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.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Thursday, January 17, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Practicing
Yesterday, a piano student asked an excellent question:
How should one practice when it is a sporadic thing such as when one goes home to visit family during a holiday from school?
I have several answers and I need to take them to heart myself.
1. The problem might be mental. If you only have a few minutes here and there to practice, getting in practicing mode may be hard to do because of concentration issues. Start the day with a writing session of ten to fifteen minutes. Write down whatever is on your mind. This isn't journaling, it's mental house cleaning. Julia Cameron suggests this in The Artist's Way, and it's what broke my own years-long creative block about composing. (Mark Lackey, thank you for that book!)
2. Recognize that practicing is an extension of your "quiet time." Your quiet time helps you care of yourself emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. I almost always fair better in these areas when I've gotten some practice in.
3. Tell your family and friends you need to practice. You're likely to be the only one in your situation who will make sure you practice. Someone is pushing you to do almost everything else in life, but you're the only one who will see that the practicing gets done. Say "no" to something every day or every fews days so you develop the discipline of sacrificing at least a little for your art.
4. Remember that the you want to share from the core of your life through music, not from the periphery. You want to offer a good quality gift that reflects time and thought and even a little sacrifice, not something patched together in spare moments. Having a consistent routine as you approach a recital also builds a platform of stability you would not have otherwise. You want to play from that type of place so as to do right by your talent.
5. Perhaps you should rephrase the question one often gets "How many hours a day do you practice?" as "In how many of the hours of the day do you practice?" While establishing two or three hours in a row for focused work is great for playing from the core, practicing some during many hours of the day might dramatically alter your consciousness and help you really discover who you are as a pianist. What if practicing in this way became your normal pattern of being and your mind was somehow always working on your repertoire and technique and interpretation? Then, the feeling wouldn't be that of finding a few minutes to practice here and there. Instead, your perspective would be more like sneaking in a little non-practice every now and then. You might not be able to maintain this for a long time, but it's a good experiement and procedure for learning every now and then.
6. All of this talk about sacrifices and making music from the core of one's life speaks to me of memorization. Memorizing repertoire can be a way of getting a deeper engagement with a work, making it part of yourself, and being able to express the importance it has for you with greater urgency. Those like myself who don't feel compelled to memorize everything we play should beware of becoming complacent about our actual performances. I love Robert Weirich's brilliant idea that we are playing by heart meaning that we are putting our hearts into understanding and playing the music beautifully, not burning up all our time memorizing the music. The pitfall in adopting this superb idea is feeling enlightened and relieved but not doing the work of really interpreting fully and executing worthily. Memorized or not, that's what we need to achieve through practice: thorough muscianship expressed through our specific talents. How can that really be accomplished on a diet of sporadic engagement?
How should one practice when it is a sporadic thing such as when one goes home to visit family during a holiday from school?
I have several answers and I need to take them to heart myself.
1. The problem might be mental. If you only have a few minutes here and there to practice, getting in practicing mode may be hard to do because of concentration issues. Start the day with a writing session of ten to fifteen minutes. Write down whatever is on your mind. This isn't journaling, it's mental house cleaning. Julia Cameron suggests this in The Artist's Way, and it's what broke my own years-long creative block about composing. (Mark Lackey, thank you for that book!)
2. Recognize that practicing is an extension of your "quiet time." Your quiet time helps you care of yourself emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. I almost always fair better in these areas when I've gotten some practice in.
3. Tell your family and friends you need to practice. You're likely to be the only one in your situation who will make sure you practice. Someone is pushing you to do almost everything else in life, but you're the only one who will see that the practicing gets done. Say "no" to something every day or every fews days so you develop the discipline of sacrificing at least a little for your art.
4. Remember that the you want to share from the core of your life through music, not from the periphery. You want to offer a good quality gift that reflects time and thought and even a little sacrifice, not something patched together in spare moments. Having a consistent routine as you approach a recital also builds a platform of stability you would not have otherwise. You want to play from that type of place so as to do right by your talent.
5. Perhaps you should rephrase the question one often gets "How many hours a day do you practice?" as "In how many of the hours of the day do you practice?" While establishing two or three hours in a row for focused work is great for playing from the core, practicing some during many hours of the day might dramatically alter your consciousness and help you really discover who you are as a pianist. What if practicing in this way became your normal pattern of being and your mind was somehow always working on your repertoire and technique and interpretation? Then, the feeling wouldn't be that of finding a few minutes to practice here and there. Instead, your perspective would be more like sneaking in a little non-practice every now and then. You might not be able to maintain this for a long time, but it's a good experiement and procedure for learning every now and then.
6. All of this talk about sacrifices and making music from the core of one's life speaks to me of memorization. Memorizing repertoire can be a way of getting a deeper engagement with a work, making it part of yourself, and being able to express the importance it has for you with greater urgency. Those like myself who don't feel compelled to memorize everything we play should beware of becoming complacent about our actual performances. I love Robert Weirich's brilliant idea that we are playing by heart meaning that we are putting our hearts into understanding and playing the music beautifully, not burning up all our time memorizing the music. The pitfall in adopting this superb idea is feeling enlightened and relieved but not doing the work of really interpreting fully and executing worthily. Memorized or not, that's what we need to achieve through practice: thorough muscianship expressed through our specific talents. How can that really be accomplished on a diet of sporadic engagement?
Monday, December 17, 2012
Christmas 2012
Inundated by press reports regarding the shootings in Connecticut, I realize that this particular holiday season will always be remembered because of this tragedy. So many friends in education and the arts are stunned and shaken.
Yesterday was Joy Sunday in the season of Advent. We attempted to remember the big cycle of the church year to which we relate that somehow provides a context for whatever events are happening on any given day in any given year. Trying to sing "Joy to the World" at this time seemed to be one of the deeper faith experiences of recent days. Two words from this Sunday resonate in my mind. My pastor, Tim Sizemore of Church in the Meadows, acknowledged the ongoing question that many ask in times of suffering: Where is God in all of this? Tim reminded us that God was exactly where God has been everyday - in the lives and presence of the teachers, administrators, and janitorial staff who were caring for those children day in and day out.
Another pastor, whose name and church I missed, was briefly interviewed on a Tampa television station. He stated "Sometimes, God does not give us the answers because God is the answer."
While my own faith helps me cope, I would also love to hear from people with other worldviews as to how they understand and deal with such events. Would that the mainstream pmedia could demonstrate a bit more E PLURIBUS UNUM spirit and interview leaders of other traditions for the good of our national culture.
Yesterday was Joy Sunday in the season of Advent. We attempted to remember the big cycle of the church year to which we relate that somehow provides a context for whatever events are happening on any given day in any given year. Trying to sing "Joy to the World" at this time seemed to be one of the deeper faith experiences of recent days. Two words from this Sunday resonate in my mind. My pastor, Tim Sizemore of Church in the Meadows, acknowledged the ongoing question that many ask in times of suffering: Where is God in all of this? Tim reminded us that God was exactly where God has been everyday - in the lives and presence of the teachers, administrators, and janitorial staff who were caring for those children day in and day out.
Another pastor, whose name and church I missed, was briefly interviewed on a Tampa television station. He stated "Sometimes, God does not give us the answers because God is the answer."
While my own faith helps me cope, I would also love to hear from people with other worldviews as to how they understand and deal with such events. Would that the mainstream pmedia could demonstrate a bit more E PLURIBUS UNUM spirit and interview leaders of other traditions for the good of our national culture.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Important Post (at least it seems important to me)
The new piano curriculum we're using at SEU organizes each class meeting as a meditation or a liturgy or a practice - choose your favorite word. The meditation follows a basic outline:
preparation
encounter
reflection
I've started using this as a way to organize the diverse things that happen in our worship services at Church in the Meadows. I'm also using the ordering to understand my own journey through days and weeks.
It's a very helpful way of analyzing one's musical life, as well. For example, consider what the event is you are to be playing. That's the encounter. Now, what preparation is appropriate for that encounter. What type of practicing do you need to do? What sort of physical arrangements need to be made: transportation of an instrument? best location of instrument? (Harpsichord needs to be close to the conductor. I'm learning!)
Then, when it's all over, reflection is very important, but easily neglected. You need time following the event to reflect, journal, and maybe to communicate with others about its aspects. I often fail to plan time for that follow-through.
Now, I must go do some follow-through. Then, some more preparation.
preparation
encounter
reflection
I've started using this as a way to organize the diverse things that happen in our worship services at Church in the Meadows. I'm also using the ordering to understand my own journey through days and weeks.
It's a very helpful way of analyzing one's musical life, as well. For example, consider what the event is you are to be playing. That's the encounter. Now, what preparation is appropriate for that encounter. What type of practicing do you need to do? What sort of physical arrangements need to be made: transportation of an instrument? best location of instrument? (Harpsichord needs to be close to the conductor. I'm learning!)
Then, when it's all over, reflection is very important, but easily neglected. You need time following the event to reflect, journal, and maybe to communicate with others about its aspects. I often fail to plan time for that follow-through.
Now, I must go do some follow-through. Then, some more preparation.
Friday, October 05, 2012
Sunday, September 30, 2012
How to Play Chopin, also, maybe, How to Listen to Chopin
Here's everything you need to know about how to play Chopin. Not really, but it's a pretty good start.
1. Chopin loved opera, particularly opera of the bel canto variety. Listen to Joan Sutherland. Notice how each note sounds like a unique, beautifully-colored gem in a bejeweled tiara. Also, realize some notes are melodic and others are ornamental. Play that way.
2. Chopin was a master melodist and a master harmonist. Often, the masterful melodies depend on the masterful harmonies. But be sure to notice when the mastery is more melodic or more harmonic and respond accordingly.
3. Those masterful harmonic moments often amount to the effect of a lighting change on-stage. Learn about chiaroscuro in Rembrandt and notice how Chopin does this, too. Suddenly, the sun comes out, or a single intense ray brings hope to a dungeon. Just really register these things as you play, and they will be very effective. Mozart and Debussy do this, too.
4. Clouds have a silver lining and vice versa. The sad music is rarely wholly sad, and the happy music is never fully happy. Joy and sorrow, life and death, are constant companions in Chopin. It's a lot like Mahler. Read about Mahler 3 (or anything else by Mahler) to get the idea.
5. The handling of transitions creates charisma. In those tentative moments, the momentum of meter is not in the driver's seat. Your personal sensitivity is.
6. Look for rhetorical connections between the sections. For example, usually the sections of a Chopin Nocturne don't sound much alike, but they might make sense together because of some structure they both feature such as a parenthetical phrase at the end of a series of phrases.
7. At times, the music is more contrapuntal than you might expect. Don't forget that the left-hand part can be just as musical as the right. Sort of like playing Bach, you can almost take those left hands and perform them as their own free-standing pieces of music. Almost. With Bach, of course, you can actually do that with all the individual lines.
There's more, but that will be another post - something about "Ode to the Western Wind."
Thank you to Veda Kaplinsky, Michael White, Ellen Mack, Wayne Connor, Joseph Machlis, and Richard Becker for teaching me these things, and also to my students for studying Bach, Chopin, and Debussy with me.
1. Chopin loved opera, particularly opera of the bel canto variety. Listen to Joan Sutherland. Notice how each note sounds like a unique, beautifully-colored gem in a bejeweled tiara. Also, realize some notes are melodic and others are ornamental. Play that way.
2. Chopin was a master melodist and a master harmonist. Often, the masterful melodies depend on the masterful harmonies. But be sure to notice when the mastery is more melodic or more harmonic and respond accordingly.
3. Those masterful harmonic moments often amount to the effect of a lighting change on-stage. Learn about chiaroscuro in Rembrandt and notice how Chopin does this, too. Suddenly, the sun comes out, or a single intense ray brings hope to a dungeon. Just really register these things as you play, and they will be very effective. Mozart and Debussy do this, too.
4. Clouds have a silver lining and vice versa. The sad music is rarely wholly sad, and the happy music is never fully happy. Joy and sorrow, life and death, are constant companions in Chopin. It's a lot like Mahler. Read about Mahler 3 (or anything else by Mahler) to get the idea.
5. The handling of transitions creates charisma. In those tentative moments, the momentum of meter is not in the driver's seat. Your personal sensitivity is.
6. Look for rhetorical connections between the sections. For example, usually the sections of a Chopin Nocturne don't sound much alike, but they might make sense together because of some structure they both feature such as a parenthetical phrase at the end of a series of phrases.
7. At times, the music is more contrapuntal than you might expect. Don't forget that the left-hand part can be just as musical as the right. Sort of like playing Bach, you can almost take those left hands and perform them as their own free-standing pieces of music. Almost. With Bach, of course, you can actually do that with all the individual lines.
There's more, but that will be another post - something about "Ode to the Western Wind."
Thank you to Veda Kaplinsky, Michael White, Ellen Mack, Wayne Connor, Joseph Machlis, and Richard Becker for teaching me these things, and also to my students for studying Bach, Chopin, and Debussy with me.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Dwelling in the House of the Lord
After last night's concert, I was feeling a little depressed about my playing. Many factors contribute to that feeling:
My hands are forty years old and don't always feel quite like they are twenty. (I've finally given up on 17.)
I've been busy professoring for years which means I haven't been practicing so much.
My relationship with the instrument and my ability to control it seem to have eroded a bit as the collateral of increasingly distant years of somewhat consistent practice has worn down.
I did lots of different things on a single concert which is often a way to feel bad about something.
Also, there were flashes of what I imagine I would be like if I had consistently practiced for years and had truly set performing as my primary goal. There were moments when the memory and technique and musical impulse were so clear that I could play with abandon and start to discover the pianist that's deep down inside of me. I really like it when that guy appears, but then I'm sad since I'm not sure how to keep him around
etc.
But after sorting through all those things and recognizing that the performance was pretty good considering the big picture, there's still a little voice, an insinuating whisper, that suggests that my efforts are not good enough, that I'm an outsider, a fraud.
I just happen to know that I'm not an outsider or a fraud in this particular world of music. And my efforts usually seem to have been pretty good.
I don't know where that whisper came from. I don't think my parents put it there. Maybe folks who did bad stuff to our family contributed. Ultimately, it doesn't matter how it came to me. I have a whisper and so do a lot of other folks.
Come to think of it, that whisper is so insidious, so undermining, so joy-robbing, that its source must be the Deceiver, even if it did make its way to me through human channels.
I spoke of these experiences with one of my classes today and we talked about what maybe ought to be as opposed to what often is.
As people and musicians, we're on a pilgrimage which means we left somewhere to start with. But we always carry some of home with is on our journey, as well.
So what exactly am I and where did I leave? I don't think I'm just this body, or just a concept of this physical brain of mine. No, I think I am somebody, an identity, a person, a being with a design, a soul, a spirit.
And what is my home? Who has extended hospitality so I'll have a place to be and needs met? I think God is that host. I dwell in a body God has provided, and it's furnished with some talents. Plus, I've been provided time and education for developing them. Really, I've already been blessed through these basic/extraodinary provisions of human existence. Living out this design with intentionality and awareness, I think I can be at home anywhere in this world.
This means, among other things, that my musical impulses are a good gift. The way my hands find to deal with the instrument is okay. I don't need do a dozen different things to be like someone else to not be a fraud. (It sounds stunningly obvious when I put it that way.) Being me is good. In fact, it's really the thing I should be doing. Only being me will be good enough.
So when I go before an audience, the fact is that I am extending and expanding the blessing that comes to me daily through God's hospitality. I bet it's the case that the more me I am, the more blessing is expanded.
Indeed, last night I was touched by sweet students who care about what I do; and by friends, church members, and in-laws who have hearts to show up and then appreciate piano-playing; and a lovely wife who tells me I am a good pianist. These things meant something to me because the musical experience had meant something to each of these people. That's the expansion of the blessing, the meaning of the offering, the reason we call talent a "gift."
So I think the starting point for being human and for being musicians ought to be that as we are made in God's image, we are good. We've been blessed with that image and with all the mysteries that bearing it entails.
And to bless our students with an accurate view of their specialness, we must begin with recognizing and celebrating the good that God has placed in this house for them.
My hands are forty years old and don't always feel quite like they are twenty. (I've finally given up on 17.)
I've been busy professoring for years which means I haven't been practicing so much.
My relationship with the instrument and my ability to control it seem to have eroded a bit as the collateral of increasingly distant years of somewhat consistent practice has worn down.
I did lots of different things on a single concert which is often a way to feel bad about something.
Also, there were flashes of what I imagine I would be like if I had consistently practiced for years and had truly set performing as my primary goal. There were moments when the memory and technique and musical impulse were so clear that I could play with abandon and start to discover the pianist that's deep down inside of me. I really like it when that guy appears, but then I'm sad since I'm not sure how to keep him around
etc.
But after sorting through all those things and recognizing that the performance was pretty good considering the big picture, there's still a little voice, an insinuating whisper, that suggests that my efforts are not good enough, that I'm an outsider, a fraud.
I just happen to know that I'm not an outsider or a fraud in this particular world of music. And my efforts usually seem to have been pretty good.
I don't know where that whisper came from. I don't think my parents put it there. Maybe folks who did bad stuff to our family contributed. Ultimately, it doesn't matter how it came to me. I have a whisper and so do a lot of other folks.
Come to think of it, that whisper is so insidious, so undermining, so joy-robbing, that its source must be the Deceiver, even if it did make its way to me through human channels.
I spoke of these experiences with one of my classes today and we talked about what maybe ought to be as opposed to what often is.
As people and musicians, we're on a pilgrimage which means we left somewhere to start with. But we always carry some of home with is on our journey, as well.
So what exactly am I and where did I leave? I don't think I'm just this body, or just a concept of this physical brain of mine. No, I think I am somebody, an identity, a person, a being with a design, a soul, a spirit.
And what is my home? Who has extended hospitality so I'll have a place to be and needs met? I think God is that host. I dwell in a body God has provided, and it's furnished with some talents. Plus, I've been provided time and education for developing them. Really, I've already been blessed through these basic/extraodinary provisions of human existence. Living out this design with intentionality and awareness, I think I can be at home anywhere in this world.
This means, among other things, that my musical impulses are a good gift. The way my hands find to deal with the instrument is okay. I don't need do a dozen different things to be like someone else to not be a fraud. (It sounds stunningly obvious when I put it that way.) Being me is good. In fact, it's really the thing I should be doing. Only being me will be good enough.
So when I go before an audience, the fact is that I am extending and expanding the blessing that comes to me daily through God's hospitality. I bet it's the case that the more me I am, the more blessing is expanded.
Indeed, last night I was touched by sweet students who care about what I do; and by friends, church members, and in-laws who have hearts to show up and then appreciate piano-playing; and a lovely wife who tells me I am a good pianist. These things meant something to me because the musical experience had meant something to each of these people. That's the expansion of the blessing, the meaning of the offering, the reason we call talent a "gift."
So I think the starting point for being human and for being musicians ought to be that as we are made in God's image, we are good. We've been blessed with that image and with all the mysteries that bearing it entails.
And to bless our students with an accurate view of their specialness, we must begin with recognizing and celebrating the good that God has placed in this house for them.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Test Pilot
In memory of Neil Armstrong
Today, I presented a little lecture recital on Gottschalk for our departmental recital. As part of this I shared the idea that playing in departmental recital is like being a test pilot.
A little helpful background for those who haven't been music majors before: the process of preparing to perform music, at least the process followed in an academic setting, involves these three stages.
1. Work one-on-one with your primary applied teacher to learn the music, to get some idea of how to interpret it, and to develop disciplines to support your performance.
2. Practice performing for peers (peers who study with the same teacher) in studio class.
3. Performance for a larger group of peers in departmental recital.
As you can see, these steps become progressively more public. The result of this is that students often feel a lot of pressure to play or sing well on the departmental recital.
Pressure or not, the fact is that some event has to be the first time you go public with your performance of each work in your repertoire. A test flight must happen sometime and somewhere. That's what departmental recital is for. You take your performance up and it might work great, or your psyche might pull apart up in the air. But at the very least, the instrument isn't actually going to blow up and your life is not really in danger, although you might go into fight, flight, or freeze-mode just for the heck of it!
Another comforting thing about this test flight (That last paragraph was comforting. Music students, you'll want to re-read it if you didn't catch the comforting part.) is that that this test flight takes place in the company of many other test pilots. Everyone present has the same fear of blacking out and making crash landings. It can be the most empathetic of audiences.
While navigating the performance experience, I am often reminded that the business of musical performance seems to demand a presentation that appears whole and a presenter who comes across as self-assured and as one who has arrived. But the art of performing music requires that we be on a quest involving growth and vulnerability. On this quest, we learn the same things over and over again. We become exhaustingly familiar with our specific issues. And I think it is best to think of these as issues and not problems. They are the things that make us who we are. And we must be ourselves so that others can be themselves. I think of my mentors who were clearly being their own unique selves. Without them being exactly who they were, I could not have found the way to be who I am, which is someone quite different from who they are.
Some of my issues I was reminded of in my recent departmental recital performance:
too much movement, physical tension, and general lack of focus on fundamentals of musicianship in performance. I'm trusting that somehow, in the big scheme of things, in some significantly human way, in the divine design, that it is important and worthwhile for me to have and deal with these issues.
A pianist is always somewhere in the process of learning music and bringing it to the public. Each performance is a step in a life-long journey that keeps you alive and moving artistically. Knowing these steps, making the journey- these are the core, motivation, and discipline of our musical lives.
Today, I presented a little lecture recital on Gottschalk for our departmental recital. As part of this I shared the idea that playing in departmental recital is like being a test pilot.
A little helpful background for those who haven't been music majors before: the process of preparing to perform music, at least the process followed in an academic setting, involves these three stages.
1. Work one-on-one with your primary applied teacher to learn the music, to get some idea of how to interpret it, and to develop disciplines to support your performance.
2. Practice performing for peers (peers who study with the same teacher) in studio class.
3. Performance for a larger group of peers in departmental recital.
As you can see, these steps become progressively more public. The result of this is that students often feel a lot of pressure to play or sing well on the departmental recital.
Pressure or not, the fact is that some event has to be the first time you go public with your performance of each work in your repertoire. A test flight must happen sometime and somewhere. That's what departmental recital is for. You take your performance up and it might work great, or your psyche might pull apart up in the air. But at the very least, the instrument isn't actually going to blow up and your life is not really in danger, although you might go into fight, flight, or freeze-mode just for the heck of it!
Another comforting thing about this test flight (That last paragraph was comforting. Music students, you'll want to re-read it if you didn't catch the comforting part.) is that that this test flight takes place in the company of many other test pilots. Everyone present has the same fear of blacking out and making crash landings. It can be the most empathetic of audiences.
While navigating the performance experience, I am often reminded that the business of musical performance seems to demand a presentation that appears whole and a presenter who comes across as self-assured and as one who has arrived. But the art of performing music requires that we be on a quest involving growth and vulnerability. On this quest, we learn the same things over and over again. We become exhaustingly familiar with our specific issues. And I think it is best to think of these as issues and not problems. They are the things that make us who we are. And we must be ourselves so that others can be themselves. I think of my mentors who were clearly being their own unique selves. Without them being exactly who they were, I could not have found the way to be who I am, which is someone quite different from who they are.
Some of my issues I was reminded of in my recent departmental recital performance:
too much movement, physical tension, and general lack of focus on fundamentals of musicianship in performance. I'm trusting that somehow, in the big scheme of things, in some significantly human way, in the divine design, that it is important and worthwhile for me to have and deal with these issues.
A pianist is always somewhere in the process of learning music and bringing it to the public. Each performance is a step in a life-long journey that keeps you alive and moving artistically. Knowing these steps, making the journey- these are the core, motivation, and discipline of our musical lives.
Friday, August 31, 2012
New Record Set?
I started this post back in the spring, and it has lingered, incomplete, forming a psychological blog block for me for months. Today, I will finally finish and publish it so I can get back to a more consistent schedule of blogging about new stuff.
From roughly 9 to 10 o'clock this morning was an exciting time at Southeastern University. Not many people were in on the excitement, but Dr. Tindall and I got to coordinate and observe it. Two strong young men (not us) moved sixteen pianos between various rooms, several buildings, and on and off of a truck. I really don't know for sure, but it seems like it could be some sort of record. No doubt many more instruments have been unloaded into a warehouse in less time before, but the various placements and the territory covered seem to make our situation a little unique.
Also, it was a big day in that such an event hasn't happened in a number of years here. According to Dr. Tindall, the last time this many pianos were moved was when the department of music first started using the Spence building.
It has been a fun, if sometimes nervous, experience, and one full of learning. For those with an interest in the lives of college music professors, administration, or puzzles, the following might be a little intriguing.
In spite of occasional misperceptions in the practice rooms, schools generally do have plans for the maintenance and updating of their instruments and other equipment! As part of our plan, three new uprights came to our campus today. One goal of this current move was to be sure all the practice rooms that music majors regularly use would have either a grand, or an upright of the most recent generation. There appear to be three generations of uprights on our campus. There are some good Yamahas that seem to be no older than ten years, and maybe only five years or so. Then there are the middle-aged pianos which are still pretty good but are showing signs of years of numerous hours of daily use. And there are the really old uprights that need to go.
So part of the puzzle is getting the old pianos out (and earning some credit for future purchases with the company that took them) and then relocating the middle-aged pianos in a way that makes good sense. Several of these went to our modular classrooms. This provided some new rehearsal space that is available to all students, not just music majors, and it allowed us to get a better piano into a room that is used for aural theory classes.
One of the middle-aged pianos that was moved came from a room that also had a grand in it. We swapped a newer generation upright into there so that we could maintain one practice room with two pianos. We already had two grands in the piano lab which can be used for two-piano rehearsals as well.
An old grand that wasn't ideal for lots of piano major practice was discovered to be a pretty good instrument, though, and we moved it into a room that had housed a not-so-hot upright. That room may become available for some choral sectionals, and a grand could be better for that than an upright.
In addition, one little old grand that is more of a desk than a piano at this point was removed from a classroom and replaced by an okay upright. That particular grand was rather old and it seems that its designers had made a bunch of alterations to the ways pianos are usually designed, all of which made that particular instrument worse!
Postscript:
Since I wrote the above, a couple more new pianos arrived requiring more re-arranging, plus, the old grand that was pretty good was going to require too much rebuilding, so it has been replaced with an upright.
In addition, we switched the piano in the chapel with one from the piano lab. The old chapel piano was slightly bigger, but the piano lab piano is more brilliant, and that is important for playing in the chapel's acoustic. Figuring out if that move would work gave me an idea for a future post: Tools of the Piano Professor's Trade. In this case, it's a tape measure. I wouldn't have imagined such an item would be part of my profession when I was studying in conservatory. But knowing the precise sizes of pianos for negotatiating spaces during moves, and determining the comparative sizes of instruments that are not in the same room are sometimes essentials of the job!
After the last series of moves, I put together my own inventory of serial numbers and piano conditions which I will update yearly. That data can be used in figuring out future plans.
Very important: the company that did all of this moving was superb. The men working tirelessly, quickly, carefully, and with a very good spirit. A super heart-felt thank you to Piano Distributors.
From roughly 9 to 10 o'clock this morning was an exciting time at Southeastern University. Not many people were in on the excitement, but Dr. Tindall and I got to coordinate and observe it. Two strong young men (not us) moved sixteen pianos between various rooms, several buildings, and on and off of a truck. I really don't know for sure, but it seems like it could be some sort of record. No doubt many more instruments have been unloaded into a warehouse in less time before, but the various placements and the territory covered seem to make our situation a little unique.
Also, it was a big day in that such an event hasn't happened in a number of years here. According to Dr. Tindall, the last time this many pianos were moved was when the department of music first started using the Spence building.
It has been a fun, if sometimes nervous, experience, and one full of learning. For those with an interest in the lives of college music professors, administration, or puzzles, the following might be a little intriguing.
In spite of occasional misperceptions in the practice rooms, schools generally do have plans for the maintenance and updating of their instruments and other equipment! As part of our plan, three new uprights came to our campus today. One goal of this current move was to be sure all the practice rooms that music majors regularly use would have either a grand, or an upright of the most recent generation. There appear to be three generations of uprights on our campus. There are some good Yamahas that seem to be no older than ten years, and maybe only five years or so. Then there are the middle-aged pianos which are still pretty good but are showing signs of years of numerous hours of daily use. And there are the really old uprights that need to go.
So part of the puzzle is getting the old pianos out (and earning some credit for future purchases with the company that took them) and then relocating the middle-aged pianos in a way that makes good sense. Several of these went to our modular classrooms. This provided some new rehearsal space that is available to all students, not just music majors, and it allowed us to get a better piano into a room that is used for aural theory classes.
One of the middle-aged pianos that was moved came from a room that also had a grand in it. We swapped a newer generation upright into there so that we could maintain one practice room with two pianos. We already had two grands in the piano lab which can be used for two-piano rehearsals as well.
An old grand that wasn't ideal for lots of piano major practice was discovered to be a pretty good instrument, though, and we moved it into a room that had housed a not-so-hot upright. That room may become available for some choral sectionals, and a grand could be better for that than an upright.
In addition, one little old grand that is more of a desk than a piano at this point was removed from a classroom and replaced by an okay upright. That particular grand was rather old and it seems that its designers had made a bunch of alterations to the ways pianos are usually designed, all of which made that particular instrument worse!
Postscript:
Since I wrote the above, a couple more new pianos arrived requiring more re-arranging, plus, the old grand that was pretty good was going to require too much rebuilding, so it has been replaced with an upright.
In addition, we switched the piano in the chapel with one from the piano lab. The old chapel piano was slightly bigger, but the piano lab piano is more brilliant, and that is important for playing in the chapel's acoustic. Figuring out if that move would work gave me an idea for a future post: Tools of the Piano Professor's Trade. In this case, it's a tape measure. I wouldn't have imagined such an item would be part of my profession when I was studying in conservatory. But knowing the precise sizes of pianos for negotatiating spaces during moves, and determining the comparative sizes of instruments that are not in the same room are sometimes essentials of the job!
After the last series of moves, I put together my own inventory of serial numbers and piano conditions which I will update yearly. That data can be used in figuring out future plans.
Very important: the company that did all of this moving was superb. The men working tirelessly, quickly, carefully, and with a very good spirit. A super heart-felt thank you to Piano Distributors.
Tuesday, March 06, 2012
40
40:
The number of days the Israelites spied out the promised land
The number of years they spent in the wilderness
The number of days Jesus was tempted in the desert
And, less significant but important to me,
the age I'm about to turn.
Night before last, Kathy and Wesly took me to a beautiful concert at Bok Tower Gardens to commemorate my 40th birthday. This made me think of the power of hearing musical performances and encountering specific works at the time of important events in one's life. In this regard, I often think of hearing Beethoven F Major Quartet, Op. 135 at the Garth Newel Festival near Warm Springs, VA, not long after my mother died.
As many of you know, my mom spent three months in intensive care before she passed on. She was in a hospital near the school where I was working, so I was able to spend a lot of time with her during those months. Following the funeral and the burial in Durham, NC, Kathy arranged for us to spend a few days in Warm Springs before returning to Richmond. So for me, the quartet and the music making I experienced then became a profound part of my grief, acceptance, and whatever healing has come or will come. Interestingly, I have not continued to listen to the quartet a whole lot in the years since, but it persists somehow as a very present part of the experience in my psyche.
And now I turn to another right of passage - moving from 39 to 40! I think I've been preparing for it for a year. After all, 39 is strikingly closer to 40 than any other age I've been.
Two posts about 39:
http://hulinmusic.blogspot.com/2011/03/539-am.html
http://hulinmusic.blogspot.com/2011/03/birthday.html
The concert at Bok Tower, "Curtis on Tour 2012," was very beautiful. The performers were the school's president, violist Roberto Diaz; a guitar faculty member, Jason Vieaux; and two students, Nadir Kashimov and Eric Han, violin and cello, respectively.
The smallish audience filled the intimate venue, and most of us sat around little tables. I enjoyed having a table to lean on. I'm aging fast.
I had been in the space before, but had not given the beams and rafters much thought. On this occasion, I noticed them, and they gave me a sense of being in a performance shed on a summer night in Norfolk or at Brevard. A lovely backdrop behind the small stage added to the mood. It was a brooding nocturnal image of the hills and the tower lit by an enormous moon on a bank of clouds.
Incidentally, this concert was an extremely good value. Tickets were $25 apiece and the level of playing was extremely high.
First on the concert was a transcription of Piazzolla's "Oblivion." Here we learned that Mr. Vieaux has really practiced his scales and can employ his technique with great expression and intensity.
Next was Kodaly's duo for violin and cello. The young musicians were incredibly in-sync and generated a huge amount of good sound with apparent ease. The Duo is a rich masterpiece, a "written-out improvisation," as the cellist put it. He went on to say it sounds out of control, but it's actually quite in control. I liked that statement. It let us know not to be anxious, sort of like letting the folks on the amusement park ride know it is safe, even though it's designed to feel dangerous. For me, though, the richness of this work comes from the moments of distilled folkiness that Kodaly sets with such beauty and with such a memorable quality.
After intermission, during which I was please to bump into one of my SEU students, we heard a wonderful new work by a Curtis graduate, composer Tian Zhou. It was an original and convincing amalgam of Asian and western elements. For example, the work unfolds what feel like rows that are actually Chinese-sounding collections: one of many examples of the rhetoric of the concert hall enacted with sounds of the East. The guitar also performed a sparkling role with sudden cascades and small fountains of notes giving depth and detail to the musical scene.
Up to this point, the playing had been very good, and it would have been a terrific and worthwhile experience even if the concert had not gone any further. But the crowning music-making of the evening was still to come.
Mr. Diaz came returned to the stage to perform the more soloistic viola part for Paganini's last quartet. Really, in terms of virtuosic impact, it's a pretty souped-up quartet all around. But Mr. Diaz's performance was stellar. Obviously, all four men have mastered their instruments, but Mr. Diaz brought a moving musicality and maturity that made the night even more of an event. His phrasing was heart-felt and profound, also varied but always grounded in the music's architecture. He was deeply expressive without striving to impress us with his expressiveness. The way he played everything he played was so masterful that I feel like I know the work much better than I would have if I heard some other performance of it. Indeed, I can remember much of his phrasing, and I believce I will continue to, to some extent. This a great example of a musician rising to the level of artist - that's the goal.
Thank you all for making my fortieth just right.
The number of days the Israelites spied out the promised land
The number of years they spent in the wilderness
The number of days Jesus was tempted in the desert
And, less significant but important to me,
the age I'm about to turn.
Night before last, Kathy and Wesly took me to a beautiful concert at Bok Tower Gardens to commemorate my 40th birthday. This made me think of the power of hearing musical performances and encountering specific works at the time of important events in one's life. In this regard, I often think of hearing Beethoven F Major Quartet, Op. 135 at the Garth Newel Festival near Warm Springs, VA, not long after my mother died.
As many of you know, my mom spent three months in intensive care before she passed on. She was in a hospital near the school where I was working, so I was able to spend a lot of time with her during those months. Following the funeral and the burial in Durham, NC, Kathy arranged for us to spend a few days in Warm Springs before returning to Richmond. So for me, the quartet and the music making I experienced then became a profound part of my grief, acceptance, and whatever healing has come or will come. Interestingly, I have not continued to listen to the quartet a whole lot in the years since, but it persists somehow as a very present part of the experience in my psyche.
And now I turn to another right of passage - moving from 39 to 40! I think I've been preparing for it for a year. After all, 39 is strikingly closer to 40 than any other age I've been.
Two posts about 39:
http://hulinmusic.blogspot.com/2011/03/539-am.html
http://hulinmusic.blogspot.com/2011/03/birthday.html
The concert at Bok Tower, "Curtis on Tour 2012," was very beautiful. The performers were the school's president, violist Roberto Diaz; a guitar faculty member, Jason Vieaux; and two students, Nadir Kashimov and Eric Han, violin and cello, respectively.
The smallish audience filled the intimate venue, and most of us sat around little tables. I enjoyed having a table to lean on. I'm aging fast.
I had been in the space before, but had not given the beams and rafters much thought. On this occasion, I noticed them, and they gave me a sense of being in a performance shed on a summer night in Norfolk or at Brevard. A lovely backdrop behind the small stage added to the mood. It was a brooding nocturnal image of the hills and the tower lit by an enormous moon on a bank of clouds.
Incidentally, this concert was an extremely good value. Tickets were $25 apiece and the level of playing was extremely high.
First on the concert was a transcription of Piazzolla's "Oblivion." Here we learned that Mr. Vieaux has really practiced his scales and can employ his technique with great expression and intensity.
Next was Kodaly's duo for violin and cello. The young musicians were incredibly in-sync and generated a huge amount of good sound with apparent ease. The Duo is a rich masterpiece, a "written-out improvisation," as the cellist put it. He went on to say it sounds out of control, but it's actually quite in control. I liked that statement. It let us know not to be anxious, sort of like letting the folks on the amusement park ride know it is safe, even though it's designed to feel dangerous. For me, though, the richness of this work comes from the moments of distilled folkiness that Kodaly sets with such beauty and with such a memorable quality.
After intermission, during which I was please to bump into one of my SEU students, we heard a wonderful new work by a Curtis graduate, composer Tian Zhou. It was an original and convincing amalgam of Asian and western elements. For example, the work unfolds what feel like rows that are actually Chinese-sounding collections: one of many examples of the rhetoric of the concert hall enacted with sounds of the East. The guitar also performed a sparkling role with sudden cascades and small fountains of notes giving depth and detail to the musical scene.
Up to this point, the playing had been very good, and it would have been a terrific and worthwhile experience even if the concert had not gone any further. But the crowning music-making of the evening was still to come.
Mr. Diaz came returned to the stage to perform the more soloistic viola part for Paganini's last quartet. Really, in terms of virtuosic impact, it's a pretty souped-up quartet all around. But Mr. Diaz's performance was stellar. Obviously, all four men have mastered their instruments, but Mr. Diaz brought a moving musicality and maturity that made the night even more of an event. His phrasing was heart-felt and profound, also varied but always grounded in the music's architecture. He was deeply expressive without striving to impress us with his expressiveness. The way he played everything he played was so masterful that I feel like I know the work much better than I would have if I heard some other performance of it. Indeed, I can remember much of his phrasing, and I believce I will continue to, to some extent. This a great example of a musician rising to the level of artist - that's the goal.
Thank you all for making my fortieth just right.
Tuesday, February 07, 2012
Check
Last night I played my first gig with my colleague Ed Bryant. It took place at a Free Methodist camp (for the most part a retirement community) near Lakeland. The evening started with a pot-luck dinner for 200+ people. Our table enjoyed meatloaf, jello salads, hash brown casserole, and peanut butter brownies. After the meal, Ed performed several musical theater selections and I played some Gershwin and Piazzolla. This was the first time I've performed Piazzolla.
The evening's concert instrument was an electronic keyboard, and that's what I find myself playing on more and more these days. Often, folks will describe what they have as a piano, but in reality, it turns out to be a keyboard.
Since I wasn't trained to perform on these instruments, there is a bit of a learning curve for me and, I would imagine, for most classical pianists. It reminds me of the learning curve with learning to play the pipe organ. A great deal of initial anxiety comes from not really knowing all the things that could go wrong. At the piano, I've known those things for years and feel prepared to deal with a lot of them without a lot of conscious consideration.
To make a long story short, last night's keyboard was transposing. Several times during the performance, I thought certain chords or low vocal lines sounded a little lower than usual, but I didn't explore whether the instrument was set to transpose in mid-performance. I need to add "check to make sure the instrument isn't transposing" to my pre-performance check-list.
Such an occurrence makes you feel pretty silly and un-professional. On the other hand, I was told that I "got a lot of music out of that instrument" which was quite encouraging. It's very deflating to show up expecting a piano and discover a different sort of instrument. But I'm learning not to complain and to strive, instead, to do the most I can with what's there, just like when I show up to play a broken down old spinet. I accepted that experience long ago.
Repertoire seems key. The music that sounds great on a grand (for example, Ravel's Alborada) may not work so well on a spinet or upright (better for ragtime) and a keyboard needs something else, too. Maybe we should teach our students with more of an eye to the various instruments they will play - as well as the various architectures in which they find these and the types of occasions for which their abilities will be needed - and not just focus on building a well-rounded "classical" repertoire.
The evening's concert instrument was an electronic keyboard, and that's what I find myself playing on more and more these days. Often, folks will describe what they have as a piano, but in reality, it turns out to be a keyboard.
Since I wasn't trained to perform on these instruments, there is a bit of a learning curve for me and, I would imagine, for most classical pianists. It reminds me of the learning curve with learning to play the pipe organ. A great deal of initial anxiety comes from not really knowing all the things that could go wrong. At the piano, I've known those things for years and feel prepared to deal with a lot of them without a lot of conscious consideration.
To make a long story short, last night's keyboard was transposing. Several times during the performance, I thought certain chords or low vocal lines sounded a little lower than usual, but I didn't explore whether the instrument was set to transpose in mid-performance. I need to add "check to make sure the instrument isn't transposing" to my pre-performance check-list.
Such an occurrence makes you feel pretty silly and un-professional. On the other hand, I was told that I "got a lot of music out of that instrument" which was quite encouraging. It's very deflating to show up expecting a piano and discover a different sort of instrument. But I'm learning not to complain and to strive, instead, to do the most I can with what's there, just like when I show up to play a broken down old spinet. I accepted that experience long ago.
Repertoire seems key. The music that sounds great on a grand (for example, Ravel's Alborada) may not work so well on a spinet or upright (better for ragtime) and a keyboard needs something else, too. Maybe we should teach our students with more of an eye to the various instruments they will play - as well as the various architectures in which they find these and the types of occasions for which their abilities will be needed - and not just focus on building a well-rounded "classical" repertoire.
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.
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.
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