Chopin, Energy

This year marks the bicentennial of Chopin's birth. I've been commemorating this a bit by listening to some Chopin and reading Alan Walker's excellent speech about Chopin that was recently printed in the MTNA's journal. In the speech, he puts much of the well-known information and anecdotes about Chopin's life in a broader context and provides his own insights into the importance of Chopin's achievements.

In reading, I was reminded of Chopin's often-referenced idea that a pianist need not work for the equalization of his or her fingers at the keyboard but that we should explore and use the individual strengths and qualities of our fingers as though they were the varied voices of a choir. I don't think this means Chopin would have played unevenly, and it is clear that he had his own idiosyncratic approach to fingering choices. As I ponder the implications of his statement at the piano, it occurs to me that embracing something like his approach without losing the evenness of our playing may mean adjusting our overall sound concept at times so that the stronger fingers find a way to fit with the weak.

On a different topic, I've been contemplating music as involving the flow of energy. As we play, we ride the energy or at least try not to impede its flow. This is another way of saying that we look to play the longest line we can hear. Sometimes being sensitized to this flow of energy and managing it may really take something out of us in terms of concentration and personal investment. On the other hand, it seems like listening to music ought to give us energy as we receive that flow. It's probably really worthwhile for those of us who perform music to differentiate between the experiences of performing and listening and to prepare ourselves for each activity specifically.

Father

My father would have turned 78 yesterday. That means he passed away a little over eight years ago. It's very hard to believe it's been that long.



Last night at choir practice we were rehearsing the old American tune "Hark! I Hear the Harps Eternal." Kathy said we are to sing it on All Saints Day.

Part of the text of "Hark! I Hear..." is:
"Souls have crossed before me saintly
to the land of perfect rest
and I hear them singing faintly
in the mansions of the blest."

That first line made me think of my father. Over the years, my mother highlighted his integrity in conversations with me by commenting on aspects of his personality:
"He doesn't have an ulterior bone in his body."
"One thing your father can't stand for is people being mistreated."



My father loved music, especially the music of the church. The song "It Is No Secret" by Stuart Hamblin played a crucial role in his call to ministry. One of his favorite hymns was "When Morning Guilds the Skies." He chose that as a congregational hymn for many of the worship services he planned.

He grew up in the heyday of the big bands. He really knew the history and output of Benny Goodman and Harry James. He also loved the crooners like Dick Haymes. He even wrote and recorded a ballad on a couple of occasions. It's called "The Moonlight and You" and it sounds a little Glenn Miller-esque. I have the 45s.



In terms of classical music, certain works that I played really captured his imagination:

Debussy . . .la cathedral engloutie

Paganini-Liszt E Major Etude

Ginastera Sonata, First Movement

Liszt Dante Sonata


He liked the image of me as a happy young musician playing the opening theme of Kabalevsky's Youth Concerto.

Debussy First Arabesque was a bit of theme for us - a little bit nostalgic - as it was theme music for a short segement about astronomy that appeared on Saturday TV. After I went away to college, he would sometimes hear it and think of how he and I had often looked at the stars together when I was still living at home.

He also identified deeply and personally with the beginning of Rachmaninoff Second Piano Concerto. In those opening bars he heard the struggle of a hero and his family facing the stormy opposition of the world and fate.



The second movement of Beethoven Sonata Op. 111 conjures up in my mind my father on his hospital bed in our living room during his last summer. During his mostly unconscious last days it was as though his soul was lingering in the room - not necessarily in his body - maybe up near the ceiling. It is that sensibilty that I hear in the Beethoven: sad, beautiful, questioning, floating, and all about the essence of human identity and existence.



Dad and I were good friends.
Maybe I'll learn Op. 111 for him one of these years.