This week, I studied two words about how to be or not to be, but not in the Hamlet sense. These words remind me of my father because he was especially sensitive to the issues they raise and particularly ethical in these areas. The first word is about the right type of justice, while the second is about the wrong kind of ambition.
One who is EPIEIKES knows that there are times when that which is legally justified might be morally wrong. One with this concept of justice recognizes that the formal law is too general to address all the nuances or real life situations and that true justice will, at times, go beyond the letter of the law to apply gentleness, kindness, forbearance, and reasonableness.
In the realm of music, we also need to view the score with love, not literalism.
For example, a passage such as the last few bars of Waldstein's first movement may need a bit of pedal to create, as it were, a sense of an acoustic in which those joyful chords can reverberate. The score does not indicate pedal, but the instruments and the rooms and the times were different when Beethoven wrote this music. But the joy still speaks to us and should not be squashed by a dry delivery that could never support the depth of feeling the conclusion of the movement suggests.
Or, in playing Chopin's G minor prelude, we do best by seeing the veritable shark attack behind the notes on the score: chops and waves, jagged gestures, sudden change, relentless tumult, blinding uncertainty and a sense of peril - dealing justly with such a vision cannot be reduced to mere obedience to signs on a page. It requires the consideration of the whole person.
ERITHEIA involves contentiousness, political maneuvering, and in general, "applying earthly and human standards" to everything, as Barclay puts it. I imagine there is no need for me to provide personal examples here since you have probably already thought of several from your own life in music or the church.
As my dad would contend, the Church is Christ's body, and as such, it should not move according to what seems expedient from a purely human view or, for that matter, according to what passes for wisdom in the workaday world. The church is the place where another way is breaking into the world, a way that knows nothing of personal ambition, but instead, is motivated by service.
And I think that such altruism ought also to characterize the way we musicians go about our work as bearers of messages that are beautiful and good for the human race.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Saturday, February 16, 2013
New Testament Words 3
KALOS
This is a word for all things that are good practically and morally as well as aesthetically. It connotes goodness that appears beautiful. According to Barclay, it is used in the Bible to describe the Temple, good fruit, fertile land, good seed sewn, fish caught, salt, wine, a generous measure, the Law, the name of Christ, and the word of God.
I think an important dimension is missing from our English versions of the Bible that simply call these things good. It seems that these things are also described as being a type of good that is wondrous and lovely.
In teaching and playing piano this week, I find myself focused on flow. Flow is good. It connects with life, movement, breath, and our listeners. A huge part of our performing involves maintaining an appropriate flow.
But along the path of that flow, we encounter things that are special. A harmonic event, for example, that catches our attention as something wondrous or a resolution that strikes us as lovely.
And so a program for performance springs from this word "kalos" - flow with specialness. In fact, when we focus on the flow, we engender a hearing of the music that brings those special moments to to the fore.
One of Chopin's Nocturnes sensitized me to these issues during a lesson this week. You can listen to Rubenstein playing it hear. The first section of this Nocturne is rather long and lacks contrast. So it needs a lot of flow (Chopin warned us by marking it "allegretto,") and the performer needs to be careful only to tak extra time at the most special moments, otherwise we lose a sense of movement, direction, phrase, and even of which things are special. Without attention to the piece's propulsion, a performance of it can easily devolve into a lovely but shapeless roll of musical wallpaper.
Working on the first movement of Beethoven's "Waldstein" Sonata also made me think a lot about flow. To play or hear the piece well is to have an exhilerating experince of momentum. Perhaps it's a lot like skiing. I don't know for sure, since I'm not a skier. But as you play the piece you have the sense of moving rapidly over a slick terrain, and sometimes, you even become airborn. And balance is keep on those sharp switchbacks. Listen for yourself: Solomon playing Waldstein I.
This is a word for all things that are good practically and morally as well as aesthetically. It connotes goodness that appears beautiful. According to Barclay, it is used in the Bible to describe the Temple, good fruit, fertile land, good seed sewn, fish caught, salt, wine, a generous measure, the Law, the name of Christ, and the word of God.
I think an important dimension is missing from our English versions of the Bible that simply call these things good. It seems that these things are also described as being a type of good that is wondrous and lovely.
In teaching and playing piano this week, I find myself focused on flow. Flow is good. It connects with life, movement, breath, and our listeners. A huge part of our performing involves maintaining an appropriate flow.
But along the path of that flow, we encounter things that are special. A harmonic event, for example, that catches our attention as something wondrous or a resolution that strikes us as lovely.
And so a program for performance springs from this word "kalos" - flow with specialness. In fact, when we focus on the flow, we engender a hearing of the music that brings those special moments to to the fore.
One of Chopin's Nocturnes sensitized me to these issues during a lesson this week. You can listen to Rubenstein playing it hear. The first section of this Nocturne is rather long and lacks contrast. So it needs a lot of flow (Chopin warned us by marking it "allegretto,") and the performer needs to be careful only to tak extra time at the most special moments, otherwise we lose a sense of movement, direction, phrase, and even of which things are special. Without attention to the piece's propulsion, a performance of it can easily devolve into a lovely but shapeless roll of musical wallpaper.
Working on the first movement of Beethoven's "Waldstein" Sonata also made me think a lot about flow. To play or hear the piece well is to have an exhilerating experince of momentum. Perhaps it's a lot like skiing. I don't know for sure, since I'm not a skier. But as you play the piece you have the sense of moving rapidly over a slick terrain, and sometimes, you even become airborn. And balance is keep on those sharp switchbacks. Listen for yourself: Solomon playing Waldstein I.
Saturday, February 02, 2013
New Testament Words 2
The last two weeks I tried to tackle Barclay's chapter on the word "agape." The chapter includes other Greek words for love and explains why those other words could not be appropriated by the New Testament writers for the love of God and the love to which we are called by God: the other words were more related to involuntary feelings, connoted too much of an emphasis on warmth and passions, and were too limited to bear the weight and express the breadth of the love the writers sought to convey.
This agape love involves choice and action, and is an engagement of the whole being. It is, as Barclay puts it, a stance of "unquenchable goodwill."
This grand concept has profound implications for all that we do as artists and teachers around the piano. Piano playing itself is an engagement of the whole person, and the arts often tend towards an altruistic attitude of ever-refreshed goodwill.
In last week's piano pedagogy class, we explored theories of how learning happens. We also reflected upon our own good and bad experiences with teachers. We explored the necessity of sensitivity on the part of the teacher and the very negative power of criticism, especially in the early years of study. One student noted that her entire sense of self as a musician as well as her feelings about music making in any given period of her life seemed to depend almost entirely on her teacher's attitude towards her and the teacher's way of modeling a life in music.
As I taught private piano lessons these two weeks with a heightened regarding for the whole persons I was encountering and hoping to help develop, many doors seemed to open for my students and me.
With one student, I sensed a lack of calm, a diminished ability to quiet himself before a task. Instead of focusing on positive action, he was pouring valuable energy into creating anxiety about whether or not he would achieve the task at hand without messing up. We sought ways in which he could teach himself internal cues and judgement processes with greater intentionality so as to keep his mind on track in practice and performance. A lack of internal calm, by the way, seems typical of most of us, especially when we get alone with the piano.
Another student confessed the revelation that we are never learning "just piano" but that each discipline studied in the college setting connects with everything else.
With a couple of other students who were perhaps a little under-prepared, I pursued their interests and also used the lesson time to practice with them, leading them through a working method they can use on their own. One of these played for me a bit of a hymn in his own style. Then we analyzed his harmonization and voicing together and learned from each other terminology and concepts. This paved the way for better question asking on his part and a growing relationship between us.
In retrospect, there were no tedious times in these weeks' lessons. It all felt pretty authentic to me and I was most pleased with the sense that valuable work was being done in every meeting.
Reflecting back on these experiences and the sharing in pedagogy class, it seems that all of those good learning theories can somehow be summed up in agape.
Two postscripts:
1. An idea for Christian piano instructors: while educators looking to relate well to the whole person might seek insight from I.Q. and personality tests, what if we approached our students more through spirituality? For example, it seems that practicing quiet or disciplined silence ourselves can, over time, serve as a catalyst for addressing the things that trouble our students' spirits. Another possibility - instead of using something like of Myers-Briggs, or just going on instinct, what about a spiritual gifts inventory as a starting point for understanding each student's unique musicality?
2. Teaching a more eclectic repertoire (which could be an agape-ish expression) can lead to some interesting juxtapositions that bring about interesting imagery, characterizations, and so forth. One student played Zez Confrey's Kitten on the Keys and Chopin's G Minor Prelude in the same lesson this week. Click here for Lincoln Mayorga talking about and playing "Kitten on the Keys" and click here for Dr. Walden Hughes playing the Chopin prelude.
I've never put these two pieces together in the same thought before, but it turns out that there are some technical similarities due to their layout on the keyboard. But the more interesting thing is the radical difference in affect between the two pieces despite the few technical similarities. Next to "Kitten on the Keys," the Chopin sounds more like Poe's "The Black Cat."
This agape love involves choice and action, and is an engagement of the whole being. It is, as Barclay puts it, a stance of "unquenchable goodwill."
This grand concept has profound implications for all that we do as artists and teachers around the piano. Piano playing itself is an engagement of the whole person, and the arts often tend towards an altruistic attitude of ever-refreshed goodwill.
In last week's piano pedagogy class, we explored theories of how learning happens. We also reflected upon our own good and bad experiences with teachers. We explored the necessity of sensitivity on the part of the teacher and the very negative power of criticism, especially in the early years of study. One student noted that her entire sense of self as a musician as well as her feelings about music making in any given period of her life seemed to depend almost entirely on her teacher's attitude towards her and the teacher's way of modeling a life in music.
As I taught private piano lessons these two weeks with a heightened regarding for the whole persons I was encountering and hoping to help develop, many doors seemed to open for my students and me.
With one student, I sensed a lack of calm, a diminished ability to quiet himself before a task. Instead of focusing on positive action, he was pouring valuable energy into creating anxiety about whether or not he would achieve the task at hand without messing up. We sought ways in which he could teach himself internal cues and judgement processes with greater intentionality so as to keep his mind on track in practice and performance. A lack of internal calm, by the way, seems typical of most of us, especially when we get alone with the piano.
Another student confessed the revelation that we are never learning "just piano" but that each discipline studied in the college setting connects with everything else.
With a couple of other students who were perhaps a little under-prepared, I pursued their interests and also used the lesson time to practice with them, leading them through a working method they can use on their own. One of these played for me a bit of a hymn in his own style. Then we analyzed his harmonization and voicing together and learned from each other terminology and concepts. This paved the way for better question asking on his part and a growing relationship between us.
In retrospect, there were no tedious times in these weeks' lessons. It all felt pretty authentic to me and I was most pleased with the sense that valuable work was being done in every meeting.
Reflecting back on these experiences and the sharing in pedagogy class, it seems that all of those good learning theories can somehow be summed up in agape.
Two postscripts:
1. An idea for Christian piano instructors: while educators looking to relate well to the whole person might seek insight from I.Q. and personality tests, what if we approached our students more through spirituality? For example, it seems that practicing quiet or disciplined silence ourselves can, over time, serve as a catalyst for addressing the things that trouble our students' spirits. Another possibility - instead of using something like of Myers-Briggs, or just going on instinct, what about a spiritual gifts inventory as a starting point for understanding each student's unique musicality?
2. Teaching a more eclectic repertoire (which could be an agape-ish expression) can lead to some interesting juxtapositions that bring about interesting imagery, characterizations, and so forth. One student played Zez Confrey's Kitten on the Keys and Chopin's G Minor Prelude in the same lesson this week. Click here for Lincoln Mayorga talking about and playing "Kitten on the Keys" and click here for Dr. Walden Hughes playing the Chopin prelude.
I've never put these two pieces together in the same thought before, but it turns out that there are some technical similarities due to their layout on the keyboard. But the more interesting thing is the radical difference in affect between the two pieces despite the few technical similarities. Next to "Kitten on the Keys," the Chopin sounds more like Poe's "The Black Cat."
Saturday, January 19, 2013
New Testament Words 1
As I mentioned in my last post, I am currently reading a book on New Testament words and seeking some meaningful and creative outcome as I take those words into my piano studio. The book is William Barclay's New Testament Words.
This week, I became more deeply aware of the words charisma and ekklesia, words for God's free gifts and God's called assembly, the church. I also became acquainted with the words diatheke and eilikrineia.
Diatheke is word used of covenants but it connotes something more like a will in that it is entered into on the terms of one of the parties, not both. It occurs to me that the musical score is a little like this. Its author is usually beyond our reach, often deceased, so it is a will of sorts. It is ultimately some sort of expression of the composer's intentions regardless of my ability to discern or interpret them and whether or not I bring an agenda of my own to the enterprise. Perhaps this calls for an adjustment of my attitude to keep in mind the real person behind the notes I play and to make more room for their presence in my study and music making.
Eilikrineia is word for purity. It is accompanied by images of being shaken through a sieve and being brought out into the light to be judged.
In one lesson this week a student brought in Liszt's famous C-Sharp Minor Hungarian Rhapsody. The piece is in two large sections, the first of which sets the dramatic tone and introduces the materials explored in the other. The second section begins with a mysterious dance tune which Liszt varies kaleidoscopically and grows to monumental proportions. Having read of eilikrineia, it seemed to me that this little theme was a bit like a shiny object glimpsed in the dim light of a tent at market that is then brought out into the open to reveal its truly spectacular qualities under intense sunlight. Here's a link to a brilliant performance with a film of the musical score timed so you can follow it as you listen. The portion I am referencing begins at 4:38. Marc-Andre Hamelin playing Liszt 's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2.
On my own in the studio, eilikineia shed some light on the process of practicing. I'm practicing music from the Parthenia these days. The Parthenia is an anthology of English keyboard music compiled in 1611. I think it's the oldest stuff I've played on piano. At the beginning of the process, the structure and flow of the music was a bit of a mystery to me. These are not 18th century preludes and fugues. These are 17th century preludes and pavanes and galliards. Day by day, I practice them and try to hear them clearly. Over time, I have started to see how they are organized and have developed some intentions of my own about how to play the overlapping contrapuntal lines that fill these dance movements. I've also noticed that practicing William Byrd can be mildly addictive. Here's a link to a little something Stokowski did with one of these pieces a pavane, Earl of Salisbury.
In more general terms, the effort of disciplined practicing (for a sort of grown-up musician) is about shedding more and more light on one's technique and interpretive grasp, and the structure of the music itself.
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.
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.
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