These days, I am having the privilege and fun of supporting a piano student in his first serious efforts at engaging with Mozart. He has played two or three Beethoven sonatas and done so rather well. A couple of lessons into his Mozart experience, he initiated a thoughtful conversation about how playing Mozart is distinctly different from playing Beethoven.
In Beethoven, there are many details to which the pianist must constantly pay attention. The type of change that occurs in the music is characterized by many different types of detail that create an expressive type of beauty from one moment to the next. The first movement of the Pathetique Sonata is a clear example of this.
The beauty of Mozart, on the other hand, is a matter of aesthetics - a matter of pattern, balance, and proportion. (Dr. Kaplinsky taught me this comparison many years ago.) What this means for the pianist is consistent emphasis on clarity and phrasing. This requires getting your ears around all the turns of Mozart's melodies and disciplining your hands and feet so that you can keep your listeners deftly moving along those melodies, too. Solomon's playing of K. 576 gives an idea of this.
Playing either composers' music is demanding. In Beethoven, you have to keep up with the pace of change. And you're performance will never rise to the level of the goodness of the music. In Mozart, you have to stay in that focused Mozart mode I just described. It has been likened unto an act of musical hygiene. Your playing of Mozart will reveal, pretty much in every moment of the performance, your commitment to good planning, your responsiveness, your sense of legato, and your ability and willingness to serve the composer by applying the parts of your brain and heart his music requires. Exposure in the pure light of Mozart's genius will illuminate the true state of your musicianship.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Diversity
Good afternoon. My name is Charles Hulin and I am the chair
of the Department of Music at Southeastern University. On behalf of the
students and faculty whose performances you are about to hear, I would like to thank
the Lake Wales Arts Council and Polk State College for the invitation and the
opportunity to be heard.
As you can see from the printed program, the emphasis of our
concert is on the power of music to move us as an expression of diversity. As an
aspect of cultures around the globe, music reminds us of what we share and of
how we differ. Sometimes this delights us, and sometimes it distresses us. With
that said, I would like to take a few moments to frame our time together.
We come to you as members of an Assemblies of God institution,
a Pentecostal school. As such, we hold dear the belief that on the birthday of the
Church, diverse peoples were gathered from the far corners of the known world
and the Holy Spirit poured out rich gifts upon them. Diversity has been a key
element of our faith from its very inception.
Beyond this religious conviction, we celebrate the role
diversity has played in making the United States a great nation. Whether we
assimilate in the proverbial melting pot or maintain customs of our home
cultures as ingredients in a tremendous salad bowl, we continue to fulfill our
original motto, “Out of many, one.”
With these things in mind, we will begin today’s concert
with music from the first Americans as transcribed and transformed into piano
pieces by Arthur Farwell who was a pioneer in the idea of American music. We will
follow that prelude with a series of songs that spans cultures and continents
while witnessing to universal experiences of love. We will conclude our first
half with fresh sounds of percussion that have potential to lead us beyond the
words that sometimes limit our thinking.
After intermission, we will shift our focus to the sounds of
strings with a work which the Czech composer, Antonin Dvorak, dedicated to his
own country. Then, we will return to American soil as my friend and colleague,
Emile Hawkins, recites words of Martin Luther King, words that are relevant to
all of us since, as author Chris Sunami writes, “King . . . saved the
nation as a whole . . . (by charting) a peaceful way forward from an
intolerable situation (that was) descending into violence.” I invite you to
reconsider that peaceful way forward as you listen to the musical reflection
that follows, a reflection based on the spiritual “Deep River.”
Finally, we will turn to the
quintessential American musical style. It was here in the complexity of our social
landscape that the cultures of Africa and Europe came together to create jazz. That
intermingling, that diversity, has changed and invigorated music the world
over.
Thank you again for this opportunity.
It is our prayer that you are inspired by these musical offerings.
Diversity - A Celebration of the Power of Music to Move Us
Impressions of the Wa-Wan Ceremony of the Omahas Arthur Farwell
Receiving
the Messenger
Raising
the Pipes
Allqamari Kanki! Quechua Song
The
singer compares her love to a dove.
Amor . . . Dolor Rosa
Mercedes Ayarza de Morales
The
brokenhearted singer sends her love away.
“Lenski’s Aria” from Eugene Onegin Pyotr
Tchaikovsky
Of
the eve of duel, Lenski sings to his wife of their life together.
Red Bean Song Xue’an Liu
The singer considers a token of love.
Under the Silver Moonlight Chinese Folk Song
The
singer wonders where her love is hiding.
“Sevillana” from Don Cesar de Bazan Jules Massenet
Maritana,
a street singer, celebrates the beauty of Seville.
Pure Imagination Leslie
Bricusse & Anthony Newley
Alex Stopa,
arranger
Gymnopédie No. 1 Erik Satie
(vibraphone)
INTERMISSION
Quintet in G major, Op. 77 Antonin Dvorak
Allegro
con fuoco
“I Have a Dream” Speech Words of Dr. Martin Luther King
Jr.
Psalm of Brotherhood Charles Hulin
A
musical memorial to King, based on the spiritual, “Deep River.”
Jazz Selections Southeastern University Jazz Combo
Take the A Train, My Funny Valentine, St. Thomas
Monday, February 09, 2015
First Beethoven
Every classical music blogger ought to write at least one Beethoven post a year. This is mine.
For fun, I did a search of my blog and discovered that I've managed to write several most years since 2008. The only exception was 2010 when I appear not to have mentioned Beethoven at all although I did lots of blogging.
Here's the series of those Beethoven posts, just in case someone (other than me) wants to peruse them.
Last week, I had the great privilege of introducing a piano student to the world of playing Beethoven. This excellent student had not yet played any Beethoven and wanted to. Opus 109 had appealed to her but we agreed it probably wasn't the best first Beethoven work to try to play.
Our discussion of Beethoven turned to the attitude with which it should be performed. In general, the pianist needs to realize that this music comes from an overall environment of struggle and effort that gives it its strength. In addition, it should engender a mood of profound reflection, deep understanding, and sympathy typical of German Romanticism.
Its greatness is not primarily in the beauty of its melodies, the novelty of its harmonies, or the compelling quality of its rhythms. No, as Bernstein put it, its greatness springs from its sense of inevitability.
This is not to say that Beethoven was not a fine melodist, a harmonic genius, or a composer of highly propulsive gestures. All those things are true, but they are so well-integrated into the intention of the music that they rarely draw attention to themselves.
Indeed, Beethoven's music strikes us as having only one way of existing and that is as he composed it. The lines are so incisive and the textures so clear that there's never a moment when the listener can really imagine an equally likely alternative path for the music to follow. (A particularly muddily textured passage by Arthur Farwell was also on the music rack as we discussed the first two pages of Beethoven's "Pastorale" Sonata. We could both imagine several other options for Farwell's measures - measures that Beethoven would never had written.)
As Dr. Falby taught back at Peabody, Beethoven's music is incredibly end-oriented. From its first note, it lets us know it's on its way to its ending. At any moment in the music, you can, without question, tell which way it's going and how far it is to home. This focus, which is so very western, makes the music singularly arresting and affecting, and it powered Beethoven's works to the very highest ranks of the canon.
For fun, I did a search of my blog and discovered that I've managed to write several most years since 2008. The only exception was 2010 when I appear not to have mentioned Beethoven at all although I did lots of blogging.
Here's the series of those Beethoven posts, just in case someone (other than me) wants to peruse them.
Last week, I had the great privilege of introducing a piano student to the world of playing Beethoven. This excellent student had not yet played any Beethoven and wanted to. Opus 109 had appealed to her but we agreed it probably wasn't the best first Beethoven work to try to play.
Our discussion of Beethoven turned to the attitude with which it should be performed. In general, the pianist needs to realize that this music comes from an overall environment of struggle and effort that gives it its strength. In addition, it should engender a mood of profound reflection, deep understanding, and sympathy typical of German Romanticism.
Its greatness is not primarily in the beauty of its melodies, the novelty of its harmonies, or the compelling quality of its rhythms. No, as Bernstein put it, its greatness springs from its sense of inevitability.
This is not to say that Beethoven was not a fine melodist, a harmonic genius, or a composer of highly propulsive gestures. All those things are true, but they are so well-integrated into the intention of the music that they rarely draw attention to themselves.
Indeed, Beethoven's music strikes us as having only one way of existing and that is as he composed it. The lines are so incisive and the textures so clear that there's never a moment when the listener can really imagine an equally likely alternative path for the music to follow. (A particularly muddily textured passage by Arthur Farwell was also on the music rack as we discussed the first two pages of Beethoven's "Pastorale" Sonata. We could both imagine several other options for Farwell's measures - measures that Beethoven would never had written.)
As Dr. Falby taught back at Peabody, Beethoven's music is incredibly end-oriented. From its first note, it lets us know it's on its way to its ending. At any moment in the music, you can, without question, tell which way it's going and how far it is to home. This focus, which is so very western, makes the music singularly arresting and affecting, and it powered Beethoven's works to the very highest ranks of the canon.
Sunday, February 01, 2015
Spiritus
Hands are a bit tired and a concert is coming
but I want to get these thoughts out tonight.
Spiritus -
our trio's name.
A good name for a trio
and a trio at a Pentecostal school in particular.
Why?
Our music and our faith are conversations.
We listen for each other
and for the Spirit.
That said,
I now consider music -
that so-called "universal language."
In all honesty,
music has some of the aspects of language
and lacks some of the others.
Within a given culture,
it communicates some things pretty well.
Adverbs,
for instance,
but it's not so good at nouns.
Really,
music is universal like language is universal.
We all have some.
But it's no Esperanto.
And as it turns out,
neither is Esperanto.
Last Saturday,
we played our program for the first time.
The evening's masterwork:
Mendelssohn C Minor.
I was well-behaved.
Basically,
I whispered politely
so my very fine string colleagues could converse unimpeded.
Whispering in this context is pretty good.
It says you listen.
It says you embrace being part of a community.
Whispering is also tricky.
You have to always listen for the cello.
And it helps if your violinist is careful not to get too quiet.
You have to keep decrescendoing.
You have to find opportunities to decrease,
opportunities you would never notice in solo playing.
And you have to pedal carefully.
Better said,
you mostly have to not pedal.
When you do pedal,
you have to pedal creatively.
Add just a bit when you want a swell
but don't play louder with your hands.
Or hold the notes longer in your left hand
but play the right hand staccato
for a combination of clarity and sustaining.
(In that situation,
your left hand is the pedal.)
Or pedal short segments after beats
to tie things together without building up lots of sound
so your colleagues won't be drowned.
Next time around (Monday night)
I want to contribute a bit more.
Mendelssohn deserves it
and I would like it.
In that music "speaks" to us,
it is a language.
And we can always learn to speak it better.
I have a heart language.
I'm speaking it when I play my own compositions.
I don't have many questions about how they should be played.
And if I do,
it's probably that I haven't yet made up my mind
about how I want something to sound.
I've also explored that big language group "classical" for a long time.
A lot of its words and phrases feel almost as familiar as a mother tongue.
But it is,
as I just said,
a big language group.
In Brahmsese and Schumannian and Mendelssohnglish
the same sounds are employed in different ways
implying subtle differences of meaning.
As students
and professionals
we spend a lot of time learning vocabulary lists:
the right notes and effective technique.
Even if we master those,
we're not yet dealing with grammar.
Grammar involves functions and purposes:
What goes with what?
What's the trajectory of the line?
Is this a beginning or an ending,
a fulfillment of expectations or a surprise?
Is excitement building or is energy waning?
And to all of the above - why and how?
Here's where music theory meets the road.
Analysis lets you know all of these things.
Once you have some good ideas about them,
your performances are likely to make sense.
You'll be speaking the language
and you'll be understood.
But there will still be tell-tale signs
that you're not a native speaker.
A funny accent always lets people know
you're not from around here.
Perhaps your accent adds a bit of charm,
but you'll still be pegged as an outsider.
Most likely,
for the sake of some sort of authenticity,
you'll want to learn to inflect the sounds
with a greater sensitivity to the richness of the language.
How do you do that?
You listen a lot.
You listen as you practice.
And you listen to your instincts
as you listen to what's coming from the instrument.
You'll discover that
you're doing the wrong things
or too much of the right things.
But with lots of time and attention,
you'll find lovely ways of shaping the music
that reveal its true grace and joy.
That's what I want.
but I want to get these thoughts out tonight.
Spiritus -
our trio's name.
A good name for a trio
and a trio at a Pentecostal school in particular.
Why?
Our music and our faith are conversations.
We listen for each other
and for the Spirit.
That said,
I now consider music -
that so-called "universal language."
In all honesty,
music has some of the aspects of language
and lacks some of the others.
Within a given culture,
it communicates some things pretty well.
Adverbs,
for instance,
but it's not so good at nouns.
Really,
music is universal like language is universal.
We all have some.
But it's no Esperanto.
And as it turns out,
neither is Esperanto.
Last Saturday,
we played our program for the first time.
The evening's masterwork:
Mendelssohn C Minor.
I was well-behaved.
Basically,
I whispered politely
so my very fine string colleagues could converse unimpeded.
Whispering in this context is pretty good.
It says you listen.
It says you embrace being part of a community.
Whispering is also tricky.
You have to always listen for the cello.
And it helps if your violinist is careful not to get too quiet.
You have to keep decrescendoing.
You have to find opportunities to decrease,
opportunities you would never notice in solo playing.
And you have to pedal carefully.
Better said,
you mostly have to not pedal.
When you do pedal,
you have to pedal creatively.
Add just a bit when you want a swell
but don't play louder with your hands.
Or hold the notes longer in your left hand
but play the right hand staccato
for a combination of clarity and sustaining.
(In that situation,
your left hand is the pedal.)
Or pedal short segments after beats
to tie things together without building up lots of sound
so your colleagues won't be drowned.
Next time around (Monday night)
I want to contribute a bit more.
Mendelssohn deserves it
and I would like it.
In that music "speaks" to us,
it is a language.
And we can always learn to speak it better.
I have a heart language.
I'm speaking it when I play my own compositions.
I don't have many questions about how they should be played.
And if I do,
it's probably that I haven't yet made up my mind
about how I want something to sound.
I've also explored that big language group "classical" for a long time.
A lot of its words and phrases feel almost as familiar as a mother tongue.
But it is,
as I just said,
a big language group.
In Brahmsese and Schumannian and Mendelssohnglish
the same sounds are employed in different ways
implying subtle differences of meaning.
As students
and professionals
we spend a lot of time learning vocabulary lists:
the right notes and effective technique.
Even if we master those,
we're not yet dealing with grammar.
Grammar involves functions and purposes:
What goes with what?
What's the trajectory of the line?
Is this a beginning or an ending,
a fulfillment of expectations or a surprise?
Is excitement building or is energy waning?
And to all of the above - why and how?
Here's where music theory meets the road.
Analysis lets you know all of these things.
Once you have some good ideas about them,
your performances are likely to make sense.
You'll be speaking the language
and you'll be understood.
But there will still be tell-tale signs
that you're not a native speaker.
A funny accent always lets people know
you're not from around here.
Perhaps your accent adds a bit of charm,
but you'll still be pegged as an outsider.
Most likely,
for the sake of some sort of authenticity,
you'll want to learn to inflect the sounds
with a greater sensitivity to the richness of the language.
How do you do that?
You listen a lot.
You listen as you practice.
And you listen to your instincts
as you listen to what's coming from the instrument.
You'll discover that
you're doing the wrong things
or too much of the right things.
But with lots of time and attention,
you'll find lovely ways of shaping the music
that reveal its true grace and joy.
That's what I want.
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