Several years ago, my piano teacher sent me an email with a link to this recording, saying "You should do this for your next competition!" (He was referring to the local eistedfford.)
At first, I thought he was joking. Me, learn this diabolical-sounding piece in time for the eistedfford? It seemed impossible.
When I had my next lesson, my teacher brought along a copy of the score. It looked as diabolical as it sounded: the right and left hand staves were in different keys, and the rhythms were completely incomprehensible. However, I managed to read it, really liked it, and decided to try learning it.
Not only did I learn (and memorise) it, but I have since performed it several times (including in the eistedfford!)
So began my interest in the composer Alberto Ginastera, of whom I knew nothing at the time.
I can't really say very much about Ginastera, as the amount of repetoire by him that I'm familiar with is still relatively small. Instead, I'm just going to post links to my favorite pieces by him, and write a bit about each piece. I'll probably add to this list as I find new favorites :)
Danzas Argentinas (of course!) I now have the complete score of these little pieces, and have played through them (as well as hearing my teacher play them). One day I would very much like to learn all of them. The 2nd one reminds me of a well-known nursery rhyme or folk tune gone wrong... (interestingly, Ginastera used this same theme in one of his 'Piezas Infantiles')
Piezas Infantiles I looked up these pieces after reading about them, since I was curious to hear how Ginastera composed in his youth. They are absolutely gorgeous, and already show distinctive Ginastera trademarks.
Piano Sonata No. 1
1st movement
4th movement
Unfortunately there isn't a complete version of this on youtube that I like (I have Debora Halasz's recording of this, in my opinion it is the definitive one.) I discovered the last movement of this piece completely by accident while browsing youtube, and was absolutely blown away by it. I'd never heard anything like it (at least not in the realm of classical music), and I still haven't heard anything like it! The other movements are amazing as well.
I must confess I was heavily influenced (almost to the point of plagiarism) by the 5/8 descending fifths pattern in the first movement when writing a short piece for piano and percussion, earlier this year. It was just too good not to, erm, be influenced by!
Of course I bought the score for this fiendishly difficult sonata, in the hope that one day I'll manage to learn it... :S
Piano Concerto No. 1
1st movement
4th movement
I discovered this concerto through Emerson Lake & Palmer, who made a wonderful version of the last movement of it (which, incidentally, Ginastera himself thoroughly approved of.)
I dream of learning this concerto one day, but it will probably only ever be a dream.
Unfortunately I can't find the middle movements of this work on Youtube - at least, not played by João Carlos Martins.
Saturday, 25 August 2012
Wednesday, 15 August 2012
On memorising things
As a musician for whom memorising music is important, I'm fascinated by memory. As I've also realised, however, memorising isn't just for music.
Although my visual memory isn't very good, I have a highly developed memory for touch. I use this (muscle memory) to memorise music, but it can also take on a different and rather bizarre form. I often form a memory of a particular sensation, such as the pain of a badly bruised toe or the ache from the prick of a needle, and this can be randomly triggered so I actually experience that sensation again, long after it originally ocurred. I can't make this happen at will and I can't figure out what causes it, but it's quite fascinating.
A short while ago I decided to learn Russian, because I love Russian literature, music and so forth and thought it would interesting to learn the language too. I've previously dabbled in Latin and Greek (a long time ago!) and, more recently, French. What I've discovered is that there are lots of parallels between music and language.
Learning the Russian Cyrillic script (which consists of 33 letters!) is rather like learning to read written music; learning grammar is like learning theory - harmony, counterpoint and structure; and learning vocabulary is basically memorising. However, I'm a lot better at memorising music than I am at memorising words, and the reason is that there is a physical, spacial dimension to learning a piece of music.
I know that different pianists have very different techniques of memorising, and I can really only speak for myself when I say that I rely almost entirely on muscle memory. That is, I form a memory of the spatial relationships between intervals, the way the keyboard feels under my hands, how much I have to stretch my fingers or reach with my arms to hit the right notes, and so forth. Of course I also make conscious decisions - 'here I have to play this note and that will lead me on to this section' - that sort of thing, but these are only momentary, and help me get through 'change-over points' in the musical structure. Once I've memorised a piece, I don't have to think about it - it just plays itself, allowing me to put as much feeling and expression into it as I like. In fact, as soon as I start thinking about what I'm doing, I'm likely to forget. My fingers know where to go, and thinking is a distraction.
I've heard a lot of people say that muscle memory is unreliable, and shouldn't be used for long pieces. Some people seem to be able to visualise the score in their head, but I have a very poor visual memory and although I could easily sing any of the pieces I'm learning at the moment, knowing what a piece sounds like does not equate to knowing where to put your fingers.
I can't consciously memorise an extensive section of music, either: I do, however, do this for very small sections that I'm having trouble remembering because they signal an important harmonic change in an otherwise uniform pattern that could be repeated endlessly without ever moving on. I have been known to start 'looping' a section of music like this (a notable example being Chopin's Etude Op. 25 No. 12, which can pretty much go on forever if you keep taking the 'wrong turn'!)
I often find it helpful to say to myself 'I have to play a B flat here' or 'This progression is a series of arpeggiated diminished 7th chords' to memorise an elusive passage. Once I've got it right enough times, I develop a spacial memory of it anyway and no longer need to give myself clues.
Memorising Russian vocabulary is a completely different matter! Although I've switched my Facebook and Twitter accounts to Russian and stuck a picture of a Cyrillic computer keyboard to my laptop, I'm not really using Russian on a regular basis so I have to make an effort to ensure I can remember the words I've already learnt. A technique I've found useful is to think of an English word or set of words that sounds a bit like a Russian word I'm trying to memorise (the results are often hilarious.) Unfortunately this doesn't guarantee I'll remember what the word is meant to mean!
I'd be interested to know what techniques other people use to memorise things, whether it be music, a language, or something else entirely! And I'm particularly interested in what pianists think about muscle memory and whether it's a good thing or not.
Although my visual memory isn't very good, I have a highly developed memory for touch. I use this (muscle memory) to memorise music, but it can also take on a different and rather bizarre form. I often form a memory of a particular sensation, such as the pain of a badly bruised toe or the ache from the prick of a needle, and this can be randomly triggered so I actually experience that sensation again, long after it originally ocurred. I can't make this happen at will and I can't figure out what causes it, but it's quite fascinating.
A short while ago I decided to learn Russian, because I love Russian literature, music and so forth and thought it would interesting to learn the language too. I've previously dabbled in Latin and Greek (a long time ago!) and, more recently, French. What I've discovered is that there are lots of parallels between music and language.
Learning the Russian Cyrillic script (which consists of 33 letters!) is rather like learning to read written music; learning grammar is like learning theory - harmony, counterpoint and structure; and learning vocabulary is basically memorising. However, I'm a lot better at memorising music than I am at memorising words, and the reason is that there is a physical, spacial dimension to learning a piece of music.
I know that different pianists have very different techniques of memorising, and I can really only speak for myself when I say that I rely almost entirely on muscle memory. That is, I form a memory of the spatial relationships between intervals, the way the keyboard feels under my hands, how much I have to stretch my fingers or reach with my arms to hit the right notes, and so forth. Of course I also make conscious decisions - 'here I have to play this note and that will lead me on to this section' - that sort of thing, but these are only momentary, and help me get through 'change-over points' in the musical structure. Once I've memorised a piece, I don't have to think about it - it just plays itself, allowing me to put as much feeling and expression into it as I like. In fact, as soon as I start thinking about what I'm doing, I'm likely to forget. My fingers know where to go, and thinking is a distraction.
I've heard a lot of people say that muscle memory is unreliable, and shouldn't be used for long pieces. Some people seem to be able to visualise the score in their head, but I have a very poor visual memory and although I could easily sing any of the pieces I'm learning at the moment, knowing what a piece sounds like does not equate to knowing where to put your fingers.
I can't consciously memorise an extensive section of music, either: I do, however, do this for very small sections that I'm having trouble remembering because they signal an important harmonic change in an otherwise uniform pattern that could be repeated endlessly without ever moving on. I have been known to start 'looping' a section of music like this (a notable example being Chopin's Etude Op. 25 No. 12, which can pretty much go on forever if you keep taking the 'wrong turn'!)
I often find it helpful to say to myself 'I have to play a B flat here' or 'This progression is a series of arpeggiated diminished 7th chords' to memorise an elusive passage. Once I've got it right enough times, I develop a spacial memory of it anyway and no longer need to give myself clues.
Memorising Russian vocabulary is a completely different matter! Although I've switched my Facebook and Twitter accounts to Russian and stuck a picture of a Cyrillic computer keyboard to my laptop, I'm not really using Russian on a regular basis so I have to make an effort to ensure I can remember the words I've already learnt. A technique I've found useful is to think of an English word or set of words that sounds a bit like a Russian word I'm trying to memorise (the results are often hilarious.) Unfortunately this doesn't guarantee I'll remember what the word is meant to mean!
I'd be interested to know what techniques other people use to memorise things, whether it be music, a language, or something else entirely! And I'm particularly interested in what pianists think about muscle memory and whether it's a good thing or not.
Tuesday, 10 July 2012
Composer series: Rachmaninoff
I have the Sydney International Piano Competition to thank for my obsession with Maurice Ravel. It was during the 2008 competition that I first heard a piece of Ravel which left a huge and lasting impression on me, and I've written a blog post about my discovery of that composer which you can find here.
At the time of writing, I'm thoroughly immersed in the 2012 SIPCA and once again this year's competition is gradually causing me to fall in love with another great composer whom a few years ago I knew very little about - Sergei Rachmaninoff.
Towards the end of 2011, I happened to hear Rachmaninoff's 2nd piano concerto, in quite an unusual context (I heard it in an art gallery as part of an installation.) Up until that point, I'd never particularly liked the piano concerto genre. Orchestral sound was, and still is, one of my least favorite musical textures, and to me a piano concerto was far too orchestral to be pleasant to listen to. But when I heard Rach 2 for the first time, I guess something about it must have resonated with me, because I became very interested in it.
I visited that art gallery while on a road trip to visit my grandfather in Brisbane, and while I was staying with him I found a CD of Rachmaninoff's 2nd piano concerto and played it. By this time, I'd decided quite firmly that I wanted to learn that concerto - I even told Grandad so! I can't remember what it was about Rach 2 that made such an impression on me at the time, but later when I was back in Melbourne I bought the 2-piano score.
So began my interest in Rachmaninoff.
This increased when I heard his famous C-sharp minor prelude on ABC Classic FM. They were promoting a CD of Ashkenazy playing the complete Rach preludes. Ashkenazy is one of my heroes, and I instantly fell in love with the music - in fact, I was quite astonished by it. I must have heard that famous prelude before as it seemed familiar, but perhaps I'd never really listened to it properly. I immediately decided to order the CD (I discovered when it arrived that the booklet contained some lovely pictures of a very young Ashkenazy!)
When I listened to the complete preludes, I was struck by their originality. No other composer sounds like Rachmaninoff, just like no other composer sounds like Prokofiev. I'd never heard anything like it, and it touched me in much the same way Ravel does - like I was hearing music that expressed exactly what was in my soul. Even the harmonies and textures that Rachmaninoff uses sometimes remind me of Ravel. And I'm intrigued by Rachmaninoff's very distinctive way of using chromaticism to create subtle, sometimes barely perceptible harmonic changes that somehow tug at your heart and make you feel like you're either falling into an endless abyss or floating up to heaven, depending on whether the modulation is descending or ascending.
Over these past few days I've heard a lot of Rachmaninoff in the Sydney International Piano competition, and all of it has left such an impression on me that since yesterday I've downloaded and printed out the entire Etudes-Tableaux, op. 33 and op. 39, and the entire Moments Musicaux! I followed the score when one competitor played the entire Etudes-Tableaux op. 33, which was very informative. I've also tried sight-reading some of the Etudes and most of the Moments Musicaux, which was great fun.
I feel like every piece of Rachmaninoff I've heard played by the competitors in these past few days is haunting me, just like Ravel's Une Barque Sur L'ocean haunted me after I first heard it in SIPCA four years ago. Listening to this competition is a wonderful, immersive experience during which a young musician like me can disover extraordinary new repertoire, and I'm looking forward to Round 4 when the competitors will play chamber music. I'm especially eager to hear the Ravel piano trio (which I can still remember Tatiana Kolesova playing, beautifully, in 2008) and Shostakovich's trio.
To finish, here are some of my favorite pieces of Rachmaninoff to date (including Rach 2, which I am now learning the middle movement of). This list will undoubtedly grow, as I'm still discovering Rachmaninoff's music. At the moment it's all piano music as you can probably tell! However, I'm currently waiting for a CD of the complete Rach symphonies to arrive in the mail...
2nd Piano Concerto
Etude-Tableaux Op. 39 No. 1
Etude-Tableaux Op. 39 No. 5
Etude-Tableaux Op. 39 No. 8
Etude-Tableaux Op. 33 No. 2
Etude-Tableaux Op. 33 No. 3
Etude-Tableaux Op. 33 No. 5
Etude-Tableaux Op. 33 No. 8
Moment Musicaux No. 1
Moment Musicaux No. 2
Moment Musicaux No. 3
Prelude in B Minor Op. 32 No. 10
Prelude in G minor Op. 32 No. 12
Vocalise
Symphonic Dances - 1
The Isle of the Dead
Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini
Symphony No. 1 - 4th mvt
At the time of writing, I'm thoroughly immersed in the 2012 SIPCA and once again this year's competition is gradually causing me to fall in love with another great composer whom a few years ago I knew very little about - Sergei Rachmaninoff.
Towards the end of 2011, I happened to hear Rachmaninoff's 2nd piano concerto, in quite an unusual context (I heard it in an art gallery as part of an installation.) Up until that point, I'd never particularly liked the piano concerto genre. Orchestral sound was, and still is, one of my least favorite musical textures, and to me a piano concerto was far too orchestral to be pleasant to listen to. But when I heard Rach 2 for the first time, I guess something about it must have resonated with me, because I became very interested in it.
I visited that art gallery while on a road trip to visit my grandfather in Brisbane, and while I was staying with him I found a CD of Rachmaninoff's 2nd piano concerto and played it. By this time, I'd decided quite firmly that I wanted to learn that concerto - I even told Grandad so! I can't remember what it was about Rach 2 that made such an impression on me at the time, but later when I was back in Melbourne I bought the 2-piano score.
So began my interest in Rachmaninoff.
This increased when I heard his famous C-sharp minor prelude on ABC Classic FM. They were promoting a CD of Ashkenazy playing the complete Rach preludes. Ashkenazy is one of my heroes, and I instantly fell in love with the music - in fact, I was quite astonished by it. I must have heard that famous prelude before as it seemed familiar, but perhaps I'd never really listened to it properly. I immediately decided to order the CD (I discovered when it arrived that the booklet contained some lovely pictures of a very young Ashkenazy!)
When I listened to the complete preludes, I was struck by their originality. No other composer sounds like Rachmaninoff, just like no other composer sounds like Prokofiev. I'd never heard anything like it, and it touched me in much the same way Ravel does - like I was hearing music that expressed exactly what was in my soul. Even the harmonies and textures that Rachmaninoff uses sometimes remind me of Ravel. And I'm intrigued by Rachmaninoff's very distinctive way of using chromaticism to create subtle, sometimes barely perceptible harmonic changes that somehow tug at your heart and make you feel like you're either falling into an endless abyss or floating up to heaven, depending on whether the modulation is descending or ascending.
Over these past few days I've heard a lot of Rachmaninoff in the Sydney International Piano competition, and all of it has left such an impression on me that since yesterday I've downloaded and printed out the entire Etudes-Tableaux, op. 33 and op. 39, and the entire Moments Musicaux! I followed the score when one competitor played the entire Etudes-Tableaux op. 33, which was very informative. I've also tried sight-reading some of the Etudes and most of the Moments Musicaux, which was great fun.
I feel like every piece of Rachmaninoff I've heard played by the competitors in these past few days is haunting me, just like Ravel's Une Barque Sur L'ocean haunted me after I first heard it in SIPCA four years ago. Listening to this competition is a wonderful, immersive experience during which a young musician like me can disover extraordinary new repertoire, and I'm looking forward to Round 4 when the competitors will play chamber music. I'm especially eager to hear the Ravel piano trio (which I can still remember Tatiana Kolesova playing, beautifully, in 2008) and Shostakovich's trio.
To finish, here are some of my favorite pieces of Rachmaninoff to date (including Rach 2, which I am now learning the middle movement of). This list will undoubtedly grow, as I'm still discovering Rachmaninoff's music. At the moment it's all piano music as you can probably tell! However, I'm currently waiting for a CD of the complete Rach symphonies to arrive in the mail...
2nd Piano Concerto
Etude-Tableaux Op. 39 No. 1
Etude-Tableaux Op. 39 No. 5
Etude-Tableaux Op. 39 No. 8
Etude-Tableaux Op. 33 No. 2
Etude-Tableaux Op. 33 No. 3
Etude-Tableaux Op. 33 No. 5
Etude-Tableaux Op. 33 No. 8
Moment Musicaux No. 1
Moment Musicaux No. 2
Moment Musicaux No. 3
Prelude in B Minor Op. 32 No. 10
Prelude in G minor Op. 32 No. 12
Vocalise
Symphonic Dances - 1
The Isle of the Dead
Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini
Symphony No. 1 - 4th mvt
Saturday, 23 June 2012
Learning Oiseaux Tristes
A few years ago - I'm not sure exactly when, but it seems like a long time ago - I started learning a piece of Ravel (with the guidance of my piano teacher.) Although Ravel is by far my favorite classical composer, most of his piano music is so hard that I hadn't been able to tackle any of it yet.
The piece I was learning was Oiseaux Tristes from the Miroirs. I can't remember why I chose this piece, but it is relatively short and quite slow, so it probably seemed less daunting to me than some of the other works. I was also very familiar with it from having listened to Robert Casadesus's Complete Piano Works of Ravel literally hundreds of times.
As a result, I plunged into learning the Oiseaux with a very clear idea of how it was meant to sound, and didn't need to pay much attention to a lot of the written-in time changes, dynamics and unusual rhythms because they were already firmly embedded in my mind. In fact, I only realised how strange the timing is quite recently while re-working the piece - I'd never noticed before that there are two time signatures in the right hand, for example!
So, I managed to learn almost all of Oiseaux Tristes, or at least familiarise myself with how it felt to play it. But there were two things that prevented me from working it up to a performance standard.
One was the very fast demisemiquaver passage that begins the climactic middle section of the piece. I'd be playing the whole thing through, going quite well, then I'd hit that passage and have to suddenly stop and haltingly play it at quarter-speed, completely disrupting the flow. I just couldn't figure out how anyone could play that passage - it seemed completely impossible to me, and I felt like giving up.
Slightly less terrifying, but still off-putting, was the 'ad lib' section near the end. More recently, I decided to learn this section properly, and succeeded. But that first demisemiquaver passage in the middle of the piece continued to stop me in my tracks every time.
A couple of weeks ago, my piano teacher Stephen announced that he was planning his annual students concert, and asked me what I wanted to play. I had no idea! There were only 3 weeks left till the concert, but I didn't want to just play all the same things I'd been working on for ages and already performed once or twice. I racked my brains.
One night I randomly decided to sit down at the piano and play through some of the pieces I particularly love, but haven't learnt properly, or can only play bits of. This is something I do every now and then to make sure I don't forget what I DO know of these works.
One of the things I played was the Ravel Miroirs. As I was playing Oiseaux Tristes, I suddenly thought, 'I could work this up and play it at my teacher's concert!' Why I thought of this I have no idea, but the idea stuck and at my next lesson I played the piece for Stephen, taking the opportunity to beg for assistance with the monstrous demisemiquaver passage that had been hindering my progress for so long.
'It's easy,' Stephen explained, demonstrating (while I shook my head in disbelief). 'You just put a thumb under here.'
I tried it and voila! It actually was easy. I was astonished! How could something so simple have eluded me for so long, meanwhile preventing me from learning this piece that I loved so much?! A week later I found I could play through the once-terrifying demisemiquaver passage without a glitch.
Today I performed Oiseaux Tristes for the first time, in my teacher's concert. It was part of a diverse selection that included Bach and Bartok. To start with I was only going to play the Bach from memory, but two days before the concert I tried playing the other pieces from memory and found that not only could I do it, but my performance was much better as a result. So I decided to play all three pieces from memory.
Performing the Ravel was quite a new experience for me. Usually I feel oddly detached when I'm performing, as if my fingers are a machine over which I have no control and are completely disconnected from my brain. I played a movement from Bach's 1st keyboard partita (which you can hear here) right before the Ravel, which made it even weirder, as I was definitely playing the Bach in 'auto-pilot' mode. But when I started playing the Ravel, I forgot about the audience, and the fact that I was performing - forgot about everything except the music. It was very intense and emotionally draining. While this is something that often happens when I'm playing at home without any performance pressure or nerves, it's never happened in a performance before.
Inevitably I didn't play it perfectly, and I would very much like to make a 'studio' recording of this work later on (along with a video) so I can get a perfect take. In the meantime, here is the recording of today's performance of Oiseaux Tristes......
(Below is a photo of me playing on the day. Judging from the position of my hands I'd guess that I'm playing the last few bars of Oiseaux Tristes, but I could be completely wrong!)
The piece I was learning was Oiseaux Tristes from the Miroirs. I can't remember why I chose this piece, but it is relatively short and quite slow, so it probably seemed less daunting to me than some of the other works. I was also very familiar with it from having listened to Robert Casadesus's Complete Piano Works of Ravel literally hundreds of times.
As a result, I plunged into learning the Oiseaux with a very clear idea of how it was meant to sound, and didn't need to pay much attention to a lot of the written-in time changes, dynamics and unusual rhythms because they were already firmly embedded in my mind. In fact, I only realised how strange the timing is quite recently while re-working the piece - I'd never noticed before that there are two time signatures in the right hand, for example!
So, I managed to learn almost all of Oiseaux Tristes, or at least familiarise myself with how it felt to play it. But there were two things that prevented me from working it up to a performance standard.
One was the very fast demisemiquaver passage that begins the climactic middle section of the piece. I'd be playing the whole thing through, going quite well, then I'd hit that passage and have to suddenly stop and haltingly play it at quarter-speed, completely disrupting the flow. I just couldn't figure out how anyone could play that passage - it seemed completely impossible to me, and I felt like giving up.
Slightly less terrifying, but still off-putting, was the 'ad lib' section near the end. More recently, I decided to learn this section properly, and succeeded. But that first demisemiquaver passage in the middle of the piece continued to stop me in my tracks every time.
A couple of weeks ago, my piano teacher Stephen announced that he was planning his annual students concert, and asked me what I wanted to play. I had no idea! There were only 3 weeks left till the concert, but I didn't want to just play all the same things I'd been working on for ages and already performed once or twice. I racked my brains.
One night I randomly decided to sit down at the piano and play through some of the pieces I particularly love, but haven't learnt properly, or can only play bits of. This is something I do every now and then to make sure I don't forget what I DO know of these works.
One of the things I played was the Ravel Miroirs. As I was playing Oiseaux Tristes, I suddenly thought, 'I could work this up and play it at my teacher's concert!' Why I thought of this I have no idea, but the idea stuck and at my next lesson I played the piece for Stephen, taking the opportunity to beg for assistance with the monstrous demisemiquaver passage that had been hindering my progress for so long.
'It's easy,' Stephen explained, demonstrating (while I shook my head in disbelief). 'You just put a thumb under here.'
I tried it and voila! It actually was easy. I was astonished! How could something so simple have eluded me for so long, meanwhile preventing me from learning this piece that I loved so much?! A week later I found I could play through the once-terrifying demisemiquaver passage without a glitch.
Today I performed Oiseaux Tristes for the first time, in my teacher's concert. It was part of a diverse selection that included Bach and Bartok. To start with I was only going to play the Bach from memory, but two days before the concert I tried playing the other pieces from memory and found that not only could I do it, but my performance was much better as a result. So I decided to play all three pieces from memory.
Performing the Ravel was quite a new experience for me. Usually I feel oddly detached when I'm performing, as if my fingers are a machine over which I have no control and are completely disconnected from my brain. I played a movement from Bach's 1st keyboard partita (which you can hear here) right before the Ravel, which made it even weirder, as I was definitely playing the Bach in 'auto-pilot' mode. But when I started playing the Ravel, I forgot about the audience, and the fact that I was performing - forgot about everything except the music. It was very intense and emotionally draining. While this is something that often happens when I'm playing at home without any performance pressure or nerves, it's never happened in a performance before.
Inevitably I didn't play it perfectly, and I would very much like to make a 'studio' recording of this work later on (along with a video) so I can get a perfect take. In the meantime, here is the recording of today's performance of Oiseaux Tristes......
(Below is a photo of me playing on the day. Judging from the position of my hands I'd guess that I'm playing the last few bars of Oiseaux Tristes, but I could be completely wrong!)
Thursday, 17 May 2012
The 'correct' interpretation...or not
It seems to me that classical musicians are expected - by audiences,
teachers, and other musicians - to perform music in a stylistically
'correct' way. Therefore, a lush, romantic interpretation of Bach on the
piano is frowned upon, a performance of a piece by Chopin or
Mendelssohn where the melody doesn't take precedence is 'eccentric', and
heaven forbid that anyone play Debussy or Ravel without masses of
rubato! (just to clarify: Ravel actually discouraged excessive rubato in his music, claiming that musicians should play only what was indicated on the score.)
I often wonder what the point of being involved in music is if one can't bring something unique and individual to the field. I have nothing against the stylistically correct interpretation of a piece of music, but if musicians limit themselves to playing a piece in a particular style because they think it's the 'only' way, they are limiting their potential to truly understand and appreciate the piece.
They are also missing the opportunity of allowing the audience to hear the music differently; not everybody will understand a piece of music in exactly the same way, and if all a listener ever hears is a stylistically correct interpration which they dislike, there is a lot of wonderful repertoire that person may never be able to appreciate.
I can think of a few examples of this. One is that I had to learn to understand Bach's music in my own way (which I have blogged about). As I recently discovered, playing Bach the way I understand it also involves completely disregarding my piano teacher's preference about how Bach should be played!
Another example is also to do with the interpretation of Baroque music on the piano. Recently I went to see the young virtuoso pianist Bezhod Abduraimov performing at the Melbourne Recital Centre. The first item on his program was a series of sonatas by Scarlatti. I don't know Scarlatti very well so I was hearing those sonatas for the first time. It was an interesting experience, as he played them quite unlike I'd ever heard Baroque music played before - lush, intense and romantic, without being excessively so.
Although I usually prefer the clean, articulated 'typewriter' interpretation of Baroque music, I don't normally find Scarlatti very interesting and it was refreshing and enjoyable to hear it played in such a different way.
I recently attended the open Piano section of my local Eisteddfod. Several competitors played well-known pieces by Chopin - pieces so well-known, in fact, that I've come to really dislike them. One of these was a Barcarolle (the number of which I can't remember) and listening to this performance, I realised that I had never truly heard ALL THE NOTES in that piece before. Most pianists would draw attention to the melody and let all the other little notes in between drift into non-existence, but the Eisteddfod competitor played every note with great clarity.
Afterwards someone commented to me, 'I didn't think it was beautiful enough. I'm used to hearing a particular interpretation of that piece.' I felt like replying, 'So am I, and that's why I hate the piece!'
On a more serious note, however, I think it's a pity that Chopin - and many other composers - agonised over every note they wrote, only for half of them to be barely audible in performance because the musician decides the melody should take precedence.
The point of this post is that interpretation is highly subjective; for both the listener and the performer, it's a matter of taste. In my opinion, as long as someone can appreciate the music, it doesn't matter if it's not played in the 'correct' style. The fact that it's appreciated is enough.
I often wonder what the point of being involved in music is if one can't bring something unique and individual to the field. I have nothing against the stylistically correct interpretation of a piece of music, but if musicians limit themselves to playing a piece in a particular style because they think it's the 'only' way, they are limiting their potential to truly understand and appreciate the piece.
They are also missing the opportunity of allowing the audience to hear the music differently; not everybody will understand a piece of music in exactly the same way, and if all a listener ever hears is a stylistically correct interpration which they dislike, there is a lot of wonderful repertoire that person may never be able to appreciate.
I can think of a few examples of this. One is that I had to learn to understand Bach's music in my own way (which I have blogged about). As I recently discovered, playing Bach the way I understand it also involves completely disregarding my piano teacher's preference about how Bach should be played!
Another example is also to do with the interpretation of Baroque music on the piano. Recently I went to see the young virtuoso pianist Bezhod Abduraimov performing at the Melbourne Recital Centre. The first item on his program was a series of sonatas by Scarlatti. I don't know Scarlatti very well so I was hearing those sonatas for the first time. It was an interesting experience, as he played them quite unlike I'd ever heard Baroque music played before - lush, intense and romantic, without being excessively so.
Although I usually prefer the clean, articulated 'typewriter' interpretation of Baroque music, I don't normally find Scarlatti very interesting and it was refreshing and enjoyable to hear it played in such a different way.
I recently attended the open Piano section of my local Eisteddfod. Several competitors played well-known pieces by Chopin - pieces so well-known, in fact, that I've come to really dislike them. One of these was a Barcarolle (the number of which I can't remember) and listening to this performance, I realised that I had never truly heard ALL THE NOTES in that piece before. Most pianists would draw attention to the melody and let all the other little notes in between drift into non-existence, but the Eisteddfod competitor played every note with great clarity.
Afterwards someone commented to me, 'I didn't think it was beautiful enough. I'm used to hearing a particular interpretation of that piece.' I felt like replying, 'So am I, and that's why I hate the piece!'
On a more serious note, however, I think it's a pity that Chopin - and many other composers - agonised over every note they wrote, only for half of them to be barely audible in performance because the musician decides the melody should take precedence.
The point of this post is that interpretation is highly subjective; for both the listener and the performer, it's a matter of taste. In my opinion, as long as someone can appreciate the music, it doesn't matter if it's not played in the 'correct' style. The fact that it's appreciated is enough.
Wednesday, 2 May 2012
A collection of beautiful full-length performances
One of my favorite things to do is go onto Youtube and discover new music, or new recordings of music I already know and love. I often like to favorite interesting-looking clips to listen to later - I sort of 'queue' music videos in my favorites.
One of the frustrating consequences of the way Youtube works, however, is that it can be very hard to find full performances that are not split up into 3 or 4 (sometimes more!) separate videos. So recently I decided to create a playlist to which I can add full-length recitals or pieces of music to when I find them. Then, whenever I feel like listening to a lengthy piece of music, I can just go the the playlist and take my pick of beautiful performances.
I thought it would be nice to share this collection with everyone. At present it consists of a diverse mixture of Rachmaninov, Stravinsky, Reich, Ravel, Bach, Gershwin, Prokofiev and Shostakovich (all works of theirs which I like, obviously!) Some of the works are split into 2 or 3 parts, but most are single, long clips.
The playlist will definitely grow and change over time as I find new videos to add, and possibly as some videos are deleted. Although I can't guarantee the legality of some of these recordings' presence on Youtube, like the users who uploaded these videos I simply want to share what I think is a great resource with fellow music lovers and musicians on the Web. Happy listening!
Here is a link to the playlist:
http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLB2940B24A7CAE74A&feature=mh_lolz
One of the frustrating consequences of the way Youtube works, however, is that it can be very hard to find full performances that are not split up into 3 or 4 (sometimes more!) separate videos. So recently I decided to create a playlist to which I can add full-length recitals or pieces of music to when I find them. Then, whenever I feel like listening to a lengthy piece of music, I can just go the the playlist and take my pick of beautiful performances.
I thought it would be nice to share this collection with everyone. At present it consists of a diverse mixture of Rachmaninov, Stravinsky, Reich, Ravel, Bach, Gershwin, Prokofiev and Shostakovich (all works of theirs which I like, obviously!) Some of the works are split into 2 or 3 parts, but most are single, long clips.
The playlist will definitely grow and change over time as I find new videos to add, and possibly as some videos are deleted. Although I can't guarantee the legality of some of these recordings' presence on Youtube, like the users who uploaded these videos I simply want to share what I think is a great resource with fellow music lovers and musicians on the Web. Happy listening!
Here is a link to the playlist:
http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLB2940B24A7CAE74A&feature=mh_lolz
Monday, 2 April 2012
Performing Bach's St John Passion: a transformative experience
You might be aware, if you've followed my twitter posts over the past 2 months or so, that I've been rehearsing with the Melbourne Bach Choir in the lead up to their first performance of Bach's St John Passion.
It took a lot of hard work, but it was the sort of hard work that's really enjoyable, and it all culminated in two performances at St Mary Star of the Sea in West Melbourne last week. Due to some unfortunate incidents, the first performance, on Friday night, was a bit of a let-down, but the performance on Sunday (yesterday) went beautifully.
We performed the Passion in English, and I'm glad we did, although I prefer the German because it's less clumsy. Singing in English made it possible for me - and hopefully everyone else, including the audience - to immediately grasp the drama and tragedy of the work. Rehearsing my part at home by singing along with a recording, I was able to understand the story and how the music relates to that, and the result was often very moving...although I have to admit, by the time I learnt the music, I'd gone over it so many times it had kind of lost its emotional hold on me!
The St John Passion is the most technically difficult thing I have ever sung. I sang parts of Bach's Christmas Oratorio with another choir last year, but much as I loved it, it just doesn't compare with the insane difficulty of the choruses in the St John Passion. It's been amazing singing such beautiful music in such a great choir, and especially under the direction of the wonderful Rick Prahkoff. It's also been enriching in several different ways, as I discovered today while playing the piano.
I haven't really practised the piano 'properly' for about two weeks, as I've been busy 1) rehearsing with the Bach Choir and 2) writing the 3rd movement of my Piano Trio. Today I sat down and played through Bach's Keyboard Partita No. 1 for the first time in two weeks. I made a few discoveries. The first one is a bit irrelevant: my hands appear to have grown substantially - what feels like an octave, and used to be an octave, is now a ninth (I rely a lot on touch memory).
The second discovery is that somehow, singing the St John Passion has completely changed the way I play Bach, in a good way. Not only am I more focused and a lot tighter playing the really technical, fast stuff, but I feel like I have a better understanding of phrasing and expression. A lot of sticky spots in the Partita that have been troubling me for weeks have simply resolved themselves and I no longer have any trouble with them at all.
I also discovered I've got my agility back. I've been doing metronome practise on some of the movements of the Partita to improve my accuracy and muscle memory, and although in the long term metronome practise can be extremely useful, I tend to find I lose all agility and lightness of touch after using the metronome, often for days on end. This isn't a good thing when you're aiming for a similar approach to that of Glenn Gould!
All in all, it's been an incredible experience performing with the Bach Choir, and I'm really looking forward to being involved in their future performances. Thankyou so much to all the other choir members, the orchestra, soloists, and Rick for making it happen!
EDIT: As of October 2012, I have discovered that someone actually videoed the concert and it's on youtube! Here is the link
It took a lot of hard work, but it was the sort of hard work that's really enjoyable, and it all culminated in two performances at St Mary Star of the Sea in West Melbourne last week. Due to some unfortunate incidents, the first performance, on Friday night, was a bit of a let-down, but the performance on Sunday (yesterday) went beautifully.
We performed the Passion in English, and I'm glad we did, although I prefer the German because it's less clumsy. Singing in English made it possible for me - and hopefully everyone else, including the audience - to immediately grasp the drama and tragedy of the work. Rehearsing my part at home by singing along with a recording, I was able to understand the story and how the music relates to that, and the result was often very moving...although I have to admit, by the time I learnt the music, I'd gone over it so many times it had kind of lost its emotional hold on me!
The St John Passion is the most technically difficult thing I have ever sung. I sang parts of Bach's Christmas Oratorio with another choir last year, but much as I loved it, it just doesn't compare with the insane difficulty of the choruses in the St John Passion. It's been amazing singing such beautiful music in such a great choir, and especially under the direction of the wonderful Rick Prahkoff. It's also been enriching in several different ways, as I discovered today while playing the piano.
I haven't really practised the piano 'properly' for about two weeks, as I've been busy 1) rehearsing with the Bach Choir and 2) writing the 3rd movement of my Piano Trio. Today I sat down and played through Bach's Keyboard Partita No. 1 for the first time in two weeks. I made a few discoveries. The first one is a bit irrelevant: my hands appear to have grown substantially - what feels like an octave, and used to be an octave, is now a ninth (I rely a lot on touch memory).
The second discovery is that somehow, singing the St John Passion has completely changed the way I play Bach, in a good way. Not only am I more focused and a lot tighter playing the really technical, fast stuff, but I feel like I have a better understanding of phrasing and expression. A lot of sticky spots in the Partita that have been troubling me for weeks have simply resolved themselves and I no longer have any trouble with them at all.
I also discovered I've got my agility back. I've been doing metronome practise on some of the movements of the Partita to improve my accuracy and muscle memory, and although in the long term metronome practise can be extremely useful, I tend to find I lose all agility and lightness of touch after using the metronome, often for days on end. This isn't a good thing when you're aiming for a similar approach to that of Glenn Gould!
All in all, it's been an incredible experience performing with the Bach Choir, and I'm really looking forward to being involved in their future performances. Thankyou so much to all the other choir members, the orchestra, soloists, and Rick for making it happen!
EDIT: As of October 2012, I have discovered that someone actually videoed the concert and it's on youtube! Here is the link
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