I have taught at the Boston Conservatory for over 10 years now, and I have been teaching Piano Literature during that entire time. I am glad to say that it is a well-liked course, and that over the years many students have gained from it. My aim has been in part to give the students a detailed idea of what piano repertoire exists (it's a four-semester series of classes, required for undergraduate pianists) and also to focus their attention on some important musical features of different composers and their works.
Over the years of introducing, say, Scarlatti Sonatas or the music of George Crumb, I have gotten pretty comfortable with what I know and how to share that knowledge with the students. But there is no question that I am more engaging and more interesting when I don't rest on my laurels, when I share something that I myself have learned recently. The truth is that the class was a good class 5 years ago (at least the students thought so back then), and it would be easiest simply to rehash the same material in my lectures now. After all, Schumann's "Kreisleriana" hasn't really changed since then. But when I spend time to learn more (and believe me there is ALWAYS more to learn about great music), I know I am a more effective and inspiring teacher. Lately I've been reading (on the subway ride to and from school) a book called "Twentieth Century Piano Music" by David Burge, which has given me new insights, and I just checked out Kenneth Drake's "The Sonatas of Beethoven," from the library as I prepare to explore this subject with the students for the 11th year in a row. I think the students can tell when I am eager and excited to share something with them - as opposed to rehearsing one of my well-worn old lectures from 2002.
I have noticed the very same thing in my applied teaching. When I am busy practicing for a concert, I might be more tired in a lesson than I would otherwise be (and perhaps even slightly annoyed that my practice time is being interrupted by giving a lesson!) but I am a much more energetic teacher, with important musical and technical ideas on my mind that I am ready and eager to share.
So the moral of the story: to be a good teacher, keep on learning. My own teachers have all been wonderful examples of this.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Can music schools stifle creativity?
I haven't written a new blog post in nearly a year, and part of the reason for this was the chilling effect
of a job interview. About a year ago I was being considered, along
with over 100 other candidates, for a teaching position at a
university with a fine, though smallish music department. In the end
I was not offered the position, which spared me having to make a
difficult decision (the position was thousands of miles away from
where I live and work now). Fortunately for my professional growth, I
was able, some months afterward, to get some feedback about my
application. As this was a university and not a conservatory, the
search committee wanted to insure that their choice could not only
teach piano (where my qualifications are not in question) but also
academic classes, like music history or theory. Although I have
taught a number of academic courses (Piano Literature and Piano
Pedagogy among them) at a college level, I do not have a doctorate
that officially would certify my knowledge of academic subjects.
Some members of the search committee
apparently looked at this blog and felt that it did not exhibit the
level of academic rigor that they were looking for. But I am assuming
that no one reading a blog is expecting (or wanting) an academic
thesis! I certainly don't think of this anything other than an
opportunity to voice my opinions and to hear others'. But as you can
imagine, I have felt a bit paralyzed by the fact that someone – a
potential future employer – might be reading this blog and finding
examples of lapsed scholarship and statements made without citing
sources.
It leads me to a subject that has been
on my mind recently. Do music schools stifle creativity? This would
certainly be a problem if true, and I think the general public tends
to assume that arts schooling fosters and encourages creativity. But
I think that for better or for worse, music schools (and perhaps
other institutions about which I am less qualified to express my
opinion) can be bastions of tradition – both a positive and a
negative.
For example, I recently had two
troubling conversations with students in a course I teach at Boston
Conservatory. In one of the Piano Literature courses I teach, we have
been discussing Mozart. During a recent class, I talked about the
Fantasy in D minor (K. 397), which lacks a proper ending by Mozart –
traditionally performers play eight measures written by someone named
August Muller, though these were for many years thought to be by
Mozart. The ending has always seemed unsatisfying to me, at least,
and while most people play this ending, Mitsuko Uchida, one of the
great Mozart interpreters of our time, plays a different ending using
some of Mozart's music from earlier in the piece. (For a very
interesting – and academically sound – treatment of this subject,
read this DMA thesis by student at Indiana named Ephraim Hackmey:https://scholarworks.iu.edu/dspace/bitstream/handle/2022/14414/Hackmey_Ephraim_2012.pdf?sequence=1)
The troubling thing to me was a
question a student asked me in class: “But will I get in trouble if
I play a different ending than the traditional one?” Mind you, this
“traditional” ending is not written by Mozart, and really sounds
abrupt and unsatisfying. But this student was concerned with what a
jury of pianists – at a competition, at a music school entrance
audition, at end-of-the-semester exams – would say if he played a a
different ending. And truthfully, I understood why he was concerned.
While individual musicians can be open-minded and interested in new
ideas, it often happens that when you put a bunch of them together,
the conservative ideas win out. There are right ways and wrong ways
to do things, or so it seems when you get a group of pianists
together.
In a previous meeting of the same
class, we listened to a number of cadenzas to Mozart Concertos
written by other composers. (Mozart wrote cadenzas for the majority
of his piano concertos, even writing multiple versions for some, but
several of the most frequently played, such as the D minor, K.466, C
major, K.467, and C minor K. 491, require performers to find or
compose one on their own). For the D minor Concerto it is most usual
to play Beethoven's cadenza, but we listened to cadenzas to a
variety of Mozart Concertos by Brahms, Alkan, Dinu Lipatti, Fazil
Say, and others. I have not heard it but I believe there is a cadenza
by Phillip Glass, which would be fascinating to hear. As a college
student I wrote my own cadenza to the D minor Concerto, but it was
definitely a student work and not quite good enough for my
professional use nowadays. Still, it was a good exercise (and I did
play it once as soloist with a student orchestra at Harvard when I
was a sophomore).
After class, having discussed the
myriad options for cadenzas, a student asked me which cadenzas were
“permissible” for use at a competition. The official answer, of
course, is that any cadenza is fine – but this student and I both
understood, sadly, that the unofficial answer is that a competition
jury will not always look kindly on an off-the-wall cadenza. Yet a
concert audience might enjoy hearing something fresh and novel. In
that way, the competition jury is not in sync with the kind of
creativity or out-of-the-box thinking that is desirable in the “real
world” of concerts. And it is troubling to think that while
audiences crave and appreciate creativity (understandably), neither
competitions nor music school entrance committees are always open to
it.
There is, of course, a difference
between being creative in a meaningful way, and just being
“different” for the sake of being different. There is, for
example, a male musician I have heard of who makes a career of
playing relatively standard repertoire, but who dresses in women's
clothing and wears his hair in a colored mohawk. I'm not sure how
this aids or serves the music of Beethoven or Brahms more than
wearing a tuxedo would.
I wonder whether these tendencies to be
concerned with what are the “right” cadenzas for Mozart are also
a function of the fact that we performers have become more and more
divorced from the compositional process. Long ago, performers were
composers and composers were performers. That is still generally the
case in rock or jazz. But in classical music we have become
specialists to a large degree. The performers job consists, in part,
of accurately recreating music that someone else has written, and we
engage in this process aided by an ever-increasing awareness of
historical performance practice and the way earlier performers have
played the same music on recordings. Of course any performer knows
that there is a great deal left to us to interpret. Nevertheless, I
think the preoccupation with being “correct” in our performances
can cause us to miss spontaneity, spark, and excitement. It is no
wonder that an audience can be bored by an orchestra that has spent a
very limited amount of expensive rehearsal time primarily on insuring
that the ensemble is together and in tune, and that the balance is
good – but having no time left over to take risks, to try new and
unexpected things. This is partially a result of finite money to pay
for rehearsals, but I wonder if it isn't also part of a reluctance by
classical musicians in the year 2013 to do something that might be
considered “wrong.”
Please share your ideas and thoughts on
this this subject. I'd love to hear from you!
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Shostakovich's Tempos
This week I am rehearsing the Shostakovich Piano Quintet for a concert at the inaugural Foulger International Music Festival (http://foulgermusic.org/) , which takes place during the month of July. (This particular concert is on Friday, July 6, 2012). As with any chamber music piece, my colleagues and I have been trying to agree on good tempos for the various sections of the piece. (I am happy to be playing the piece with violinists Miranda Cuckson and Anton Miller; violist Christof Huebner; and cellist Tom Landschoot). Shostakovich has indicated some metronome markings in the score, but while some of them are feasible others seem less than ideal. In fact, I have had this experience with other pieces by Shostakovich. Was his metronome inaccurate? Were mistakes made in the printed edition (or were the metronome marks even made up by editors)? Or was he just crazy?
I have not undertaken anything like a systematic study of Shostakovich's metronome markings, but one advantage we have with this composer is that he himself made recordings of some of his own music. One philosophical question is, should we play a piece of music the same way a composer plays his music? And if we don't try to imitate that 100%, what things are important to "copy" and which are more open to our own approach?
This is really the central question for all performers: what is the best way to play a particular piece of music? What were the composer's intentions? (It isn't always obvious just from reading the score literally). And do composers sometimes not see the possibilities or potential in their own pieces? When a composer lived recently enough (like Shostakovich) that we can hear their way of performing a piece, does it automatically mean that is the definitive version of the piece?
Further complicating matters, in just the area of tempo: Shostakovich doesn't follow his own metronome markings. In fact, the deviation between score and his performance (a recording he made with the Beethoven Quartet made in 1960, about 20 years after the same five musicians premiered the piece) is quite large. In the first movement, there are two important metronome markings: the opening is quarter note=72, according to the score, and Shostakovich plays it at about quarter note=50-54. The next section is marked as dotted-quarter note=72, and Shostakovich plays it around 48! Here is the audio for the first movement, as played by Shostakovich and the Beethoven Quartet. A few other versions follow:
Richter and the Borodin Quartet, in the following performance, start at a similar tempo. The second section starts slowly and ends up getting faster, but ultimately around 57 at its peak (still about 20% slower than 72). (The whole work is here, not only the first movement)
Glenn Gould plays with wonderful attention to counterpoint (of course) and with a more Romantic approach than either of the Russians. In any case the tempo of the opening is just as slow or perhaps even slower, about 44. The next section is the fastest so far, at about 61. Unfortunately the quartet he is playing with (the Symphonia Quartet) is not at the same level of technical or musical command as Gould is.
Finally, a much more recent performance by my friends and colleagues the Borromeo Quartet and Alexander Korsantia, in a live concert from about a year ago. (I myself had the privilege of playing the same piece with the Borromeos many years ago, when I was in school, and will be playing the Strauss Violin Sonata in about 10 days with first violinist Nick Kitchen). Their tempos range quite a bit in the opening, from about 41-60, and in the next section around 60.
In other words, no one plays anything close to Shostakovich's printed metronome markings - not Shostakovich, nor anyone else. A pianist named Alice Shapiro wrote about her experience actually asking Shostakovich about his metronome markings in another piece here: http://www.overgrownpath.com/2006/03/good-night-and-good-luck-shostakovich.html
And if you would like to measure how fast people are playing, you can use the "tap" function on this online metronome: http://www.seventhstring.com/metronome/metronome.html
If you want to hear my performance of the piece (all five movements, of course, not just the first!) you can actually hear it streaming live this Friday night, by clicking here: http://foulgermusic.org/fimf-video
I have not undertaken anything like a systematic study of Shostakovich's metronome markings, but one advantage we have with this composer is that he himself made recordings of some of his own music. One philosophical question is, should we play a piece of music the same way a composer plays his music? And if we don't try to imitate that 100%, what things are important to "copy" and which are more open to our own approach?
This is really the central question for all performers: what is the best way to play a particular piece of music? What were the composer's intentions? (It isn't always obvious just from reading the score literally). And do composers sometimes not see the possibilities or potential in their own pieces? When a composer lived recently enough (like Shostakovich) that we can hear their way of performing a piece, does it automatically mean that is the definitive version of the piece?
Further complicating matters, in just the area of tempo: Shostakovich doesn't follow his own metronome markings. In fact, the deviation between score and his performance (a recording he made with the Beethoven Quartet made in 1960, about 20 years after the same five musicians premiered the piece) is quite large. In the first movement, there are two important metronome markings: the opening is quarter note=72, according to the score, and Shostakovich plays it at about quarter note=50-54. The next section is marked as dotted-quarter note=72, and Shostakovich plays it around 48! Here is the audio for the first movement, as played by Shostakovich and the Beethoven Quartet. A few other versions follow:
Richter and the Borodin Quartet, in the following performance, start at a similar tempo. The second section starts slowly and ends up getting faster, but ultimately around 57 at its peak (still about 20% slower than 72). (The whole work is here, not only the first movement)
Glenn Gould plays with wonderful attention to counterpoint (of course) and with a more Romantic approach than either of the Russians. In any case the tempo of the opening is just as slow or perhaps even slower, about 44. The next section is the fastest so far, at about 61. Unfortunately the quartet he is playing with (the Symphonia Quartet) is not at the same level of technical or musical command as Gould is.
Finally, a much more recent performance by my friends and colleagues the Borromeo Quartet and Alexander Korsantia, in a live concert from about a year ago. (I myself had the privilege of playing the same piece with the Borromeos many years ago, when I was in school, and will be playing the Strauss Violin Sonata in about 10 days with first violinist Nick Kitchen). Their tempos range quite a bit in the opening, from about 41-60, and in the next section around 60.
In other words, no one plays anything close to Shostakovich's printed metronome markings - not Shostakovich, nor anyone else. A pianist named Alice Shapiro wrote about her experience actually asking Shostakovich about his metronome markings in another piece here: http://www.overgrownpath.com/2006/03/good-night-and-good-luck-shostakovich.html
And if you would like to measure how fast people are playing, you can use the "tap" function on this online metronome: http://www.seventhstring.com/metronome/metronome.html
If you want to hear my performance of the piece (all five movements, of course, not just the first!) you can actually hear it streaming live this Friday night, by clicking here: http://foulgermusic.org/fimf-video
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
I don't understand Classical Radio
This is not the first time I've ranted about classical radio. I have been fortunate to live in some places with really good classical radio stations (I grew up with KUSC in Los Angeles, where I heard many great pieces and performers for the first time, and, here in Boston, WGBH is one of the best). However, I am often perplexed at the programming choices, and I wonder if anyone else feels as I do.
What confuses me is the amount of second-rate music being programmed. I understand that there would be *some* interest in hearing lesser-known music. But today in the car - during morning "drive time," when I assume competition for radio listeners is particularly keen - we had, in succession, works by: Antonio Salieri; Lennox Berkeley (who?); Jean-Louis Tulou (again, who?); Ottorino Respighi (a known composer, though not of the first rank); and Bernhard Henrik Crusell (who??). I know a lot about classical music and had never heard of these composers. And trust me, there was not a single piece among these that I need or want to hear a second time.
Who, among the listeners of classical radio, would rather hear that much garbage without being interrupted by SOMETHING by a great composer? Today's experience was not an isolated one - I have noticed this time and time again during the morning when driving to Boston Conservatory, when I am made to wonder, "Is Classical Music really this boring?" only to realize that there have existed, throughout history, mediocre, uninspired composers, and fortunately I usually don't bother to listen to their music.
Now I understand that people are excited to discover something "new," though the Spohr Violin Concerto I managed to miss hearing this morning (thankfully) was written 200 years ago - we've had plenty of time to figure out that this is not important music.
On this very same radio station in the afternoon, the programming was MUCH better - a Brahms Symphony, a Beethoven Quartet, and yes, the occasional novelty, but one that had been carefully selected as a neglected but worthwhile piece (say, the Poulenc Flute Sonata, or a less-played Tchaikovsky orchestral piece). Am I the only one who doesn't like having my time wasted? And was the programming better in the afternoon as a response to different kinds of listeners? Are the afternoon listeners more discriminating, or less forgiving of banality?
I think the reason I am so worked up about this is that some people in the world - most, probably - see classical music as dull, sleepy, a relic of bygone eras. I KNOW that it isn't this way - and when radio stations play @#)$(* like I heard this morning, they are losing the opportunity to open people's eyes to the Beethoven "Appassionata" Sonata or Schubert's "Winterreise." It is only confirming those listeners' impression that classical music is irrelevant, when they hear the Tulou Nocturne for harp and flute. Little do they know what they are missing when they don't know the Shostakovich 10th Symphony, or the Bach Chaconne.
By the way, I should clarify that I don't mean music always has to be serious. I don't mean to suggest we should only be dining on steak, but there is such a thing as a great dessert. I do NOT usually enjoy Saint-Saens (that's like ordering a steak at Denny's) but I certainly enjoy the music of Fritz Kreisler, for example.
What confuses me is the amount of second-rate music being programmed. I understand that there would be *some* interest in hearing lesser-known music. But today in the car - during morning "drive time," when I assume competition for radio listeners is particularly keen - we had, in succession, works by: Antonio Salieri; Lennox Berkeley (who?); Jean-Louis Tulou (again, who?); Ottorino Respighi (a known composer, though not of the first rank); and Bernhard Henrik Crusell (who??). I know a lot about classical music and had never heard of these composers. And trust me, there was not a single piece among these that I need or want to hear a second time.
Who, among the listeners of classical radio, would rather hear that much garbage without being interrupted by SOMETHING by a great composer? Today's experience was not an isolated one - I have noticed this time and time again during the morning when driving to Boston Conservatory, when I am made to wonder, "Is Classical Music really this boring?" only to realize that there have existed, throughout history, mediocre, uninspired composers, and fortunately I usually don't bother to listen to their music.
Now I understand that people are excited to discover something "new," though the Spohr Violin Concerto I managed to miss hearing this morning (thankfully) was written 200 years ago - we've had plenty of time to figure out that this is not important music.
On this very same radio station in the afternoon, the programming was MUCH better - a Brahms Symphony, a Beethoven Quartet, and yes, the occasional novelty, but one that had been carefully selected as a neglected but worthwhile piece (say, the Poulenc Flute Sonata, or a less-played Tchaikovsky orchestral piece). Am I the only one who doesn't like having my time wasted? And was the programming better in the afternoon as a response to different kinds of listeners? Are the afternoon listeners more discriminating, or less forgiving of banality?
I think the reason I am so worked up about this is that some people in the world - most, probably - see classical music as dull, sleepy, a relic of bygone eras. I KNOW that it isn't this way - and when radio stations play @#)$(* like I heard this morning, they are losing the opportunity to open people's eyes to the Beethoven "Appassionata" Sonata or Schubert's "Winterreise." It is only confirming those listeners' impression that classical music is irrelevant, when they hear the Tulou Nocturne for harp and flute. Little do they know what they are missing when they don't know the Shostakovich 10th Symphony, or the Bach Chaconne.
By the way, I should clarify that I don't mean music always has to be serious. I don't mean to suggest we should only be dining on steak, but there is such a thing as a great dessert. I do NOT usually enjoy Saint-Saens (that's like ordering a steak at Denny's) but I certainly enjoy the music of Fritz Kreisler, for example.
Friday, April 20, 2012
An invitation to list your desert island repertoire
I have to admit I love reading lists like "The Top 50 Movies of All Time," or "The 10 Most Important Inventions of the 20th Century." It doesn't matter if I agree or disagree with the choices - it is fun to compare my choices with someone else's. So I thought I'd make my own list (and invite you to submit your own) of the following: if I could listen to only one piece by each of the great composers for the rest of my life, which one piece would I choose? I might have a different answer to this question next year, or maybe even tomorrow. One observation about this list: there is very little piano music! I should point out this is not a list of what I would PLAY if I could only play one piece, but what I would listen to, and I honestly find it hard to listen to piano music strictly for pleasure.
So here it is, in something approaching chronological order:
Bach: The Brandenburg Concertos (don't make me choose one!)
Mozart: Don Giovanni (OK, maybe choosing an entire opera is cheating)
Beethoven: Symphony #7
Schubert: Quintet in C major
Chopin: Polonaise-Fantasy (if I learn it I probably won't want to listen anymore)
Schumann: Dichterliebe
Wagner: The Ring Cycle (I know, I know, it's 4 whole operas - guess I'd take Gotterdammerung if I had to)
Brahms: Symphony #4
Tchaikovsky: Symphony #6
Dvorak: Cello Concerto
Mahler: Symphony #4
R. Strauss: Ein Heldenleben
Debussy: String Quartet
Ravel: La Valse (by a hair, over Daphnis and Chloe)
Rachmaninov: Piano Concerto #3 (again, a piece I haven't actually played)
Stravinsky: Firebird
Prokofiev: Romeo and Juliet
Shostakovich: Cello Concerto #1
Bartok: Concerto for Orchestra
Schoenberg: Verklaerte Nacht
Please feel free to post your own list in the comments!
So here it is, in something approaching chronological order:
Bach: The Brandenburg Concertos (don't make me choose one!)
Mozart: Don Giovanni (OK, maybe choosing an entire opera is cheating)
Beethoven: Symphony #7
Schubert: Quintet in C major
Chopin: Polonaise-Fantasy (if I learn it I probably won't want to listen anymore)
Schumann: Dichterliebe
Wagner: The Ring Cycle (I know, I know, it's 4 whole operas - guess I'd take Gotterdammerung if I had to)
Brahms: Symphony #4
Tchaikovsky: Symphony #6
Dvorak: Cello Concerto
Mahler: Symphony #4
R. Strauss: Ein Heldenleben
Debussy: String Quartet
Ravel: La Valse (by a hair, over Daphnis and Chloe)
Rachmaninov: Piano Concerto #3 (again, a piece I haven't actually played)
Stravinsky: Firebird
Prokofiev: Romeo and Juliet
Shostakovich: Cello Concerto #1
Bartok: Concerto for Orchestra
Schoenberg: Verklaerte Nacht
Please feel free to post your own list in the comments!
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Bach's "Ich ruf zu Dir"
Throughout my life, I have always loved Bach, but over the past few years haven't focused as much of my time or energy on playing or teaching his music. I think this is because it is less "practical" in the sense that it is less helpful in winning a competition, passing an audition, etc. than, say, the Chopin 2nd Sonata, or Beethoven op. 57. Lately I have been happily reminded of the fact that Bach is, as one of my students recently remarked, food for the soul. He is not only the great mathematician / architect / problem-solver portrayed in "Godel/Escher/Bach" but also the deeply emotional and expressive and human man brought to life in "Night in the Palace of Reason."
Since childhood I have found that Bach is the best therapy, at least for me. When I was growing up, if I was sick and home from school, I would listen to Bach because it made me feel better, even physically. This evening, I was feeling a bit down and happened upon a piece by Bach I didn't know: "Ich ruf zu Dir, Herr Jesu Christ," which is originally (I think) for organ. I heard it first in a transcription for solo piano by Busoni, but discovered that there are also versions for cello and piano and a slightly different piano arrangement by Wilhelm Kempff.
As a pianist, I tend to ask my students to try NOT to sound like the piano, but in the end I have to admit I like the piano version better than the organ. But the cello and piano version may be the best of all. Here are a few for you to compare:
Grigory Sokolov - what an amazing sound!
Vladimir Horowitz - would have loved to hear this extraordinary singing sound live.
Tatiana Nikolayeva - very slow! But her laser beam of sound makes it possible to sustain the line even at this tempo. You may note that this is the third Russian in a row here. It seems that playing Bach transcriptions is and has been more fashionable in Russia than here in the US, where I only recently played a Bach transcription for the first time (Myra Hess's "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring").
Murray Perahia - as if to disprove my assertion that Americans don't play these Bach arrangements, here is always poetic Perahia. He doesn't have that same bold sound that the three Russians do (perhaps by choice), but also shows greater care for phrasing, and more interest in the accompaniment.
Wilhelm Kempff - playing his arrangement, which to my ear is hardly different at all from Busoni's. He has some of the same singing sound that you hear from Sokolov, along with a nice way of shaping the accompaniment.
Anne Queffelec - a beautiful performance in every respect, and it's nice to see this live. It reminds me that as much as I enjoy recordings, there is something more engaging about seeing a live human being actually making the sound we hear.
On the organ now, by Ton Koopman. He can (and does) take this quite slowly, as the organ is capable of sustaining notes indefinitely, unlike the piano where the sound will, eventually, decay and die away, making too slow a tempo somewhat inadvisable. Note also that the pitch sounds a half-step lower (all the pianists sound like they are playing in F-minor, while this sounds like E-minor). I assume that this organ is tuned to a lower pitch than what we use today. I admit that I am not an organ aficionado, but I have to say the relentlessly sustained quality of the organ is almost hard to take for me in this piece.
And finally for two on the cello: first Pierre Fournier, whose playing is beautiful, even if I find the slides to be overly-Romantic (you might expect to hear something similar in Stokowski's orchestral arrangements of Bach):
Maurice Gendron's playing of a slightly different arrangement: his cello playing is wonderfully elegant and refined, and I like it better in this octave (Fournier starts the piece an octave higher than this, i.e. in the same octave as in the piano and organ versions). Somehow, being more in the "comfort zone" of the cello seems to suit the character of this piece better.
What do you think? Do you know of another recording that you prefer? I didn't know this piece at all before this evening, and now have listened to it about a dozen times - and I feel better than I did before I listened to it.
Since childhood I have found that Bach is the best therapy, at least for me. When I was growing up, if I was sick and home from school, I would listen to Bach because it made me feel better, even physically. This evening, I was feeling a bit down and happened upon a piece by Bach I didn't know: "Ich ruf zu Dir, Herr Jesu Christ," which is originally (I think) for organ. I heard it first in a transcription for solo piano by Busoni, but discovered that there are also versions for cello and piano and a slightly different piano arrangement by Wilhelm Kempff.
As a pianist, I tend to ask my students to try NOT to sound like the piano, but in the end I have to admit I like the piano version better than the organ. But the cello and piano version may be the best of all. Here are a few for you to compare:
Grigory Sokolov - what an amazing sound!
Vladimir Horowitz - would have loved to hear this extraordinary singing sound live.
Tatiana Nikolayeva - very slow! But her laser beam of sound makes it possible to sustain the line even at this tempo. You may note that this is the third Russian in a row here. It seems that playing Bach transcriptions is and has been more fashionable in Russia than here in the US, where I only recently played a Bach transcription for the first time (Myra Hess's "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring").
Murray Perahia - as if to disprove my assertion that Americans don't play these Bach arrangements, here is always poetic Perahia. He doesn't have that same bold sound that the three Russians do (perhaps by choice), but also shows greater care for phrasing, and more interest in the accompaniment.
Wilhelm Kempff - playing his arrangement, which to my ear is hardly different at all from Busoni's. He has some of the same singing sound that you hear from Sokolov, along with a nice way of shaping the accompaniment.
Anne Queffelec - a beautiful performance in every respect, and it's nice to see this live. It reminds me that as much as I enjoy recordings, there is something more engaging about seeing a live human being actually making the sound we hear.
On the organ now, by Ton Koopman. He can (and does) take this quite slowly, as the organ is capable of sustaining notes indefinitely, unlike the piano where the sound will, eventually, decay and die away, making too slow a tempo somewhat inadvisable. Note also that the pitch sounds a half-step lower (all the pianists sound like they are playing in F-minor, while this sounds like E-minor). I assume that this organ is tuned to a lower pitch than what we use today. I admit that I am not an organ aficionado, but I have to say the relentlessly sustained quality of the organ is almost hard to take for me in this piece.
And finally for two on the cello: first Pierre Fournier, whose playing is beautiful, even if I find the slides to be overly-Romantic (you might expect to hear something similar in Stokowski's orchestral arrangements of Bach):
Maurice Gendron's playing of a slightly different arrangement: his cello playing is wonderfully elegant and refined, and I like it better in this octave (Fournier starts the piece an octave higher than this, i.e. in the same octave as in the piano and organ versions). Somehow, being more in the "comfort zone" of the cello seems to suit the character of this piece better.
What do you think? Do you know of another recording that you prefer? I didn't know this piece at all before this evening, and now have listened to it about a dozen times - and I feel better than I did before I listened to it.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Chopin Etude op. 10#1
This evening I was introduced, by my friend and colleague Roberto Poli, to an unusual and wonderful performance from 1911 of the Chopin Etude in C major, op. 10#1, by the pianist Vladimir de Pachmann. I have never heard anyone else perform the piece this way - it is much slower, more poetic, not at all a virtuoso showpiece. And my first reaction, after realizing how beautiful the piece was in this "outside the box" performance, was that this celebrated pianist would probably not be accepted to a conservatory after performing the piece in this way. It is too, well, out of the ordinary. I am going to post the performance below, as well as a good number of other recorded performances I found on youtube. First, see what you think of de Pachmann:
Now for a few of the more "standard" performances. I don't mean that as a criticism - these are amazing achievements, and beautiful for many reasons. But you will probably notice how similar Pollini, Lugansky, Ashkenazy, and Ohlsson are. It brings to mind the book I read recently by chef Jacques Pepin (see my previous blog post) where he explained that when he was younger, a chef at a great restaurant in Paris was trained so that he and all the chefs could prepare a dish in exactly the same way, so that a diner at the restaurant would not be able to tell who had prepared it that evening.
Pollini (generally thought of as the gold standard in this piece):
Lugansky (fantastic - to his credit, almost imperceptibly different from Pollini,but it does beg the question - why record the piece when such a similar interpretation already exists?)
Ashkenazy (some differences of articulation, but otherwise basically the same approach - but he proves here he can do it live, like a tight-rope walker without a safety net):
Ohlsson (another live performance, with the pitch nearly a half step sharp - I assume it is the recording rather than the instrument, suggesting that perhaps this has been *slightly* speeded up)
Now a couple of more "poetic" versions of the piece, from Claudio Arrau, Alfred Cortot and Wilhelm Backhaus. Cortot is often cited for his wrong notes, but I believe that in his time it was not yet possible to splice recordings so this is basically a live performance, and honestly the standard of "cleanliness" is simply much higher today than it used to be (sometimes at the expense of other priorities like imagination, risk-taking, etc). As for Backhaus, it is no-nonsense, perhaps a shade Teutonic, but really beautiful.
Cortot:
Arrau, both astounding technique and a beautiful sound:
Backhaus:
And the final three, all essential listening:
Richter is always recognizable - this is no-holds-barred, a bit rushed, anything but flowery - and it's live:
One more person who might be laughed at at a Conservatory audition, Georges Cziffra - but this is truly astounding technically (so that might win over the conservatory faculty) while being absolutely unique. It is probably closer in spirit to the Romantic approach in that the performer is unapologetically inserting his own ideas in to the piece. And this was the one where, alone in my room watching, I said out loud "Holy #$(*&#"
And finally, the pianist that all other pianists aspire to be, Martha Argerich. Probably my desert-island choice:
Now that you've seen all these performances, you might want to listen to de Pachmann again - is it refreshing to hear something different? Does it sound too slow to you now after hearing that everyone else plays it faster? And to those of us (I include myself) who make decisions about who should and shouldn't be accepted to conservatories, how can we make sure we don't close our minds to the beautifully unusual?
Now for a few of the more "standard" performances. I don't mean that as a criticism - these are amazing achievements, and beautiful for many reasons. But you will probably notice how similar Pollini, Lugansky, Ashkenazy, and Ohlsson are. It brings to mind the book I read recently by chef Jacques Pepin (see my previous blog post) where he explained that when he was younger, a chef at a great restaurant in Paris was trained so that he and all the chefs could prepare a dish in exactly the same way, so that a diner at the restaurant would not be able to tell who had prepared it that evening.
Pollini (generally thought of as the gold standard in this piece):
Lugansky (fantastic - to his credit, almost imperceptibly different from Pollini,but it does beg the question - why record the piece when such a similar interpretation already exists?)
Ashkenazy (some differences of articulation, but otherwise basically the same approach - but he proves here he can do it live, like a tight-rope walker without a safety net):
Ohlsson (another live performance, with the pitch nearly a half step sharp - I assume it is the recording rather than the instrument, suggesting that perhaps this has been *slightly* speeded up)
Now a couple of more "poetic" versions of the piece, from Claudio Arrau, Alfred Cortot and Wilhelm Backhaus. Cortot is often cited for his wrong notes, but I believe that in his time it was not yet possible to splice recordings so this is basically a live performance, and honestly the standard of "cleanliness" is simply much higher today than it used to be (sometimes at the expense of other priorities like imagination, risk-taking, etc). As for Backhaus, it is no-nonsense, perhaps a shade Teutonic, but really beautiful.
Cortot:
Arrau, both astounding technique and a beautiful sound:
Backhaus:
And the final three, all essential listening:
Richter is always recognizable - this is no-holds-barred, a bit rushed, anything but flowery - and it's live:
One more person who might be laughed at at a Conservatory audition, Georges Cziffra - but this is truly astounding technically (so that might win over the conservatory faculty) while being absolutely unique. It is probably closer in spirit to the Romantic approach in that the performer is unapologetically inserting his own ideas in to the piece. And this was the one where, alone in my room watching, I said out loud "Holy #$(*&#"
And finally, the pianist that all other pianists aspire to be, Martha Argerich. Probably my desert-island choice:
Now that you've seen all these performances, you might want to listen to de Pachmann again - is it refreshing to hear something different? Does it sound too slow to you now after hearing that everyone else plays it faster? And to those of us (I include myself) who make decisions about who should and shouldn't be accepted to conservatories, how can we make sure we don't close our minds to the beautifully unusual?
Friday, March 2, 2012
We don't need no education
I just saw an eye-opening video of a lecture by Sir Ken Robinson, from the "TED" series. It is not a new video (in fact it is from 2006) but I would urge you to watch it. One of the major points here is that our education system doesn't necessarily foster creativity (in fact, he argues, it stifles creativity). The question on my mind is: how can we help children (and everyone) develop their flexible, creative, problem-solving sides? I have two children and while they are both intelligent, one is great at memorizing and creating systems for herself, while the other is more flexible in her thinking (and, incidentally, is lazier). I try to foster their creativity (knowing that this is useful for all fields, not just the arts) by encouraging them to draw, dance, play music, etc. Is that all I can do? I'd love to hear suggestions. Meanwhile, enjoy the lecture - it is well worth the 20 minutes of your time it will take to watch it.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Chefs
In honor of tonight's "Top Chef" finale (my favorite TV show) I thought I would share my observations about the last two books I read: Jacques Pepin's "The Apprentice: My Life in the Kitchen" and Anthony Bourdain's "Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly." Both are chefs made famous by TV, and both offer a lot of insight to someone like me, who loves food and enjoys cooking, but has never seen what REALLY happens in a professional kitchen. The books are quite different in tone, as you might expect if you have seen them on television: Pepin is warm, easy-going, and avuncular, while Bourdain is biting, sarcastic, and takes no prisoners (including himself - he is not at all self-serving, and subjects himself to the same criticism as everyone else).
What I gained, as a musician, from reading these books (and that is not the only reason I read the books, mind you) is the realization that we are not the only ones who experience ups and downs. Both chefs have experienced, in the broad sense, huge progress in their careers, but things did not go in a straight line, without the occasional miscalculation or string of bad luck. Neither was too proud to work in less-than-glamorous situations, even after being, for example, the official chef to Charles de Gaulle (as in Pepin's case). I have likewise experienced highs and lows, and just because I have played a recital in the Wigmore Hall doesn't mean I am unwilling to play a concerto with a student orchestra (schedule permitting). It worked for Pepin and Bourdain, and in the end the thing that shines through is that both of those chefs love to work, almost regardless of the restaurant.
My own grandfather worked as a chef, though I didn't get to know that part of his life too well before he died. I remember very vividly how much I love eating Oysters Rockefeller at his restaurant in California as a young kid, and I remember another time when he made escargots at home. If I ever have the time, I would love to take a serious cooking course at the Cordon Bleu or something like that. Maybe when the kids are grown up (and aren't only interested in macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets). But it does seem, based on what Bourdain says that one's hands can get pretty gnarly from repeated use of sharp knives, splattering oil, etc. So I'm not sure I should risk my career just to be able to make a great meal.
One of my first conducting performances was at a "Symphonies for Youth" concert organized by the Los Angeles Philharmonic, at their former home, the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. I was conducting my school's orchestra (I was 16 or 17 - the Crossroads Chamber Orchestra was no ordinary school orchestra, having produced the concertmasters and principal players of several major orchestras including the Chicago Symphony, Boston Symphony, New York Philharmonic, and many others) in a piece I had written (nothing special, mind you). The theme of the Saturday morning concert was "Cooking with Strings," an attempt to help kids understand music through an analogy with chefs and cooking. I was supposed to be a "real live chef" (unlike, say, Beethoven) and had to conduct the orchestra with a chef's hat on. I had been asked to conduct with a wooden spoon, but even as a teenager I just had to draw the line somewhere, and was allowed to use a baton. I don't know if the orchestra really respected me with my chef's hat on, but in any case I wasn't quite up to being respected by an orchestra even without a silly costume.
What I gained, as a musician, from reading these books (and that is not the only reason I read the books, mind you) is the realization that we are not the only ones who experience ups and downs. Both chefs have experienced, in the broad sense, huge progress in their careers, but things did not go in a straight line, without the occasional miscalculation or string of bad luck. Neither was too proud to work in less-than-glamorous situations, even after being, for example, the official chef to Charles de Gaulle (as in Pepin's case). I have likewise experienced highs and lows, and just because I have played a recital in the Wigmore Hall doesn't mean I am unwilling to play a concerto with a student orchestra (schedule permitting). It worked for Pepin and Bourdain, and in the end the thing that shines through is that both of those chefs love to work, almost regardless of the restaurant.
My own grandfather worked as a chef, though I didn't get to know that part of his life too well before he died. I remember very vividly how much I love eating Oysters Rockefeller at his restaurant in California as a young kid, and I remember another time when he made escargots at home. If I ever have the time, I would love to take a serious cooking course at the Cordon Bleu or something like that. Maybe when the kids are grown up (and aren't only interested in macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets). But it does seem, based on what Bourdain says that one's hands can get pretty gnarly from repeated use of sharp knives, splattering oil, etc. So I'm not sure I should risk my career just to be able to make a great meal.
One of my first conducting performances was at a "Symphonies for Youth" concert organized by the Los Angeles Philharmonic, at their former home, the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. I was conducting my school's orchestra (I was 16 or 17 - the Crossroads Chamber Orchestra was no ordinary school orchestra, having produced the concertmasters and principal players of several major orchestras including the Chicago Symphony, Boston Symphony, New York Philharmonic, and many others) in a piece I had written (nothing special, mind you). The theme of the Saturday morning concert was "Cooking with Strings," an attempt to help kids understand music through an analogy with chefs and cooking. I was supposed to be a "real live chef" (unlike, say, Beethoven) and had to conduct the orchestra with a chef's hat on. I had been asked to conduct with a wooden spoon, but even as a teenager I just had to draw the line somewhere, and was allowed to use a baton. I don't know if the orchestra really respected me with my chef's hat on, but in any case I wasn't quite up to being respected by an orchestra even without a silly costume.
Life interferes with Art: Beethoven on hold
As it is the last day of February (the 29th!) I am due to report on the progress of my Beethoven Sonata project. I am trying to learn one new Sonata each month, with the goal of having them all in my fingers in about a year-and-a-half. This month I decided to learn op. 31#1, a wonderful piece while not quite the life-altering experience of op. 111 or op. 57. It isn't quite as far a long as I'd like it to be, mostly because my progress was interrupted by some surgery. It wasn't a life-threatening procedure, though I was nervous anyway (first time to have any surgery), and I was not quite at 100% for a while.
But I DID get the notes learned fairly well (I was hoping to have the piece memorized, but no luck) since I worked hard on the piece at the beginning of the month, prior to my surgery. At the time, the little red devil whispering in my ear said "Why hurry - you have the whole month!" while the other part, fortunately, won over and convinced me to practice right away, while I could.
So the moral of the story is: take advantage of time when you have it. I have already admitted to being a terrible procrastinator, one who has succeeded too many times in getting things done at the last minute and so I am not quick to change this. And in the context of non-urgent tasks (see Stephen Covey) like my Beethoven project, it is all too easy to let those things slide when life interferes with realities like surgery or flight delays or any other unexpected events.
So I'm hoping to catch up in March (while also playing a lot of repertoire unrelated to this project) AND to keep forging ahead, maybe with an easier sonata like op. 14#1 or op. 49#2. We'll see how it goes - wish me luck!
But I DID get the notes learned fairly well (I was hoping to have the piece memorized, but no luck) since I worked hard on the piece at the beginning of the month, prior to my surgery. At the time, the little red devil whispering in my ear said "Why hurry - you have the whole month!" while the other part, fortunately, won over and convinced me to practice right away, while I could.
So the moral of the story is: take advantage of time when you have it. I have already admitted to being a terrible procrastinator, one who has succeeded too many times in getting things done at the last minute and so I am not quick to change this. And in the context of non-urgent tasks (see Stephen Covey) like my Beethoven project, it is all too easy to let those things slide when life interferes with realities like surgery or flight delays or any other unexpected events.
So I'm hoping to catch up in March (while also playing a lot of repertoire unrelated to this project) AND to keep forging ahead, maybe with an easier sonata like op. 14#1 or op. 49#2. We'll see how it goes - wish me luck!
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Chronological Survey of "Eroica" opening
I'm not sure if anyone else will find this interesting, but thought I'd share it: someone has compiled 20-30 different recordings (from 1952 to the present) of the Beethoven 3rd Symphony opening two chords. Most people would probably be struck by the variety of pitches used as E-flat major - some of them sound a half-step high to my ear, and in the 1980's you hear a few of the "period instrument" groups playing a half-step lower than a "modern" E-flat.
I think it's interesting to see, in this very brief and not exactly scientifically controlled experiment, how differently people can play the exact same two chords. And all of them, I'm sure, were doing what they thought best suited Beethoven.
I think it's interesting to see, in this very brief and not exactly scientifically controlled experiment, how differently people can play the exact same two chords. And all of them, I'm sure, were doing what they thought best suited Beethoven.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Alexis Weissenberg and overcoming first impressions
I have mentioned before in this blog that I appreciate both the control of being able to hear whatever I want, whenever I want, thanks to my iPod; AND giving up control of my listening to the local classical stations (WGBH 99.5 and sometimes WHRB 95.3), as I often discover pieces or performers I didn't know about. This happened a few days ago when I was in my car and heard a wonderful performance of the Chopin 2nd Piano Concerto slow movement, but didn't know who it was. It turned out to be Alexis Weissenberg, somewhat of a surprise to me since I had decided many years ago (decades in fact) that I didn't like his playing. As a kid I remember owning two LP's, one of some Bach ( I can't remember what it was) and the other a recording of the Brahms Violin Sonatas with Anne-Sophie Mutter. I didn't like either, and so I hadn't bothered to listen to him ever since.
Now having spent a short time perusing recordings of Weissenberg that people have uploaded to Youtube, I can say that he is great, but perhaps not 100% of the time. I heard some wonderful Chopin and Rachmaninov, but also a dry Bach Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue that lacked fantasy. But in any case I am glad for the discovery that, despite my first impression years ago, there is wonderful artistry to be heard from among his many recordings (Weissenberg died quite recently, on my birthday in fact - the New York Times obituary is here).
I know this is hardly news, but first impressions are powerful - maybe too powerful! I remember that the first time I heard the Mahler Fourth Symphony, I thought the 3rd movement was boring (granted, I was in middle school at the time). Now I love it so much that I would have it played at my funeral, if possible. (That probably won't work out since it requires a whole orchestra, but my other top choice for music at my funeral is the slow movement of the Schubert C major Quintet). I also remember, once upon a time, not liking the Richter's playing, or foods like avocadoes, ikura (salmon roe), or anchovies, all things I love now. But I wonder if there are other things to which I need to give a second or third chance - am I missing out on something because of a bad first impression?
A piece of practical advice: if you are a student auditioning for a conservatory, always start with your best piece. Many students seem to think they are somehow obliged to start with Bach (don't know where this idea came from), but if that isn't your best piece, start with something else. That first impression, even within a 15-20 minute audition can change the way we hear you the rest of the time.
Here is the Rachmaninov Sonata #2, 1st Movement, played by Alexis Weissenberg (who, as it turns out, bears some resemblance to Rachmaninov, I think!)
Now having spent a short time perusing recordings of Weissenberg that people have uploaded to Youtube, I can say that he is great, but perhaps not 100% of the time. I heard some wonderful Chopin and Rachmaninov, but also a dry Bach Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue that lacked fantasy. But in any case I am glad for the discovery that, despite my first impression years ago, there is wonderful artistry to be heard from among his many recordings (Weissenberg died quite recently, on my birthday in fact - the New York Times obituary is here).
I know this is hardly news, but first impressions are powerful - maybe too powerful! I remember that the first time I heard the Mahler Fourth Symphony, I thought the 3rd movement was boring (granted, I was in middle school at the time). Now I love it so much that I would have it played at my funeral, if possible. (That probably won't work out since it requires a whole orchestra, but my other top choice for music at my funeral is the slow movement of the Schubert C major Quintet). I also remember, once upon a time, not liking the Richter's playing, or foods like avocadoes, ikura (salmon roe), or anchovies, all things I love now. But I wonder if there are other things to which I need to give a second or third chance - am I missing out on something because of a bad first impression?
A piece of practical advice: if you are a student auditioning for a conservatory, always start with your best piece. Many students seem to think they are somehow obliged to start with Bach (don't know where this idea came from), but if that isn't your best piece, start with something else. That first impression, even within a 15-20 minute audition can change the way we hear you the rest of the time.
Here is the Rachmaninov Sonata #2, 1st Movement, played by Alexis Weissenberg (who, as it turns out, bears some resemblance to Rachmaninov, I think!)
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
A little love music for Valentine's Day
In honor of Valentine's Day, a couple of my favorite love-related pieces of music - what are yours?
Prokofiev "Romeo and Juliet" (here is the Balcony Scene), from the Mariinsky Theatre:
Schoenberg "Transfigured Night" (Juilliard Quartet, with Walter Trampler and Yo-Yo Ma)
Wagner-Liszt "Liebestod" (played by me)
Prokofiev "Romeo and Juliet" (here is the Balcony Scene), from the Mariinsky Theatre:
Schoenberg "Transfigured Night" (Juilliard Quartet, with Walter Trampler and Yo-Yo Ma)
Wagner-Liszt "Liebestod" (played by me)
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Pianists and public transportation
I have just returned home from a trip to Dublin, Ireland, where I had the great pleasure of playing a concert with many of my fellow winners of the Dublin International Piano Competition: Phillippe Cassard, Pavel Nersessian, Davide Franceschetti, Alexei Nabioulin, and Romain Descharmes, along with the founder of the competition, John O'Conor. (The two other winners, Antti Siirala and Alexej Gorlatch, couldn't be there). The first half included each pianist playing a short solo piece, and after intermission we returned as a group to play some pieces (arranged) for seven pianos. Here is a photo I took while the piano tuner was scrambling to get all of these 9-foot Steinway Model D's tuned:
It was a great time for us, performers of an often-solitary instrument who had a chance to play together.
I've been to Ireland about 15 times, I'd say, and the people I know are all very eager to be helpful. I usually stay in a friend's home (this time my friends Myles and Laurie), and if I ever need to go somewhere, there are people who are quick to offer me a ride in their car. But a few days ago I ended up taking the train (the "DART") to get from Dublin's Royal Irish Academy of Music (I'd been practicing) to the home where I was staying. And I realized that I LOVE taking public transportation, especially when I am away from home. I have very happily ridden the subway in London, Paris, Tokyo, Moscow, New York, Chicago. In fact I vastly prefer taking the train to riding in a taxi. When I left Dublin I very happily took a bus from the city centre to the airport - in fact I was happier doing that than I had been on the taxi I took from the airport when I arrived.
It made me wonder why. I think what I like about it is the independence. I grew up in Los Angeles, where most people I know go everywhere by car. When I came to Boston for school, the idea that I could hop on the Red Line and go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted, was wonderfully liberating. But I wonder whether being a pianist has helped contribute to this preference for independence. Pianists, when playing solo piano repertoire, don't need to ask for anyone's opinion when making musical decisions (this of course is different when playing music for 7 pianos!) and when we take public transportation, it feels less like we are depending on someone else. (Of course this is partly an illusion, as we all depend on the driver of the train, and are subject to limitations of the train's schedule and route). I have noticed that different musical instruments tend to be correlated to different personalities, and pianists tend to be the loners, the eccentrics, the dreamers, the awkward nerds. And I bet I'm not the only pianist who prefers the independence of public transportation to the dependence of asking for a ride.
I've been to Ireland about 15 times, I'd say, and the people I know are all very eager to be helpful. I usually stay in a friend's home (this time my friends Myles and Laurie), and if I ever need to go somewhere, there are people who are quick to offer me a ride in their car. But a few days ago I ended up taking the train (the "DART") to get from Dublin's Royal Irish Academy of Music (I'd been practicing) to the home where I was staying. And I realized that I LOVE taking public transportation, especially when I am away from home. I have very happily ridden the subway in London, Paris, Tokyo, Moscow, New York, Chicago. In fact I vastly prefer taking the train to riding in a taxi. When I left Dublin I very happily took a bus from the city centre to the airport - in fact I was happier doing that than I had been on the taxi I took from the airport when I arrived.
It made me wonder why. I think what I like about it is the independence. I grew up in Los Angeles, where most people I know go everywhere by car. When I came to Boston for school, the idea that I could hop on the Red Line and go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted, was wonderfully liberating. But I wonder whether being a pianist has helped contribute to this preference for independence. Pianists, when playing solo piano repertoire, don't need to ask for anyone's opinion when making musical decisions (this of course is different when playing music for 7 pianos!) and when we take public transportation, it feels less like we are depending on someone else. (Of course this is partly an illusion, as we all depend on the driver of the train, and are subject to limitations of the train's schedule and route). I have noticed that different musical instruments tend to be correlated to different personalities, and pianists tend to be the loners, the eccentrics, the dreamers, the awkward nerds. And I bet I'm not the only pianist who prefers the independence of public transportation to the dependence of asking for a ride.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Beethoven op. 111 progress report
Earlier this month I made public my goal to be able to play all of the 32 Beethoven Sonatas in about 2 years. With that in mind, I set myself the shorter term goal of learning the last of his Sonatas, op. 111 in C minor, over the month of January. It has not been easy! I am a pretty quick learner at this point - years of leaving things to the last minute have helped me hone my ability to learn fast. But even so, squeezing in the hours around all of my other responsibilities - for example, practicing for other concerts, teaching, taking care of my children, etc. - has been difficult.
But today, on the last day of January, while practicing in a lovely home in Dublin, I played through the entire piece. It is a privilege to know the piece much more intimately than when I started. And it is good to know that while a month of sporadic work has been enough to get the notes in to my fingers, it is nevertheless a piece that will, I'm sure, reveal more and more to me as I live with it longer. In fact this is why I started my Beethoven project with this piece - I am counting on the blessing of time to help me digest this piece more fully.
My students know that I love to say how tired I am of the sound of the piano, which is partially true (but not totally). One of the remarkable things about op. 111 is the way it sounds so unlike a piano piece to me. Perhaps it is fitting that it is his last piano sonata (although several important piano pieces, most notably the "Diabelli" Variations, were written later) as the first movement sounds to me more like a symphony and the second like a string quartet, the genre which seemed especially to captivate Beethoven in his later years. By the time this piece was written Beethoven was, I believe, totally deaf, and he was writing, perhaps, not for the earthly instruments we hear every day, but for the heavenly sounds he could hear in his own mind. It presents the wonderful challenge of creating this palette of colors on the piano.
Now tomorrow, my day is filled with a master class at the Royal Irish Academy of Music, a radio broadcast, and a rehearsal with some old friends (all former winners of the Dublin International Piano Competition) of fun, entertaining music for as many as 8 pianists at once (including arrangements of Flight of the Bumblebee, the William Tell Overture, and "Tea for Two.") It may not be op. 111, but it has its place too!
But today, on the last day of January, while practicing in a lovely home in Dublin, I played through the entire piece. It is a privilege to know the piece much more intimately than when I started. And it is good to know that while a month of sporadic work has been enough to get the notes in to my fingers, it is nevertheless a piece that will, I'm sure, reveal more and more to me as I live with it longer. In fact this is why I started my Beethoven project with this piece - I am counting on the blessing of time to help me digest this piece more fully.
My students know that I love to say how tired I am of the sound of the piano, which is partially true (but not totally). One of the remarkable things about op. 111 is the way it sounds so unlike a piano piece to me. Perhaps it is fitting that it is his last piano sonata (although several important piano pieces, most notably the "Diabelli" Variations, were written later) as the first movement sounds to me more like a symphony and the second like a string quartet, the genre which seemed especially to captivate Beethoven in his later years. By the time this piece was written Beethoven was, I believe, totally deaf, and he was writing, perhaps, not for the earthly instruments we hear every day, but for the heavenly sounds he could hear in his own mind. It presents the wonderful challenge of creating this palette of colors on the piano.
Now tomorrow, my day is filled with a master class at the Royal Irish Academy of Music, a radio broadcast, and a rehearsal with some old friends (all former winners of the Dublin International Piano Competition) of fun, entertaining music for as many as 8 pianists at once (including arrangements of Flight of the Bumblebee, the William Tell Overture, and "Tea for Two.") It may not be op. 111, but it has its place too!
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Music for normal people
I just started teaching a new course at Boston Conservatory, the first they are offering for adults via their extension division. It is one semester class, meeting once a week, called "Getting to Know the Piano Repertoire" and when I was explaining what I was doing to one of my undergraduate conservatory students, she helped me find the word to describe the students who would be enrolling in the course: "NORMAL people." At a conservatory, I spend most of my time working with students who have studied piano music for most of their lives - (abnormal people?). Even then I have to make an effort at times to imagine what it is like to hear about a piece for the first time, when I have performed it in concert 100 times. That, of course, is what teachers do all of the time, in all sorts of fields.
But it is always healthy for a performer, like myself, to come face to face not with musical colleagues but with the "normal people" who make up the audience of concerts. What do they think about when they hear music? What do they like or dislike? The great artist is not, of course, supposed to play in a way that panders to the audience, but he does need to consider what is valuable to them - it is about striking a proper balance between entertaining and challenging.
In any case, I enjoy helping opening people's eyes to things I already know and love. I admire the "normal people" in this course, some who appear to be working, some possibly retired, but all challenging themselves to learn something new, rather than sitting in front of the TV and coasting through life on the education they acquired in high school or college. In the last year or two I have begun to do more private teaching, including students who are 14 years old, and one who is over 70. It has helped me to see clearly how valuable playing the piano and getting to know great music, intimately, is to everyone, not just professional musicians themselves.
But it is always healthy for a performer, like myself, to come face to face not with musical colleagues but with the "normal people" who make up the audience of concerts. What do they think about when they hear music? What do they like or dislike? The great artist is not, of course, supposed to play in a way that panders to the audience, but he does need to consider what is valuable to them - it is about striking a proper balance between entertaining and challenging.
In any case, I enjoy helping opening people's eyes to things I already know and love. I admire the "normal people" in this course, some who appear to be working, some possibly retired, but all challenging themselves to learn something new, rather than sitting in front of the TV and coasting through life on the education they acquired in high school or college. In the last year or two I have begun to do more private teaching, including students who are 14 years old, and one who is over 70. It has helped me to see clearly how valuable playing the piano and getting to know great music, intimately, is to everyone, not just professional musicians themselves.
Friday, January 20, 2012
The problem with perfect practice?
I just read (and recommend) this blog post by Dr. Noa Kageyama, on the subject of practicing. About a year ago I gave a presentation to a group of Los Angeles piano teachers entitled "Making Practice Perfect" where I explored and shared various techniques that I find useful for myself and students. Dr. Kageyama points out, however, that the attempt to be "perfect" in the practice room can actually prevent us from learning. One such reason occurs especially in conservatory environments: we want to sound good to our peers in the hallway or the practice room next door, and will avoid working on pieces or passages we aren't so confident with. Or we might avoid taking a risk with tempo or musical idea, for example, because we will (probably) sound terrible, at least at first.
As a kid, one of my friends (now concertmaster of a major American orchestra) would sometimes go over to an older friend's house (he is now the concertmaster of another major American orchestra) to practice. My friend said it helped him focus and not screw around. But I wonder if it might have also made him avoid practicing brand new repertoire, say, or trying out new interpretive or technical ideas. Now mind you, he is a great (and successful) violinist so he obviously wasn't damaged by this much, if at all, but it makes me think that it's important, in practicing, not to focus on what others think, but to listen to ourselves and evaluate how we are doing.
To my Conservatory students: ignore everyone else practicing nearby! Your job is not to impress them in a practice room - your job is to do your best on stage, in a concert or competition or audition or recording studio.
On the other hand, I remember quite vividly the experience years ago as a Fellow at the Tanglewood Music Center that I often ended up practicing in a room near Leon Fleisher's office. Being within earshot of one of the world's greatest pianists definitely made me sharpen my focus, and I had the nervewracking privilege of having him come in once or twice to advise me on something he heard me doing.
As a kid, one of my friends (now concertmaster of a major American orchestra) would sometimes go over to an older friend's house (he is now the concertmaster of another major American orchestra) to practice. My friend said it helped him focus and not screw around. But I wonder if it might have also made him avoid practicing brand new repertoire, say, or trying out new interpretive or technical ideas. Now mind you, he is a great (and successful) violinist so he obviously wasn't damaged by this much, if at all, but it makes me think that it's important, in practicing, not to focus on what others think, but to listen to ourselves and evaluate how we are doing.
To my Conservatory students: ignore everyone else practicing nearby! Your job is not to impress them in a practice room - your job is to do your best on stage, in a concert or competition or audition or recording studio.
On the other hand, I remember quite vividly the experience years ago as a Fellow at the Tanglewood Music Center that I often ended up practicing in a room near Leon Fleisher's office. Being within earshot of one of the world's greatest pianists definitely made me sharpen my focus, and I had the nervewracking privilege of having him come in once or twice to advise me on something he heard me doing.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Goldbergs are not enough - now for all the Beethoven Sonatas!?!?
I recently blogged, happily, about my successful project to learn the Goldberg Variations in a month, working gradually, one variation each day. A brief update: I am reviewing what I worked on and it will be a few more months certainly before I feel ready to let anyone hear it! But I try to remind myself that I learned it not for the purpose of performing it (a departure for me), and that if I do program the piece on a concert in the future that will be icing on the cake. (Well, I have to say I do like icing! And in a VERY tangential footnote: my manager got me a chocolate cake for my birthday last week from Magnolia Bakery in NYC and it was absolutely the best cake I have ever eaten. That is not an exaggeration.)
I am now embarking on a project that I hope will take not one month but 2 years - I want, finally, to know all 32 of the Beethoven Sonatas. I feel very much at home with about 12 of them. There are a few more that I have worked on (and one I have played in concert) but that really warrant a thorough reworking. And then there a dozen or more that I have never worked on at all. My intention is to share some of my reflections on this, perhaps once a month as I hope to get one Sonata in my fingers every month. I decided to work from the end, for now at least, so I'm working on op.111. I'll write again about that in a week or two.
I am saying it here, publicly, to help me stay on track! My friend Ali Binazir, a wonderfully tireless high achiever, recently alerted me to the existence of a web site that is supposed to help people keep up with their personal projects, whether losing weight, or exercising, or reading a book every week. The site is here: http://www.stickk.com/ I haven't tried using it, but they have some great ideas there, and a mechanism for enlisting support from others to help get your projects done.
My challenge, aside from finding the time to do this and the tenacity and endurance to follow through for many months of work, is to translate my big goal in to smaller daily goals. I find that the only way not to procrastinate is to have something VERY specific to do every day. Wish me luck, as I wish you luck on YOUR projects.
I am now embarking on a project that I hope will take not one month but 2 years - I want, finally, to know all 32 of the Beethoven Sonatas. I feel very much at home with about 12 of them. There are a few more that I have worked on (and one I have played in concert) but that really warrant a thorough reworking. And then there a dozen or more that I have never worked on at all. My intention is to share some of my reflections on this, perhaps once a month as I hope to get one Sonata in my fingers every month. I decided to work from the end, for now at least, so I'm working on op.111. I'll write again about that in a week or two.
I am saying it here, publicly, to help me stay on track! My friend Ali Binazir, a wonderfully tireless high achiever, recently alerted me to the existence of a web site that is supposed to help people keep up with their personal projects, whether losing weight, or exercising, or reading a book every week. The site is here: http://www.stickk.com/ I haven't tried using it, but they have some great ideas there, and a mechanism for enlisting support from others to help get your projects done.
My challenge, aside from finding the time to do this and the tenacity and endurance to follow through for many months of work, is to translate my big goal in to smaller daily goals. I find that the only way not to procrastinate is to have something VERY specific to do every day. Wish me luck, as I wish you luck on YOUR projects.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
A Goldberg a Day
About a year ago I saw the film "Julie and Julia," based on a book of the same title. The author of the book (and one of the title characters in the film) sets out on a journey to cook every recipe in Julia Child's "Mastering the Art of French Cooking," in the space of one year. I enjoyed the film (even though most would describe it as a "chick flick" - but I just love watching a show about cooking!), and it made me think about seemingly impossible tasks, that become feasible when divided in to manageable daily chunks.
So I decided, about a month ago, to try to learn Bach's "Goldberg" Variations, a monumental work that I have never really grappled with simply because it seemed too huge. There is a theme and thirty variations (followed by a repeat of the theme), and I realized that I could learn the piece in a month if I worked on one variation each day. Today, December 31, I am happy to report that I can now play through the piece - it isn't polished or consistent, and it certainly isn't memorized. It will take considerable work (and time living with the piece) to feel confident enough to play it for an audience. But (and this is VERY unusual for me) I can honestly say I don't care if I play it for an audience, not for the moment anyway.
For me this project has been important for a number of reasons. Normally I only really work on something when I have an external deadline, like a concert or a recording. That doesn't mean I don't learn new music - what I do is schedule a new piece for a concert at some future date, and that forces me to learn it. But I have a tendency to procrastinate (a byproduct of being a fast learner) and once in a while I have to back out of a repertoire plan because I don't leave myself enough time to learn something.
But I worked on the Goldberg Variations for *me*. I made my own deadline. This was really art for art's sake - no one is paying me to play this piece in a concert. As a young person growing up, many if not most of the pieces I learned were for this kind of purpose - artistic growth without immediate thought of practical or professional gain. But as I got older, got married, had children - I had to think more about how the hours I invest produce dividends not only for myself but for those under my care. After all, there are only so many hours in the day! Now I am obviously not talking about a total "sell-out" - I am still in an exceedingly impractical profession! But my day-to-day priorities have not been consistently focused on artistic goals for their own sake, but some mixture of artistic and career-related goals. For that reason, this little project, only a month (and only really requiring about 1 hour a day, sometimes a little more), has been a wonderful reawakening.
This was also important to me for another reason: to prove to myself that I could finish a big project without anyone else making me do it. I am by nature a bit of a "crammer" or perhaps a "sprinter" - I can accomplish a lot in a short intense period. But I have trouble with the "marathons," usually. I am glad to prove to myself that I can follow through with this one-hour-a-day - but EVERY day - project, culminating in accomplishing something significant.
So now, as we enter 2012, I am thinking about what big musical projects I have meant to tackle, and how I can divide them in to smaller, more manageable daily or weekly projects. If you are like me, a procrastinator, you should try the same! Would you like to read all the Shakespeare plays this year? Read one every week, and you'll be done in 9 months. Would you like to read all of "War and Peace"? If you read 30 pages a week (3-4 pages every day - not very much!) you'll be done in a year.
A side benefit to this project: I have been spending time in the mind of Bach every day for a month. It has been a wonderful gift to have this time. One of my teachers, Bruce Sutherland (about whom I have previously blogged), urged his students to play some Bach every day. I hadn't done that in years, focusing instead on whatever repertoire I needed to be working on for my concerts - when the concert included Bach I'd work on it, but otherwise I did not. I can say that Bruce was absolutely right - Bach has been good for my fingers and for my soul this past month.
Happy New Year, and stay tuned for my next project - once I decide what it's going to be...! And feel free to post your own project in the comments!
So I decided, about a month ago, to try to learn Bach's "Goldberg" Variations, a monumental work that I have never really grappled with simply because it seemed too huge. There is a theme and thirty variations (followed by a repeat of the theme), and I realized that I could learn the piece in a month if I worked on one variation each day. Today, December 31, I am happy to report that I can now play through the piece - it isn't polished or consistent, and it certainly isn't memorized. It will take considerable work (and time living with the piece) to feel confident enough to play it for an audience. But (and this is VERY unusual for me) I can honestly say I don't care if I play it for an audience, not for the moment anyway.
For me this project has been important for a number of reasons. Normally I only really work on something when I have an external deadline, like a concert or a recording. That doesn't mean I don't learn new music - what I do is schedule a new piece for a concert at some future date, and that forces me to learn it. But I have a tendency to procrastinate (a byproduct of being a fast learner) and once in a while I have to back out of a repertoire plan because I don't leave myself enough time to learn something.
But I worked on the Goldberg Variations for *me*. I made my own deadline. This was really art for art's sake - no one is paying me to play this piece in a concert. As a young person growing up, many if not most of the pieces I learned were for this kind of purpose - artistic growth without immediate thought of practical or professional gain. But as I got older, got married, had children - I had to think more about how the hours I invest produce dividends not only for myself but for those under my care. After all, there are only so many hours in the day! Now I am obviously not talking about a total "sell-out" - I am still in an exceedingly impractical profession! But my day-to-day priorities have not been consistently focused on artistic goals for their own sake, but some mixture of artistic and career-related goals. For that reason, this little project, only a month (and only really requiring about 1 hour a day, sometimes a little more), has been a wonderful reawakening.
This was also important to me for another reason: to prove to myself that I could finish a big project without anyone else making me do it. I am by nature a bit of a "crammer" or perhaps a "sprinter" - I can accomplish a lot in a short intense period. But I have trouble with the "marathons," usually. I am glad to prove to myself that I can follow through with this one-hour-a-day - but EVERY day - project, culminating in accomplishing something significant.
So now, as we enter 2012, I am thinking about what big musical projects I have meant to tackle, and how I can divide them in to smaller, more manageable daily or weekly projects. If you are like me, a procrastinator, you should try the same! Would you like to read all the Shakespeare plays this year? Read one every week, and you'll be done in 9 months. Would you like to read all of "War and Peace"? If you read 30 pages a week (3-4 pages every day - not very much!) you'll be done in a year.
A side benefit to this project: I have been spending time in the mind of Bach every day for a month. It has been a wonderful gift to have this time. One of my teachers, Bruce Sutherland (about whom I have previously blogged), urged his students to play some Bach every day. I hadn't done that in years, focusing instead on whatever repertoire I needed to be working on for my concerts - when the concert included Bach I'd work on it, but otherwise I did not. I can say that Bruce was absolutely right - Bach has been good for my fingers and for my soul this past month.
Happy New Year, and stay tuned for my next project - once I decide what it's going to be...! And feel free to post your own project in the comments!
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Alfred Brendel Master Class
This morning I attended a master class given by Alfred Brendel, at the New England Conservatory. As an alum of NEC, it has been exciting to see the growth in the school, which has (from my perspective) evolved from a first-rate school to a truly exceptional school (judging from the caliber of faculty and students there). Kudos should go to Bruce Brubaker, the Chair of NEC's Piano Dept, for arranging to have Brendel there (he gave a class yesterday as well).
The highlight for me was the fact that afterward I was able (briefly) to meet Brendel, shake his hand, and meekly ask that he sign a copy of one of his books, "Musical Thoughts and Afterthoughts." I have always admired Brendel, not only for his actual playing but also for his uncompromising, principled approach to music-making, putting the composer first and continually exploring and growing. As an example of Brendel's artistry, here is a video clip of him playing the 2nd movement from the A major Sonata of Schubert (D. 899):
In fact, one of the most memorable concert going experiences of my youth was hearing Brendel in an all-Schubert recital, one of four all-Schubert concerts he was giving in one week at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion in Los Angeles. I was struck by the depth and commitment of his playing - not a note was played without purpose, without a wealth of exploration and consideration behind it.
Brendel made his career playing, primarily, a segment of the repertoire that is considered more "serious," which is to say Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert. He also has devoted considerable time to elevating the music of Liszt, who is sometimes seen as a less important composer than he is. But I am not aware of any performances of his of great Russian or French composers, and while somewhere at my mother's house is an old recording of him playing Chopin Polonaises, it is not his finest hour. His interest in playing the very pinnacle of great music (perhaps even a refusal to play "trifles") is something I have always identified with. I have more recently been able, happily, to develop an interest in music outside the great German/Austrian tradition, but for better or for worse I have spent most of my life focused on the same music as Brendel, and probably for some of the same reasons.
With all that in mind, I should restate how excited I was to meet this great artist. The masterclass itself was, however, not the "ideal" masterclass. I have learned that teaching a masterclass is not (or should not be) the same as teaching a lesson. Somehow the teacher needs to generalize certain ideas so that the whole audience can find a way to apply them in other situations - that is, not only, "this passage is too soft" but more generally "in Beethoven we need to notice the distinction he makes between 'piano' and 'pianissimo'" To his credit, Brendel was focused totally on the music at hand (two Beethoven pieces: the Piano Trio op. 1#1, and the String Quartet op. 132 - covering two extreme ends of Beethoven's career). He didn't make any effort to engage the audience - he was speaking to the performers about what they were doing, and if we the audience wanted to listen in, that was our business.
In both cases (I arrived late and didn't hear the first 30 minutes of the trio), the performers were all very fine students, who had mastered all of the technical requirements of the music, and had commendable ideas about the character and color of the music they were playing. Brendel in general did not talk in abstract terms about what the music was "saying," but instead expressed himself almost entirely in strictly musical terms - "play off the string" or "fix the balance so I can hear the melody more clearly." I know that his concept of these pieces is profound and insightful, and much more than just a collection of notes/dynamics/tempos, but he seemed to feel most comfortable discussing the music in musical terms - but, in the end, this is not so scintillating for an audience. NEC's most celebrated piano teacher for the past few decades has been Russell Sherman, who *can* of course be very specific, but has the gift of getting students to hear music as more than just music. (He was not my teacher, but I had the privilege of playing for him many times while he was teaching Music 180, the chamber music course at Harvard, which he taught for one year. I remember scratching my head when he asked a violinist colleague and me to play the 2nd movement of the Brahms A major Sonata "like the rotation of the spheres." But now, I have to say, that image has stuck with me, and it has encouraged me to "aim for the stars," so to speak, rather than only to think in technical terms).
In other words, the good news with Brendel is that HE knows the music inside and out and there is truly no B.S. in what he says. The bad news is that the only obvious benefit derived from his teaching is to somebody playing that specific piece under discussion (the performers playing on stage, and possibly those in the audience who may perform the same piece). This is fine for a lesson, but a public class - especially what may be a once in a lifetime opportunity to hear from this great artist - needs to have more, shall I say, platitudes and life lessons.
Brendel, perhaps as a show of modesty, sat in the audience in Jordan Hall, equipped with a clip microphone so we could hear him; the alternative would be to sit on stage, near the performers where we all could see him. By not doing so, he did focus our attention on the music, rather than on him - which seems fitting from an artist who always put the music ahead of his own ego.
One comment he made, however, WAS of a general nature, and is worth sharing. Referring to a passage where the performers were playing very literally, he asked them to make a little crescendo as the pitches were going up - then he said, "Not everything is written down - sometimes we have to follow the logic of the music." This struck me as a wonderful piece of wisdom coming from someone who has always been held up as an exemplar of adherence to the composer's score. In Harold Schonberg's classic book, "The Great Pianists," he lumps together Brendel and Pollini as part of a (then) new breed of "objective" pianists, who put their own "feelings" aside, according to Schonberg, in favor of following the printed score to the utmost. I have never felt that Brendel was holding back his emotions, or that he did not have a total investment in the music (I have, on the other hand, seen that at times from Pollini), and I think Brendel made an important point to those students (and all of us in the audience), that we do, sometimes, have to read between the lines.
By the way - this master class was presented free of charge. NEC seems to organize a large number of masterclasses, not only by pianists, and I believe that many if not all are open to the public. It was great to be there today - to some people I am a teacher, but I also know that I am and should always be a student as well. The blessing of being a musician - and the curse of being a musician - is that we are never done learning.
The highlight for me was the fact that afterward I was able (briefly) to meet Brendel, shake his hand, and meekly ask that he sign a copy of one of his books, "Musical Thoughts and Afterthoughts." I have always admired Brendel, not only for his actual playing but also for his uncompromising, principled approach to music-making, putting the composer first and continually exploring and growing. As an example of Brendel's artistry, here is a video clip of him playing the 2nd movement from the A major Sonata of Schubert (D. 899):
In fact, one of the most memorable concert going experiences of my youth was hearing Brendel in an all-Schubert recital, one of four all-Schubert concerts he was giving in one week at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion in Los Angeles. I was struck by the depth and commitment of his playing - not a note was played without purpose, without a wealth of exploration and consideration behind it.
Brendel made his career playing, primarily, a segment of the repertoire that is considered more "serious," which is to say Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert. He also has devoted considerable time to elevating the music of Liszt, who is sometimes seen as a less important composer than he is. But I am not aware of any performances of his of great Russian or French composers, and while somewhere at my mother's house is an old recording of him playing Chopin Polonaises, it is not his finest hour. His interest in playing the very pinnacle of great music (perhaps even a refusal to play "trifles") is something I have always identified with. I have more recently been able, happily, to develop an interest in music outside the great German/Austrian tradition, but for better or for worse I have spent most of my life focused on the same music as Brendel, and probably for some of the same reasons.
With all that in mind, I should restate how excited I was to meet this great artist. The masterclass itself was, however, not the "ideal" masterclass. I have learned that teaching a masterclass is not (or should not be) the same as teaching a lesson. Somehow the teacher needs to generalize certain ideas so that the whole audience can find a way to apply them in other situations - that is, not only, "this passage is too soft" but more generally "in Beethoven we need to notice the distinction he makes between 'piano' and 'pianissimo'" To his credit, Brendel was focused totally on the music at hand (two Beethoven pieces: the Piano Trio op. 1#1, and the String Quartet op. 132 - covering two extreme ends of Beethoven's career). He didn't make any effort to engage the audience - he was speaking to the performers about what they were doing, and if we the audience wanted to listen in, that was our business.
In both cases (I arrived late and didn't hear the first 30 minutes of the trio), the performers were all very fine students, who had mastered all of the technical requirements of the music, and had commendable ideas about the character and color of the music they were playing. Brendel in general did not talk in abstract terms about what the music was "saying," but instead expressed himself almost entirely in strictly musical terms - "play off the string" or "fix the balance so I can hear the melody more clearly." I know that his concept of these pieces is profound and insightful, and much more than just a collection of notes/dynamics/tempos, but he seemed to feel most comfortable discussing the music in musical terms - but, in the end, this is not so scintillating for an audience. NEC's most celebrated piano teacher for the past few decades has been Russell Sherman, who *can* of course be very specific, but has the gift of getting students to hear music as more than just music. (He was not my teacher, but I had the privilege of playing for him many times while he was teaching Music 180, the chamber music course at Harvard, which he taught for one year. I remember scratching my head when he asked a violinist colleague and me to play the 2nd movement of the Brahms A major Sonata "like the rotation of the spheres." But now, I have to say, that image has stuck with me, and it has encouraged me to "aim for the stars," so to speak, rather than only to think in technical terms).
In other words, the good news with Brendel is that HE knows the music inside and out and there is truly no B.S. in what he says. The bad news is that the only obvious benefit derived from his teaching is to somebody playing that specific piece under discussion (the performers playing on stage, and possibly those in the audience who may perform the same piece). This is fine for a lesson, but a public class - especially what may be a once in a lifetime opportunity to hear from this great artist - needs to have more, shall I say, platitudes and life lessons.
Brendel, perhaps as a show of modesty, sat in the audience in Jordan Hall, equipped with a clip microphone so we could hear him; the alternative would be to sit on stage, near the performers where we all could see him. By not doing so, he did focus our attention on the music, rather than on him - which seems fitting from an artist who always put the music ahead of his own ego.
One comment he made, however, WAS of a general nature, and is worth sharing. Referring to a passage where the performers were playing very literally, he asked them to make a little crescendo as the pitches were going up - then he said, "Not everything is written down - sometimes we have to follow the logic of the music." This struck me as a wonderful piece of wisdom coming from someone who has always been held up as an exemplar of adherence to the composer's score. In Harold Schonberg's classic book, "The Great Pianists," he lumps together Brendel and Pollini as part of a (then) new breed of "objective" pianists, who put their own "feelings" aside, according to Schonberg, in favor of following the printed score to the utmost. I have never felt that Brendel was holding back his emotions, or that he did not have a total investment in the music (I have, on the other hand, seen that at times from Pollini), and I think Brendel made an important point to those students (and all of us in the audience), that we do, sometimes, have to read between the lines.
By the way - this master class was presented free of charge. NEC seems to organize a large number of masterclasses, not only by pianists, and I believe that many if not all are open to the public. It was great to be there today - to some people I am a teacher, but I also know that I am and should always be a student as well. The blessing of being a musician - and the curse of being a musician - is that we are never done learning.
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