of the better, older way alive for us. It slows the pace and makes room for some quiet life. Not only is it a time to stop working, but it might also be a time to stop thinking about working.

What to do with that silence? Take time to observe nature. Listen to fine music. Let the shapes of these things speak to you. And while you're at it, stop talking to yourself. Develop a bit of discipline for relaxation so as to stop the obsessive twittering of your mind about the moment or what to do with the next one.

I'm going to do that right now.

If you don't have access to a lovely natural place today, here's a photo of my friend Rev. Ricky's property back in North Carolina for your own relaxed e-pond gazing. Click on the image for a larger, more gaze-friendly version.

Magic of the Romantics

The summer is over and the new academic year has begun. My ideas for a rich and relfective end-of-summer post slipped away during the beginning-of-the-school-year faculty seminar. But that's alright with me since the nostalgia of the transition has been replaced by fresh learning and new noticing.

 

The practice time of the summer prepared a space in life, and a pace of life, for ongoing piano practice. Many days, I am able to spend an hour or two at the piano in fairly concentrated work. I have, for the most part, accepted that this practice time supercedes some other priorities and am somewhat at peace about other things taking longer because I am putting some time in at the keyboard.

 

My new schedule at Southeastern involves more piano teaching than the previous three years. I have nine private piano students in addition to my theory and class piano teaching. These students keep me busy with thinking about a range of repertoire.

 

Standards from the Romantic era have been on my mind this week, each with its own brand of magic.

 

The imagination of Grieg's piano concerto can be easy to take for granted since the work is so familiar. Returning to the piece after many years, I am touched by the power of the first movement's classic conflict proclaimed by the rhetoric of the solo piano. My student and I also noticed the great variety of themes that move quickly and fluidly from one to the next throughout the first movement. 

 

Many of us pianists have a couple of stories in the back of our minds when we hear this piece. One is of Liszt sightreading the concerto and encouraging Grieg because he recognized Grieg's original voice and masterful craft. The other is Rachmaninoff's statement that this is the ideal concerto. Teaching the piece now gives me a deeper appreciation of those two great pianists' takes on its significance.

 

Yesterday morning, I had the fun of teaching Liszt's well-known Liebestraum. The famous melody is, as a theory student once said of the opening theme of Chopin's C Sharp Minor Nocturne Op. 27 No. 1, a "forming melody." It begins with repetitions of  the same note, then  moves a little stepwise, and finally takes on a much more melodic shape.

 

My favorite discovery from this lesson is that some of the magic of Liszt's "dream of love" is contained in a single marking, a decrescendo that makes all the difference. If one were to play measures  15 through 20 purely on instinct, the goal could very well be the downbeat of 19, which is the point at which the harmony points back to the home key following a striking detail of harmonization (a quick trip to E major from A flat major). Liszt's decrescendo lets us know not to make that turning-home harmony the goal but to have the sound recede at this point. Thus, when we put the decrescendo in the right measure, the transformation of the melody through a fresh harmonization quickly slips back into the haze of the dream consciousness.

 

Another student brought  Brahms's Opus 118. Earlier in the day, I had taught a bit of 18th-century counterpoint, a style in which the resolution of 4ths and 7ths, and so forth, is so important. Those expressive gestures move from the level of meaningful moments in Baroque music to constituting the very fabric from which the first movement of the Brahms is made. Every measure has an appogiatura or suspension or two or three. The result is music that of urgency that is constantly yearning.

 

The second movment of this Brahms set is a beautiful study in the sense of growth exhibited by phrases. To place this with satisfying expression requires a sense of elegant movement through majestic spaces: something like this. 

 

 

Shall We Gather at the River

As of late, some of the most rewarding teaching experiences have come from exploring hymns with students. One recent graduate wanted to analyze "Shall We Gather at the River" together. It is a great hymn about the journey. Its wavy tune rides atop snappy march rhythms. That combination plays out the coordinated mass movement towards the river. One cannot help but think of allegories of the Christian pilgrimage such as Hinds' Feet in High Places and Pilgrim's Progress. "All the Way My Savior Leads Me" and "We're Marching to Zion" (two other hymns in which Lowry had a hand) also express important things about the journey.

 

The word "beautiful" is a beautiful sounding word. Its repetition in the chorus can shift the focus of our hearing a bit from the meaning of the word to the beauty of its sounds. The more we sing the phrase "the beautiful, the beautiful river" the more we can hear in it the lovely sounds of the lapping waves.

 

 

The word "river" is repeatedly set to the interval of a third, usually descending. A quick survey of hymn tunes with prominent descending thirds directed my attention to the word "Jesus" in "There's Something about That Name," "Jesus Loves Me," and "What a Friend We Have in Jesus." All three have a bit of a comforting lullaby-like quality. Perhaps this lullaby touch is also a good fit for "Shall We Gather at the River" since Lowry describes the hymn growing out of a nap/vision on a warm summer afternoon.

 

The text is a version of the great river scene in Revelation 22 which we might say has its source in Genesis 2 and Ezekiel 47. I think it is likely that for many listeners the tune is accompanied by pleasant notions of "simpler times" - of grandparents' days - and some vague notions of Heaven. But the hymn is really about much more. It is about the culmination of time and the healing of the nations, something Lowry's original listeners would have longed for since the hymn comes from the very year of Lincoln's assassination. Framed by a question and an answer ("Shall we? . . . Yes, We'll ! . . ."), it seems to me that this is a hymn in which a congregation affirms its faith, a faith potentially shaken by the day's events and the shattering of its society.

 

 

Finally, the hymn isn't about crossing a river. I bet the crossing image is an aspect of the eronneous nebulous accretions the hymn has collected in our consciousness like barnacles on a boat. (I will leave that last simile in as evidence that I was drafting this post at 3:40 A.M..) All the way back to the river Styx, the river crossing motif seems to me to be more about death than life in the Western tradition. More recently, Stonewall Jackson's famous last words were "Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees." But there is one situation in which crossing the river has meant life: the liberated slave meeting a conductor at the river so as to cross over into freedom.

 

 

Lowry specifically stated his desire to treat the river of life with his setting, not a river of death. This Revelation 22 river is unlike the Styx of Charon or even the Ohio of Tice Davids. Unlike the rivers of the ages, it is not a barrier. No crossing is required. In this scene, the limitations and anxieties we've know in earthly life are no longer relevant. We finally gather in the presence we've been seeking.

 

 

This is my mother's mural of an idyllic river scene painted for the fellowship hall

of Piney Grove Baptist Church in Sampson County, NC.
And here's my own musical riverscape, a setting of "Shall We Gather at the River" performed with my good friend and tenor, Jeff Prillaman.

"There's Within My Heart a Melody"

Yesterday, a student and I spent some time trying to figure out how one might play Luther Bridgers's "He Keeps Me Singing" with some literary and theological sensitivity.

My student brought the hymn to me commenting on the deep themes of the text that seem strangely juxtaposed with its perky tune. Bridgers wrote the text and tune, so it wasn't a mismatch in his mind. Like a lot of hymns with music in this style, it seems to be written from a place of reflection and experience so that its themes can be expressed joyfully ultimately, even though the words and concepts do not all seem joyful to us on first hearing.

When we started to read the text together, I was struck by the seeming jumble of images and metaphors in its five brief verses. In an attempt to make some sense of this jumble, we made a chart for sorting these words. We found the following:

• music words - melody, discord, strings, chords, swept, stirred

• water words - ebb and flow, wrecked, waters deep, stirred, swept (even though these last two words appear in a mostly music-word verse, they are words that could also resonate with water movement)

• land-journey words - leads, path, rough, steep

• flight words - starry sky, wing, flight

• being-in-God's-presence words - whispers, wing, smiling face, feasting, resting, seeing, shouting, singing, reigning

Biographically speaking, Bridgers wrote this hymn after the loss of his wife and children in a fire and the personal crisis that followed. The flow of the verses make sense as an expression of his healing process that involved conquering questions and depression  through faith.

But Bridgers did not directly name the tragedy in his hymn. He kept the image very general: a wreck. And for several generations, the hymn has spoken more broadly than an expression of an individual's testimony. Its rich jumble of images still confonts and comforts us.

As my student and I looked at our chart, a meaningful progression through the verses started to emerge. We came to see the disparate metaphors as stages in a journey: the journey of Christian faith.


Being on the sea gives the sense that one's fate is very much out of one's own hands. The unknowns of the depths are frightening.These sea experiences are emblematic of the pre-faith phase of one's life. Although unrecognized at the time, the loving God is present.

Then comes a shipwreck: a harrowing and devastating running aground. But on the shore, we find Christ waiting with a feast, rest, and personal warmth.

With Christ, a pilgrimage begins. In this stage, we recognize his leadership and presence with us through the rigors of the journey.

In the final stage, the most freeing mode of journey is achieved: flight. In salvation future, we go beyond this world as masters in our own right.

It turns out the that the key to the entire text (at least in this interpretation) is the very last word of that cheery chorus: "go." The hymn is about going on the Christian journey. And I would assume that Bridgers the evangelist was very much about that himself.


A few more layers ------

The hymn seems to be a testimony to mystical, personal, religious experience. Jesus is whispering in the heart  . . . and later, he's on the path with the singer. It's a bit like the road to Emmaus.

Jesus' words in the first verse are like his words during the tempest scene in the Gospels.

"Shout and sing" - in various translations of the worship scenes in Revelation, there is a mixture of shouting and singing.

The metaphorical story of salvation signified by modes of travel as described above is told in the context of a reflection in the hymn, so there are times when it seems a little unlinear. Naming the more reflective portions of the text as such helps the narrative stand out.

Once we realized how the story starts on the water, we saw how wavy the tune is: full of waves and chops plus a couple of big swells in the chorus. Play the tune alone and the chromaticism might even seem to add a touch of sea sickness. 

To signal the transition/transformation to flight in the last verse, it might be a good time for a simple half-step modulation.

P.S. The photos are from our own recent travels.

Home Again and Practicing

I'm returning to regular practicing and blogging today after a two-week trip involving a festival, a recording, and a conference. I'm excited to get back to the piano for some quality work without pressing deadlines.

An "actually-practicing-is-helpful" testimony:
During the last two weeks, I had to play a very scalar piece a few times. I found that practicing scales in the key of the piece for evenness and precision during the morning hours helped me to somehow, sort of magically, be able to play them in their various configurations in the piece later in the day!

The five to eight hours of hymn singing, hymnologocial presentations, and fellowship with hymnologogists that I experienced each day during last week's annual conference of the Hymn Society in the United States and Canada, convinced me that work ought to flow out of worship and prayer. So I'm starting this morning's practice session by reading through a few hymns from my newly-acquired African American Heritage Hymnal.

An hour later -
I started learning the second movement of Schumann Fantasy today. Years ago, I asked a good friend who is great at giving solid and exciting performances how he learns his music. He said that he usually spent a month or so just getting familiar with a work, analyzing, determining fingering etc.. During that, month he didn't push himself to be memorizing. And at the end of that time, most everything was memorized already. Then he zeroed in on the tricky spots.

I think that approach will be good for this movement. I like to think of practicing a piece of music a little like getting to know a person. I'm feeling a little like this Schumann movement is a bit of a catankerous co-worker. We're going to have to be in a lot of meetings before I warm to it and start to recognize and appreciate its best qualities!

 

Blogging While Practicing

As I was waiting for alarm clock to sound this morning, a new motto coalesced in my mind:
active but not stressed.

Sorry it's not in Latin

Active but not stressed is a middle way between obsessing about relaxng and generating physical tension as a misguided means of  musical expression.

It's a little pardoxical - worrying about being relaxed enough is its own sort of stress, and tightening up physically beguiles us by making it seem like we're spontaneously going with the flow of the music!

"Active but not stressed" also seems like a good goal for one's life beyond practicing.

*******

Piano lessons from dance instructor -

Every dance requires the presence of an animal - the cow:
ie. Change Of Weight from one foot to the other

Very Dorothy Taubman-esque, eh?

Also, the lead provides the frame so the follower has freedom to do flowing, expressive, improvisatory things.

Isn't that the relation of the hands in most piano textures? And isn't that rubato?
"The left hand is the conductor; the right hand is the singer," etc.

*******

Reading through Donald Waxman Etudes. One is subtitled "Lambent Trajectories."

This suggests a theme or organizing principle for a performance: piano recital as vocabulary lesson

Joy, Cues, SInging

Joy

With another week and a half of practicing under my belt it has occurred to me that the sensations of mild displeasure or outright struggle that sometimes accompany practicing are really to be expected since the activity is really about altering one's mind through sustained effort. Recognizing that bigger picture helps  move toward joy which is something that occasionally takes a back seat in efforts at making music. Remembering that we are changing ourselves through the process and also seeking to engage joyfully with musical labor can really refresh and energize one's mindset about practicing. Remembering that practicing is a "get to" and not a "have to" experience helps, too. I think I'm rediscovering that practicing is not just something I do - it's something I like to do!

Cues

I did a bit of teaching this week which got me thinking of cues. One model for teaching piano is that of helping students develop internal cues for how to do the activity well. I consciously work that way with my students sometimes, but I seldom do my own practicing with real intention in that area. However, I should and could apply the approach at every stage in my learning. Thinking in terms of what cues one needs at each stage seems like a great way of dealing with the fluid nature of making music at the piano. What cues do I need in this phrase, on this day, at this piano, for this performance . . .?

This discipline of giving one's self good cues is reminiscent of the practice of centering prayer in which the contemplative acknowledges the various thoughts that distract, without allowing them to truly disturb the endeavor, and then gently directs the mind and soul back to the focus.

Teaching piano lessons in the otherwise pretty free-flowing midst of summer vacation makes me grateful for such settings and situations that give me cues that trigger clear and well-organized behaviors on my part. When I am in a room with a piano and a student, my system has a pretty good idea of what to do. When I am in front of a class of aural theory students, my experience and training take over. It is nice to be in such familiar terrain where there are less fundamental issues to decide.

Singing
I've always heard that one should sing one's piano music to determine phrasing and so forth. I noticed this week that singing can also help to envision an appropriate base line to which to return in terms of both dynamics and intensity. The limitations of the voice in those areas are strongly sensed, and because of that, I think issues of scale and expression can become clearer when using the voice than when facing a piano with two hands and no mediation. So often, the flavor of the music becomes distinct and touching when we know not so much when to "go for it" but when to back off. As Earl Carlyss often said in chamber coachings, "If you can't raise the bridge, lower the stream."

Discoveries

***Warning: Hidden in the midst of these seemingly random observations is some stuff that some might find a little provocative.***

Here are some of this week's piano practicing and listening discoveries:

Albeniz's music has a high incidence of measures full of double flats along with interlocking and crossing hands. This makes for some disorienting reading. Certain pages of "El Polo" are easy-to-see examples. You can listen to Alicia de Larrocha playing this here starting around 7:30.

Ravel's Daphnis et Chloe contains bits of Valses Nobles et Sentimentales (or vice versa). They were written around the same time.

The first movment of Schumann Fantasy and the E minor prelude of Bach from WTCI have something in common in terms of left hand figuration and maybe a bit of the right hand pacing. Plus, the Bach is a little fantasy-like in its unfolding: a mysterious opening giving way to a lively second section followed by a highly chromatic, unusual, brief two-voice fugue - kind of Schumannesque. The two pieces might suggest some interesting parallels as the openers of two halves of the recital I'm preparing.

I started reading through the first two movements of Rachmaninoff Cello Sonata and might learn them in large part that way - by reading through them over the summer.

There are more than sixteen exercises in Persichetti's mirror studies. There are four sets of sixteen. So, I'll aim for three or so a day so as to make it through the entire book once a month over the summer, not once a week as I mistakenly thought the last time I posted!

Putting in two to three hours practice time each day this week feels a little like healthy exposure to the sun. I suppose one can overdo it a bit with practice and the sun, though, resulting in a general withering as a person in both cases.

Several events this week led me to a little reflection on our culture's emphasis on instant gratification. These happenings included discussion at a centering prayer meeting, lunch with my friend and colleague Paul Corrigan (check out his work on teaching and learning) , and a lovely concert by the Florida Southern Children's and Girls' Choirs.

It seems to me that the experience, aesthetic, and discipline of classical music are all tuned into process over time. The music comes from a world in which things were achieved more slowly and in a fashion that fostered an awareness of process. We participants in contemporary American culture have the luxury of living with little engagement with the importance of process to human endeavor and the temptation to focus a bit too much on always feeling entertained. I love that many in my parents' generation give us a living connection to a time when "spare time" was spent doing chores necessary for orderly living or with putting one's mind to solving a problem.

Our popular musical aesthetics, shaped by radio, require brevity, and because of that, more or less instantaneous appeal. But it's hard to take much of a musical journey in three minutes. The radio has also dictated that styles need to be pretty consistent dynamically, which eliminates one aspect of expressive potential. The result in the concert or worship setting is a few big dynamic moves that exist to give the listener a rush or a little impression of a large-scale formal move in spite of the absence of significant large-scale form.

I wonder if the next evolutionary step for humanity will be a step back from the engagement with process and higher-level thinking that help to distinguish us as a species. How ironic that such as step might be brought about by our ingenuity and technological progress. And so it is that one might become a passionate advocate for classical music as part of a larger mission to preserve what we believe it is to be human.

To my friends who are keeping the human focus on process in any musical styles, I applaud you!

A final  discovery: while listening to a beautiful performance of Franck's Panis Angelicus sung by a quartet of four young men (members of the Florida Southern Childrens' Choir) the genius of Franck's canon in this piece dawned on me.

Comeback - Summer 2013

For the last six years, I have spent a good bit of time on the theory and composition side of my career. Starting today, I'm coming out of retirement as a pianist. (I'm only 41, so it's not time to hang up my hat just yet. And I actually do have a hat.)

This summer, barring some unforseen events, I plan to get back into gear as a pianist. Perhaps blogging about the process will contribute to my momentum.

The repertoire:

a new program for the coming year which I hope to perform numerous times -
Bach Prelude and Fugue in E minor, WTC Book I
Mozart C Major Sonata K. 330
Some Messiaen work (suggestions anyone?)
and Schumann Fantasy

The Back and Mozart are old pieces and the Schumann and I casually dated a few times in the mid-90s.

Plus, a Rachmaninoff program to be performed with my excellent string colleagues, Ron and Annabelle Gardiner: Cello Sonata, Elegiac Trio, and Vocalise.

The plan:
Learn one movement of the Schumann and one of the other pieces each month -
May - Bach
June - Mozart
July/August - Messiaen

Today I put in a little time with four of Persichetti's mirror studies. There are 16 in all. I'm aiming at an average of four a day so as to get through the cycle once a week over the summer.

I also practiced sightreading today. I haven't really practiced sightreading regularly since I was a child. Today's selections included "El Albaicin" of Albeniz. There's some tricky whole-tone stuff in there.

I also listened to Rachmaninoff's tone-poem The Rock this morning and read the liner notes then spent some quiet time admiring nature. I feel like a student again!

Day 1, pretty good.

Bach!

It's a beautiful, quiet morning at Southeastern - roses blooming, birds singing . . .  At 8:00 A.M. there were four students in the coffee shop, and me, each of us quietly studying. Well, I was drinking coffee. They were studying.

Yesterday afternoon was a new and fun experience for me. Kathy and I performed as part of the Central Florida Bach Festival. The Festival is about forty years old and maintains a great choral tradition presenting works of Bach and others. Yesterday's offerings were a Buxtehude mass and Bach's Cantatas 78 and 131. I also played harpsichord for a trio sonata with my SEU colleagues Ron and Annabelle Gardiner. 

The special take-aways from the event were as follows.

1. Bach needs movement. A physically loosened-up performance seems to be in the right spirit, as far as I'm concerned. It's a spirit of joy.

2. Bach is incredibly rich. I have an idea of Bach's music based on the pieces I play and teach. I'm afraid these amount to a generalization of Baroque style. But there is so much more personality and variety to the actual music.

3. Bach is delightful. I loved watching the audience during the cantatas - heads bobbing to the beat, smiles, and eyes closed in serene contemplation (not sleep)!

New Testament Words 4

This week, I studied two words about how to be or not to be, but not in the Hamlet sense. These words remind me of my father because he was especially sensitive to the issues they raise and particularly ethical in these areas. The first word is about the right type of justice, while the second is about the wrong kind of ambition.

One who is EPIEIKES knows that there are times when that which is legally justified might be morally wrong. One with this concept of justice recognizes that the formal law is too general to address all the nuances or real life situations and that true justice will, at times, go beyond the letter of the law to apply gentleness, kindness, forbearance, and reasonableness.

In the realm of music, we also need to view the score with love, not literalism.

For example, a passage such as the last few bars of Waldstein's first movement may need a bit of pedal to create, as it were, a sense of an acoustic in which those joyful chords can reverberate. The score does not indicate pedal, but the instruments and the rooms and the times were different when Beethoven wrote this music. But the joy still speaks to us and should not be squashed by a dry delivery that could never support the depth of feeling the conclusion of the movement suggests.

Or, in playing Chopin's G minor prelude, we do best by seeing the veritable shark attack behind the notes on the score: chops and waves, jagged gestures, sudden change, relentless tumult, blinding uncertainty and a sense of peril - dealing justly with such a vision cannot be reduced to mere obedience to signs on a page. It requires the consideration of the whole person.

ERITHEIA involves contentiousness, political maneuvering, and in general, "applying earthly and human standards" to everything, as Barclay puts it. I imagine there is no need for me to provide personal examples here since you have probably already thought of several from your own life in music or the church.

As my dad would contend, the Church is Christ's body, and as such, it should not move according to what seems expedient from a purely human view or, for that matter, according to what passes for wisdom in the workaday world. The church is the place where another way is breaking into the world, a way that knows nothing of personal ambition, but instead, is motivated by service.

And I think that such altruism ought also to characterize the way we musicians go about our work as bearers of messages that are beautiful and good for the human race.

New Testament Words 3

KALOS

This is a word for all things that are good practically and morally as well as aesthetically. It connotes goodness that appears beautiful. According to Barclay, it is used in the Bible to describe the Temple, good fruit, fertile land, good seed sewn, fish caught, salt, wine, a generous measure, the Law, the name of Christ, and the word of God.

I think an important dimension is missing from our English versions of the Bible that simply call these things good. It seems that these things are also described as being a type of good that is wondrous and lovely.

In teaching and playing piano this week, I find myself focused on flow. Flow is good. It connects with life, movement, breath, and our listeners. A huge part of our performing involves maintaining an appropriate flow.

But along the path of that flow, we encounter things that are special. A harmonic event, for example, that catches our attention as something wondrous or a resolution that strikes us as lovely.

And so a program for performance springs from this word "kalos" - flow with specialness. In fact, when we focus on the flow, we engender a hearing of the music that brings those special moments to to the fore.

One of Chopin's Nocturnes sensitized me to these issues during a lesson this week. You can listen to Rubenstein playing it hear. The first section of this Nocturne is rather long and lacks contrast. So it needs a lot of flow (Chopin warned us by marking it "allegretto,") and the performer needs to be careful only to tak extra time at the most special moments, otherwise we lose a sense of movement, direction, phrase, and even of which things are special. Without attention to the piece's propulsion, a performance of it can easily devolve into a lovely but shapeless roll of musical wallpaper.

Working on the first movement of Beethoven's "Waldstein" Sonata also made me think a lot about flow. To play or hear the piece well is to have an exhilerating experince of momentum. Perhaps it's a lot like skiing. I don't know for sure, since I'm not a skier. But as you play the piece you have the sense of moving rapidly over a slick terrain, and sometimes, you even become airborn. And balance is keep on those sharp switchbacks. Listen for yourself: Solomon playing Waldstein I.

New Testament Words 2

The last two weeks I tried to tackle Barclay's chapter on the word "agape." The chapter includes other Greek words for love and explains why those other words could not be appropriated by the New Testament writers for the love of God and the love to which we are called by God: the other words were more related to involuntary feelings, connoted too much of an emphasis on warmth and passions, and were too limited to bear the weight and express the breadth of the love the writers sought to convey.

This agape love involves choice and action, and is an engagement of the whole being. It is, as Barclay puts it, a stance of "unquenchable goodwill."

This grand concept has profound implications for all that we do as artists and teachers around the piano. Piano playing itself is an engagement of the whole person, and the arts often tend towards an altruistic attitude of ever-refreshed goodwill.

In last week's piano pedagogy class, we explored theories of how learning happens. We also reflected upon our own good and bad experiences with teachers. We explored the necessity of sensitivity on the part of the teacher and the very negative power of criticism, especially in the early years of study. One student noted that her entire sense of self as a musician as well as her feelings about music making in any given period of her life seemed to depend almost entirely on her teacher's attitude towards her and the teacher's way of modeling a life in music.

As I taught private piano lessons these two weeks with a heightened regarding for the whole persons I was encountering and hoping to help develop, many doors seemed to open for my students and me.

With one student, I sensed a lack of calm, a diminished ability to quiet himself before a task. Instead of focusing on positive action, he was pouring valuable energy into creating anxiety about whether or not he would achieve the task at hand without messing up. We sought ways in which he could teach himself internal cues and judgement processes with greater intentionality so as to keep his mind on track in practice and performance. A lack of internal calm, by the way, seems typical of most of us, especially when we get alone with the piano.

Another student confessed the revelation that we are never learning "just piano" but that each discipline studied in the college setting connects with everything else.

With a couple of other students who were perhaps a little under-prepared, I pursued their interests and also used the lesson time to practice with them, leading them through a working method they can use on their own. One of these played for me a bit of a hymn in his own style. Then we analyzed his harmonization and voicing together and learned from each other terminology and concepts. This paved the way for better question asking on his part and a growing relationship between us.

In retrospect,  there were no tedious times in these weeks' lessons. It all felt pretty authentic to me and I was most pleased with the sense that valuable work was being done in every meeting.

Reflecting back on these experiences and the sharing in pedagogy class, it seems that all of those good learning theories can somehow be summed up in agape.

Two postscripts:

1. An idea for Christian piano instructors: while educators looking to relate well to the whole person might seek insight from I.Q. and personality tests, what if we approached our students more through spirituality? For example, it seems that practicing quiet or disciplined silence ourselves can, over time, serve as a catalyst for addressing the things that trouble our students' spirits. Another possibility - instead of using something like of Myers-Briggs, or just going on instinct, what about a spiritual gifts inventory as a starting point for understanding each student's unique musicality?

2. Teaching a more eclectic repertoire (which could be an agape-ish expression) can lead to some interesting juxtapositions that bring about interesting imagery, characterizations, and so forth. One student played Zez Confrey's Kitten on the Keys and Chopin's G Minor Prelude in the same lesson this week. Click here for Lincoln Mayorga talking about and playing "Kitten on the Keys" and click here for Dr. Walden Hughes playing the Chopin prelude.

I've never put these two pieces together in the same thought before, but it turns out that there are some technical similarities due to their layout on the keyboard. But the more interesting thing is the radical difference in affect between the two pieces despite the few technical similarities. Next to "Kitten on the Keys," the Chopin sounds more like Poe's "The Black Cat." 

New Testament Words 1

As I mentioned in my last post, I am currently reading a book on New Testament words and seeking some meaningful and creative outcome as I take those words into my piano studio. The book is William Barclay's New Testament Words.

This week, I became more deeply aware of the words charisma and ekklesia, words for God's free gifts  and God's called assembly, the church. I also became acquainted with the words diatheke and eilikrineia.

Diatheke is word used of covenants but it connotes something more like a will in that it is entered into on the terms of one of the parties, not both. It occurs to me that the musical score is a little like this. Its author is usually beyond our reach, often deceased, so it is a will of sorts. It is ultimately some sort of expression of the composer's intentions regardless of my ability to discern or interpret them and whether or not I bring an agenda of my own to the enterprise. Perhaps this calls for an adjustment of my attitude to keep in mind the real person behind the notes I play and to make more room for their presence in my study and music making.

Eilikrineia is word for purity. It is accompanied by images of being shaken through a sieve and being brought out into the light to be judged.

In one lesson this week a student brought in Liszt's famous C-Sharp Minor Hungarian Rhapsody. The piece is in two large sections, the first of which sets the dramatic tone and introduces the materials explored in the other. The second section begins with a mysterious dance tune which Liszt varies kaleidoscopically and grows to monumental proportions. Having read of eilikrineia, it seemed to me that this little theme was a bit like a shiny object glimpsed in the dim light of a tent at market that is then brought out into the open to reveal its truly spectacular qualities under intense sunlight. Here's a link to a brilliant performance with a film of the musical score timed so you can follow it as you listen. The portion I am referencing begins at 4:38. Marc-Andre Hamelin playing Liszt 's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2.

On my own in the studio, eilikineia shed some light on the process of practicing. I'm practicing music from the Parthenia these days. The Parthenia is an anthology of English keyboard music compiled in 1611. I think it's the oldest stuff I've played on piano. At the beginning of the process, the structure and flow of the music was a bit of a mystery to me. These are not 18th century preludes and fugues. These are 17th century preludes and pavanes and galliards. Day by day, I practice them and try to hear them clearly. Over time, I have started to see how they are organized and have developed some intentions of my own about how to play the overlapping contrapuntal lines that fill these dance movements. I've also noticed that practicing William Byrd can be mildly addictive. Here's a link to a little something Stokowski did with one of these pieces a pavane, Earl of Salisbury.

In more general terms, the effort of disciplined practicing (for a sort of grown-up musician) is about shedding more and more light on one's technique and interpretive grasp, and the structure of the music itself.

Pianists and Other Friends

Strange fog and eerie sunlight this morning in Lakeland - it was like driving through a cloud, or a Turner painting. This afternoon, non-stop diagonal mist.

Feeling tired, I left school a little early. I saw a colleague in the parking lot who was doing the same. Now, with a comforting cup of tea in hand, I'm contemplating and resonating with all my middle-aged friends near and far who struggle with energy, health, beauracracy, family issues, anxiety, etc. on afternoons like this. Know I prayed for you today, friends.

Feeling scattered, it occurs to me how important a schedule can be in times like these. I have some time for practicing, composing, correspondence, study . . . but if I don't schedule when I will do them, I have a hard time settling down and really focusing.

The fall was a sketchy blogging time for me. I don't k now what happened to November. Maybe I should have scheduled blogging. But the spring semester should find me blogging about once a week regarding a new little project. In an effort to spiritually enliven my imagination and discipline when it comes to teaching piano lessons, I'm reading a book on biblical words and trying to find some connections between these words and what happens in my studio. I'll start reporting tomorrow.

Another topic (an idea I don't want to lose track of so I'm writing about it now) is a certain perspective on pianism that clicked for me over the Christmas break.

I've done a lot of work as utility pianist or pianist-on-call the last few years and reflecting on what that has done to my pianism led me to think of how pianists might fit into various classifications. Beware. Broad generalizations follow.

What do I mean by utility or pianist-on-call? I mean the keyboardist in a community (a church, school, etc.) who catches the loose ends. There's lots of piano work to be done in these institutions - a little musical theater coaching here, accompaniment for a viola student there, a choral anthem here, an orchestral piano part there, and so forth. It's fun to be needed, but the danger is this: you spend a lot of time playing music that is well within your abilities and doing so with little preparation. If this becomes your primary diet for several years, it will change who you are in ways you might not like.

In addition to the utility pianist, there is the concert pianist. For my own classification on this one occasion, I will define that in a very specific way. The concert pianist is about the concert, about performance.

Another possibility, which for want of a better term I will call the classical pianist, is the pianist whose focus is the poetry of piano playing. Of course this potry involves performance, and performance involves poetry. What I am noting is a difference in focus or degree. It seems to me that many pianists of what I am calling the classical type gravitate toward college jobs where their tendency toward reflective work is appreciated.

I used to be the concert pianist type. I was all about that magical, powerful moment in which the audience is affected. These days, I'm a little more of the classical type and seek to bring my audience and community some awareness of the beauty and tradition that I am trying to perpetuate and develop.

Then there is the jazz pianist who is very much a composer but also a performer.

And of course, there are all those hard-working musicians who use pianistic skills for specific tasks  which doen't necessarily require continuing advancement of those skills. This might include people like the school music teacher or the accompanist at church.

My descriptions should not be read as value judgements but as recognitions of dynamics, requirements ot different types of work, and differences of ever-evolvimg personalities.

I should go practice.