I've often found myself wondering whether something as abstract as the emotional impact of a work of art can be broken down to some sort of scientific formula. I don't normally like to discuss the emotional aspects of music (or any art form for that matter), but I found myself speculating: could there be a purely technical unifying factor in all the pieces of music that make me feel a certain way?
In order to try and answer this question, I decided to analyse one of my own compositions - the 4th movement of my Piano Trio. I've always felt that the section which begins at 3:28 minutes is unequivocally representative of resignation. For reasons I will address later, I wanted to find out what made this particular section of music 'tick' .
I discovered that the last 60 seconds of the piece consisted entirely of a repetition of the chords Im, III, IVm, VI - a progression I have since christened the 'Chord Progression of Resignation'. However, perhaps the name is a little misleading, since to me, this
sequence of chords signifies something far greater and more
profound than a single feeling - it is everything, the universe,
infinity.
There are countless pieces of music - or tiny sections of pieces - that have always given me the same distinctive feeling as that
final section of the Piano Trio. The impact of these musical fragments is so recognisable that I've sometimes felt a
connection between certain works (even those completely dissimilar in style) because of it. What I wanted to know was whether the chord progression I had discovered in the Piano Trio had any relevance to this phenomenon.
Rather than go through all the music I'd ever listened to searching for more occurrences of the Chord Progression of Resignation, I decided to hunt out and analyse pieces solely on the basis that they all gave me the same undefinable but instantly recognisable 'feeling' - in other words, I was using an emotional characteristic to identify a purely technical one.
Rather to my astonishment, all the pieces I chose (I've provided links to some of these below, along with an analysis of the harmonic structure of each) had one thing in common: the Chord Progression of Resignation.
The four chords that make up the Chord Progression of Resignation are only the skeleton around which the harmony is
built; there are endless variants and elaborations which can be created
from this basic chord structure. For example, it's quite rare to find any of the chords used without an added 7th or 9th, and often the III chord is left out. One of the resulting variants -
Im, VI, IVm - is the reason for my obsession with both Ravel and
Rachmaninov, and the similarity I feel exists between them. I have found
endless variants of this progression
in pieces by both composers. There is a beautiful symmetry to the way
the roots of the chords in this variant actually form an upside-down
tonic triad.
I have grouped the musical examples below according to how they are related harmonically. (I apologise in advance to those who don't appreciate progressive metal/rock, one of the few musical genres in which the Chord Progression of Resignation is used extensively.) Edit: As I discover more examples to add here, I'm putting these at
the bottom of the list and they are therefore not grouped by harmonic relationship.
1. Sydonia - Life in a cup This song consists almost entirely of just the four chords Im, III, IVm, VI, and is probably the best example of the Chord Progression of Resignation I can think of, because it's so simple.
2. Elitist - Square and compass This song uses the variant Im, IVm7, VI7 throughout (most notably in the first 30 seconds and from 2:44 onwards). Edit: since publishing this post, I've realised that the album this song comes from, Reshape Reason, uses the chord progession of resignation as an over-arching theme, with it occuring in Unto the Sun, Time Stands Still, Equinox, Trace the Sky and (more subtly) Life Lost, Transmutation and Sacred Geometry. That's almost the entire album!
3. Ravel: Prelude (see 2:23) The progression at 2:23 consists of just the two chords Im and IVm9. Usually I'd say that a progression needs to make use of at least 3 of the 4 chords described earlier in order to be classified as the Chord Progression of Resignation; this example is an exception.
4. Anno Domini - Downfall (see 0:32)
From 0:32 onwards this song consists entirely of the variant IVm7, VI7,
Im7 (the 4th chord in the progression, VII, can be ignored)
5. Rachmaninov - Etude op 39 no. 8 (see 0:16) If one takes into consideration the modulation into the
dominant key that occurs here, this progression is Im, VI7, IVm7. Note that the order of the chords is a reversal of that in Ex. 5.
6. Ravel - Toccata (see 11:11) This progression is a variant of the one in Ex. 6: Im7, VIm, Im7, IVm7.
7. Anup Sastry - Crystal From 4:47 onwards, this song consists entirely of the chord progression Im, VI, IVm (probably with added 7ths and 9ths, but due to the complexity of the texture I haven't tried to identify them.)
8. Cult of Luna - Dark city, dead man (see 10:00) This song uses the chord progression Im, VI, IVm, III (credit goes to Liam Cooke for finding this one)
9. Rachmaninov - Etude op. 33 no. 7 (see 0:37) This etude is in G minor and uses the progression VI7 up to Im.
10. Rachmaninov - Prelude Op. 32 no. 5 (see 0:48) This etude is in G major and uses the progression I down to VIm7. Compare this piece with the one above and note what happens to the chords: the major and minor are reversed. Im becomes I and VI7 becomes VIm7!
11. John Adams - Nixon in China: Opening (see 4:30) The start of this uses various layers of dissonance over the progression Im, III, VI.
12. Lamb of God - King Me (see 4:55) The use of the Chord Progression of Resignation here is slightly unusual. It starts normally - Im, VI, IVm - but then switches to the variant Im, III, augmented IVm (which is the same as diminished V.)
13. Sikth - As the earth spins round (see 4:27) Here the progression is only just held together by the bass, since it's competing with a ton of dissonance. It's Im, III, IV, with multiple passing notes including a VII chord between Im and III.
14. Rammstein - Du Hast (see 3:03) Im, IVm, VI with V added on the end and some passing notes.
15. Buxtehude - Ad Latus from Membra Jesu Nostri (see 23:55) Im, VIm, III, IVm with a passing V between the first two chords. (There is another piece which uses this exact same progression but unfortunately there is no recording of it on the internet, otherwise I'd link to it.)
16. Stellardrone - Light Years VI, IVm, Im (if you listen to more of Stellardrone's music you'll find the chord prog of resignation features prominently in much of it.)
17. Widek - Cosmic Ocean VI, IVm, Im
18. Nova Solus - VC4 remix VI, III, Im, IVm + passing V and dim. II - same progression as 8:09 in this but with more emphasis on IV and I, qualifying it for inclusion in this list.
19. Rachmaninov - Moment Musicaux No.1 (see 5:29) Im, III, IVm, VI
20. Eleven Tigers - Stableface (entire song) Im, III, IVm, VI
21. Rachmaninov - Moment Musicaux No. 4 (see 2:26) Im, VI, IVm, [V]
22. Leo Ornstein - Piano Sonata no.4, mvt 2 (see 0:48) IVm, VI, Im
23. Claudio Merulo - Adoramus Te At the start the progression is Im, VI, IVm (and back to Im)
24. Purity Ring - Lofticries Im, [VII], IVm, III, Im and near the end IV, VI, I
25. Cult of Luna - Light Chaser This is one of those examples that only uses 2 chords from the progression. The 2 chords in this instance are IVm down to Im, preceded by a V chord (the presence of the dominant in an otherwise pure chord prog of resignation is extremely common).
26. Porcupine Tree - Trains I've wanted to include this song on the list ever since I first heard it, but it stubbornly evaded analysis. Only recently, while looking for examples of the minor 7th chord, was I finally able to obtain the necessary proof. To start with the chord progression is VII, VI, VII, Im, but at 0:38 it
briefly changes to VI, IVm, Im, and then at 0:58 to Im, III, IVm. These
are both variants of the chord progression of resignation, and even the
initial chord pattern could (at a bit of stretch) be considered a
2-chord variant.
27. My Dying Bride - A Doomed Lover (see 4:36) An example of frequent interspersion of the V chord: Im, VI, [V], IVm, VI, [V], III, Im
28. Olafur Arnalds - Gleypa okkur (see 2:38) III, Im, [Vm], IV
Hopefully the discoveries I've addressed in this blog will help me to become a better composer and further my understanding of harmony. However, I personally think that music is fascinating enough for the analysis to be an end in itself, and I'm publishing this blog post in the hope that some music geek might find it as interesting as I do.
Thursday, 4 April 2013
Sunday, 17 February 2013
Concert review: Alexander Gavrylyuk 16/2/13
Last Saturday I went to a recital by Alexander Gavrylyuk at the Melbourne Recital Centre. It's the third time I've seen him perform, which is testimony to my high opinion of his playing.
I remember that the first time I heard him, I came away with the impression that he was a perfect pianist, and the second recital I went to (some years later) only served to confirm this view. However, at the time of these recitals, my knowledge of piano repetoire and of pianistic technique in general was limited. I can't even remember most of what he played! I do recall, however, hearing him perform the Moonlight Sonata and being amazed at his interpretation of the first movement, which was unlike anything I'd ever heard before. I'm used to hearing this movement played very limply and weakly, which I hate. Gavyrlyuk played it with such emotional intensity and depth that for the first time I found myself actually understanding the music.
It's very different to be hearing Gavrylyuk now, when my own experience of the piano and piano repetoire is so much broader (and growing every day). Naturally, it's easier for me to find faults in people's playing - if you can call them 'faults' - since I've now heard many more pianists than I had back then, and have established what I like and don't like with regards to interpretation and technique. However, my opinion of Gavrylyuk's playing hasn't changed much.
The program started with Bach's Italian Concerto. Before going to the concert I had listened to excerpts of Gavrylyuk playing this piece on Youtube, recorded nearly ten years ago. I have to admit I was not impressed - I found his interpretation excessively heavy and rather lifeless. However, in 8 years I believe he has matured a lot - his performance on Saturday night was beautiful, much lighter and more elegant than the recording on Youtube.
His interpretation was not quite to my taste, since I like my Bach Glenn-Gould style: dry and 'crunchy', without any pedal, and hard-edged rather than pretty. Gavrylyuk played it with an (albeit very skillful) use of the pedal and very sweetly. It was certainly a 'pretty' performance.
The second piece before interval was Schumann's Fantasie. This is a piece I like, although I don't know it very well, having probably only listened to the entire thing once or twice. I'm well aware of the enourmous technical difficulties it poses, and these didn't seem to trouble Gavrylyuk at all. However, I'm used to hearing Evgeny Kissin's tumultuous, stormy interpretation, and Gavrylyuk played it so differently that I almost didn't recognise it.
He is a small, compact man, rather mouse-like in appearence, but he is somehow capable of making the piano sound like an earthquake. I would have liked to hear a bit of that earthquake-iness at the start of the Schumann, but in fact all I heard was the first note in the bass followed by a very gentle crescendo into the arpeggios, which got completely lost in the acoustic of the auditorium (about which I will say more later.) All in all it was a bit of a let-down, despite the sections of exciting technical fireworks.
However, what was to follow after interval well and truly made up for the disappointment, and even inclined me to think that Gavrylyuk had not been giving his all in the first half of the recital just in order to have the stamina for the second half.
I first heard Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition played by Nikolai Demidenko when he gave a recital in Brisbane in 2011. It was a great recital, but unfortunately I was coming down with a cold and was so exhausted I had trouble focussing on the music. I woke up for 'Baba Yaga', since it sounded like heavy metal. That's all I really remember.
Demidenko is an interesting pianist, but I find his tone tends to be quite harsh. One of Alexander Gavyrlyuk's strongest points is his tone, which is always incredibly warm and beautiful, even at maximum volume. He got an excellent opportunity to display this technique when he performed the Pictures on Saturday night.
When Gavrylyuk came out on stage after interval, he barely waited for people to finish sitting down before plunging straight into the opening 'Promenade'. It annoys me how pianists always play this opening so stridently and harshly. Gavrylyuk, by contrast, played it very beautifully, shaping each note with the pedal. His playing had the intensity and focus I had come to expect from him. and which I felt was somewhat lacking in the first half of the program.
Gavrylyuk's interpretation of Baba Yaga wasn't what I was expecting. I've heard so many poor interpretations of this movement - lacking in rhythm, bite, volume, you name it. Gavrylyuk played it better than any I've heard so far - even better than Demidenko. The volume he achieved in the loud sections of the work, especially near the end, was terrifying; one half expected the auditorium to collapse from the sheer massiveness of the sound, and yet the tone was not percussive at all, just rich and pure.
I don't think I'd ever really understood what a masterpiece Pictures at an Exhibition is until I heard Gavrylyuk's interpretation, which somehow just made perfect sense to me. For the first time I felt like all the movements of the work hung together and were interconnected, and his playing held my attention for the entire work (which is quite a feat, in my opinion.)
Gavrylyuk got a well-deserved standing ovation, and played three encores - THREE, after Pictures at an Exhibition and the Schumann Fantasie! - one of which was quite long and virtuosic: Horowitz's variations on the Mendelssohn Wedding March. This showpiece was framed by a Rachmaninov Prelude and the Vocalise. All were perfect, and Gavrylyuk played them with the same intensity he displayed in the Mussorgsky. The high standard of his playing in the second half of the recital is what made me think that he was saving himself for that. I also feel that Gavrylyuk has a particular affinity with Russian composers.
My main reservation about the recital was not do to with Gavrylyuk's playing, but to do with the Melbourne Recital Centre acoustic. The Elisabeth Murdoch hall, where all the major recitals take place, has an INCREDIBLY reverberant acoustic. (What's more, the slightest noise is clearly audible throughout the auditorium. Someone moves their program, you can hear it. Someone whispers, you can hear it. Someone scratches their neck, you can hear it. I'm not kidding. And as for when a phone goes off in the middle of the concert, as it did on Saturday...)
For small ensembles, this acoustic is excellent. When I saw the King's Singers there, it was perfect. Likewise for the Takacs Quartet. However, the reverb (which is probably several seconds long although I haven't counted), doesn't work at all for piano recitals. I first noticed this when I went to see Bezhod Abduraimov. There was a most curious doubling effect created by the reverb, almost a delayed echo. You'd hear a note played, and then immediately afterwards you'd hear it again, bouncing off the walls. It was very disconcerting.
I was in a good position to observe Gavyrlyuk's feet during the recital on Saturday, and it was only by this that I could tell his pedalling technique was highly refined. The reverb was so extreme that you couldn't hear most of the subtleties of pedalling he used, except when the music was slow, which wasn't often! I don't know why I never noticed this unfortunate quality of the acoustic until recently.
To finish I'd like to link to some of Gavrylyuk's recordings, so here is an excerpt of him playing one of my favorite concertos (you can find the other movements in the related videos)
This is pretty cool also
I remember that the first time I heard him, I came away with the impression that he was a perfect pianist, and the second recital I went to (some years later) only served to confirm this view. However, at the time of these recitals, my knowledge of piano repetoire and of pianistic technique in general was limited. I can't even remember most of what he played! I do recall, however, hearing him perform the Moonlight Sonata and being amazed at his interpretation of the first movement, which was unlike anything I'd ever heard before. I'm used to hearing this movement played very limply and weakly, which I hate. Gavyrlyuk played it with such emotional intensity and depth that for the first time I found myself actually understanding the music.
It's very different to be hearing Gavrylyuk now, when my own experience of the piano and piano repetoire is so much broader (and growing every day). Naturally, it's easier for me to find faults in people's playing - if you can call them 'faults' - since I've now heard many more pianists than I had back then, and have established what I like and don't like with regards to interpretation and technique. However, my opinion of Gavrylyuk's playing hasn't changed much.
The program started with Bach's Italian Concerto. Before going to the concert I had listened to excerpts of Gavrylyuk playing this piece on Youtube, recorded nearly ten years ago. I have to admit I was not impressed - I found his interpretation excessively heavy and rather lifeless. However, in 8 years I believe he has matured a lot - his performance on Saturday night was beautiful, much lighter and more elegant than the recording on Youtube.
His interpretation was not quite to my taste, since I like my Bach Glenn-Gould style: dry and 'crunchy', without any pedal, and hard-edged rather than pretty. Gavrylyuk played it with an (albeit very skillful) use of the pedal and very sweetly. It was certainly a 'pretty' performance.
The second piece before interval was Schumann's Fantasie. This is a piece I like, although I don't know it very well, having probably only listened to the entire thing once or twice. I'm well aware of the enourmous technical difficulties it poses, and these didn't seem to trouble Gavrylyuk at all. However, I'm used to hearing Evgeny Kissin's tumultuous, stormy interpretation, and Gavrylyuk played it so differently that I almost didn't recognise it.
He is a small, compact man, rather mouse-like in appearence, but he is somehow capable of making the piano sound like an earthquake. I would have liked to hear a bit of that earthquake-iness at the start of the Schumann, but in fact all I heard was the first note in the bass followed by a very gentle crescendo into the arpeggios, which got completely lost in the acoustic of the auditorium (about which I will say more later.) All in all it was a bit of a let-down, despite the sections of exciting technical fireworks.
However, what was to follow after interval well and truly made up for the disappointment, and even inclined me to think that Gavrylyuk had not been giving his all in the first half of the recital just in order to have the stamina for the second half.
I first heard Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition played by Nikolai Demidenko when he gave a recital in Brisbane in 2011. It was a great recital, but unfortunately I was coming down with a cold and was so exhausted I had trouble focussing on the music. I woke up for 'Baba Yaga', since it sounded like heavy metal. That's all I really remember.
Demidenko is an interesting pianist, but I find his tone tends to be quite harsh. One of Alexander Gavyrlyuk's strongest points is his tone, which is always incredibly warm and beautiful, even at maximum volume. He got an excellent opportunity to display this technique when he performed the Pictures on Saturday night.
When Gavrylyuk came out on stage after interval, he barely waited for people to finish sitting down before plunging straight into the opening 'Promenade'. It annoys me how pianists always play this opening so stridently and harshly. Gavrylyuk, by contrast, played it very beautifully, shaping each note with the pedal. His playing had the intensity and focus I had come to expect from him. and which I felt was somewhat lacking in the first half of the program.
Gavrylyuk's interpretation of Baba Yaga wasn't what I was expecting. I've heard so many poor interpretations of this movement - lacking in rhythm, bite, volume, you name it. Gavrylyuk played it better than any I've heard so far - even better than Demidenko. The volume he achieved in the loud sections of the work, especially near the end, was terrifying; one half expected the auditorium to collapse from the sheer massiveness of the sound, and yet the tone was not percussive at all, just rich and pure.
I don't think I'd ever really understood what a masterpiece Pictures at an Exhibition is until I heard Gavrylyuk's interpretation, which somehow just made perfect sense to me. For the first time I felt like all the movements of the work hung together and were interconnected, and his playing held my attention for the entire work (which is quite a feat, in my opinion.)
Gavrylyuk got a well-deserved standing ovation, and played three encores - THREE, after Pictures at an Exhibition and the Schumann Fantasie! - one of which was quite long and virtuosic: Horowitz's variations on the Mendelssohn Wedding March. This showpiece was framed by a Rachmaninov Prelude and the Vocalise. All were perfect, and Gavrylyuk played them with the same intensity he displayed in the Mussorgsky. The high standard of his playing in the second half of the recital is what made me think that he was saving himself for that. I also feel that Gavrylyuk has a particular affinity with Russian composers.
My main reservation about the recital was not do to with Gavrylyuk's playing, but to do with the Melbourne Recital Centre acoustic. The Elisabeth Murdoch hall, where all the major recitals take place, has an INCREDIBLY reverberant acoustic. (What's more, the slightest noise is clearly audible throughout the auditorium. Someone moves their program, you can hear it. Someone whispers, you can hear it. Someone scratches their neck, you can hear it. I'm not kidding. And as for when a phone goes off in the middle of the concert, as it did on Saturday...)
For small ensembles, this acoustic is excellent. When I saw the King's Singers there, it was perfect. Likewise for the Takacs Quartet. However, the reverb (which is probably several seconds long although I haven't counted), doesn't work at all for piano recitals. I first noticed this when I went to see Bezhod Abduraimov. There was a most curious doubling effect created by the reverb, almost a delayed echo. You'd hear a note played, and then immediately afterwards you'd hear it again, bouncing off the walls. It was very disconcerting.
I was in a good position to observe Gavyrlyuk's feet during the recital on Saturday, and it was only by this that I could tell his pedalling technique was highly refined. The reverb was so extreme that you couldn't hear most of the subtleties of pedalling he used, except when the music was slow, which wasn't often! I don't know why I never noticed this unfortunate quality of the acoustic until recently.
To finish I'd like to link to some of Gavrylyuk's recordings, so here is an excerpt of him playing one of my favorite concertos (you can find the other movements in the related videos)
This is pretty cool also
Friday, 8 February 2013
CD review: Pollini - Chopin Etudes (1960 recording)
Maurizio Pollini is a pianist I greatly admire - so much so that I wouldn't hesitate to compare him with 2 other pianists I consider to be 'in the same mold', technique-wise and possibly even interpretation-wise: Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli, and the one and only Rachmaninov.
All have an outstanding leggiero technique, never fall back on the pedal to conceal inadequacies (since they have none), and have a deep understanding of the music which they manage to convey without projecting too much of their ego onto the music, resulting in a quite objective yet incredibly moving interpretation.
Anyway, enough adulation. Around the end of last year, I found out about a newish CD - it was actually released in 2011 - which I had somehow not heard about yet. The CD is of a very young Pollini playing the complete Chopin Etudes, recorded in 1960 but unreleased until a few years ago. You can listen to samples (and buy it) here
Until I discovered this recording, my favorite interpretation of the Chopin etudes was Ashkenazy's. In fact, Ashkenazy was the first person I ever heard get ALL the notes right in the Op. 10 No. 1 (I've since discovered other pianists who have achieved this astonishing feat).
However, as soon as I heard the 18-year-old Pollini's interpretation - even though I could only hear 20 second samples of each track - I knew his version was going to replace Ashkenazy's in my affection.
I ordered the CD more or less straight away, but due to some problems wth the delivery, I didn't recieve until a few days ago, nearly 3 months after I bought it! In a way, though, the wait made it even more special when I finally got to listen to the whole thing.
Before I even start on Pollini's playing, I want to say a little about the audio production. One of the things I've always disliked about Ashkenazy's recordings of anything, no matter how good the playing, is the tone: very clangy and bright, with hardly any warmth. I like a warm, mellow piano sound, and I like close mic'ing. Pollini's 1960 recording has both in abundance, along with just a smidgin of ambience and reverb. The result is possibly the most beautiful recording quality I've ever heard. The piano is crystal clear, and very exposed as a result, but the playing is so flawless that this just goes to show off Pollini's incredible technique.
Now for the playing. Needless to say, technically it is note perfect: so is Ashkenazy's, of course. Where Pollini differs from Ashkenazy is in the emotional aspect. Whereas Ashkenazy plays the etudes in accordance with what their name implies - technical studies - Pollini brings out the musical masterpiece in every one of them, which to me is far more what these pieces are about. What makes Chopin's etudes so brilliant and innovative is that in them, technical exercises are turned into miniature works of art - something which had never been done before, and which has set a precedent for many composers since.
Nowhere is the artistic value of the etudes more clear on Pollini's recording than in Op. 10 nos. 3, 6, and 9. In these pieces, one can hear Pollini's deep sensitivity, which is always in perfect balance so that it never becomes sentimentality.
On the technical side of things, a particularly good example is....well, everything. However, I am going to single out Op. 25 No. 11 (my favorite etude EVER) because of the astonishing leggiero and pedalling that it displays. Both of these technical aspects are also showcased in Op. 10 No. 4, 5 and 8.
I feel like Pollini's technique in these etudes fully deserves comparison with Rachmaninov's. It's not very often you hear technique like that anymore: where the pianist is so in control of the pedal that one can't tell that it's being used, nothing is blurred, every note can be heard with crystal clarity and is given equal importance. To me, these are characteristics of both Rachmaninov's and, on this recording at least, Pollini's playing. I really believe if we could hear Rachmaninov's playing recorded with modern technology, it would sound very much like Pollini on this CD.
(...In fact, one CAN hear Rachmaninov playing with modern recording technology: judge for yourself. and in case you're not convinced, here is another example which probably provides a better comparison to the production on Pollini's recording.)
I could go on and on about this CD, but everything I'd say can be summed up in two words. IT'S PERFECT. I highly reccommend it!
P.S. I managed to find Pollini's more recent recording of the Chopin etudes on Youtube, and I really dislike it (not least because of the production, although I don't like the interpretation, which is vastly different, either.)
All have an outstanding leggiero technique, never fall back on the pedal to conceal inadequacies (since they have none), and have a deep understanding of the music which they manage to convey without projecting too much of their ego onto the music, resulting in a quite objective yet incredibly moving interpretation.
Anyway, enough adulation. Around the end of last year, I found out about a newish CD - it was actually released in 2011 - which I had somehow not heard about yet. The CD is of a very young Pollini playing the complete Chopin Etudes, recorded in 1960 but unreleased until a few years ago. You can listen to samples (and buy it) here
Until I discovered this recording, my favorite interpretation of the Chopin etudes was Ashkenazy's. In fact, Ashkenazy was the first person I ever heard get ALL the notes right in the Op. 10 No. 1 (I've since discovered other pianists who have achieved this astonishing feat).
However, as soon as I heard the 18-year-old Pollini's interpretation - even though I could only hear 20 second samples of each track - I knew his version was going to replace Ashkenazy's in my affection.
I ordered the CD more or less straight away, but due to some problems wth the delivery, I didn't recieve until a few days ago, nearly 3 months after I bought it! In a way, though, the wait made it even more special when I finally got to listen to the whole thing.
Before I even start on Pollini's playing, I want to say a little about the audio production. One of the things I've always disliked about Ashkenazy's recordings of anything, no matter how good the playing, is the tone: very clangy and bright, with hardly any warmth. I like a warm, mellow piano sound, and I like close mic'ing. Pollini's 1960 recording has both in abundance, along with just a smidgin of ambience and reverb. The result is possibly the most beautiful recording quality I've ever heard. The piano is crystal clear, and very exposed as a result, but the playing is so flawless that this just goes to show off Pollini's incredible technique.
Now for the playing. Needless to say, technically it is note perfect: so is Ashkenazy's, of course. Where Pollini differs from Ashkenazy is in the emotional aspect. Whereas Ashkenazy plays the etudes in accordance with what their name implies - technical studies - Pollini brings out the musical masterpiece in every one of them, which to me is far more what these pieces are about. What makes Chopin's etudes so brilliant and innovative is that in them, technical exercises are turned into miniature works of art - something which had never been done before, and which has set a precedent for many composers since.
Nowhere is the artistic value of the etudes more clear on Pollini's recording than in Op. 10 nos. 3, 6, and 9. In these pieces, one can hear Pollini's deep sensitivity, which is always in perfect balance so that it never becomes sentimentality.
On the technical side of things, a particularly good example is....well, everything. However, I am going to single out Op. 25 No. 11 (my favorite etude EVER) because of the astonishing leggiero and pedalling that it displays. Both of these technical aspects are also showcased in Op. 10 No. 4, 5 and 8.
I feel like Pollini's technique in these etudes fully deserves comparison with Rachmaninov's. It's not very often you hear technique like that anymore: where the pianist is so in control of the pedal that one can't tell that it's being used, nothing is blurred, every note can be heard with crystal clarity and is given equal importance. To me, these are characteristics of both Rachmaninov's and, on this recording at least, Pollini's playing. I really believe if we could hear Rachmaninov's playing recorded with modern technology, it would sound very much like Pollini on this CD.
(...In fact, one CAN hear Rachmaninov playing with modern recording technology: judge for yourself. and in case you're not convinced, here is another example which probably provides a better comparison to the production on Pollini's recording.)
I could go on and on about this CD, but everything I'd say can be summed up in two words. IT'S PERFECT. I highly reccommend it!
P.S. I managed to find Pollini's more recent recording of the Chopin etudes on Youtube, and I really dislike it (not least because of the production, although I don't like the interpretation, which is vastly different, either.)
Monday, 4 February 2013
I wouldn't change a note...
This probably sounds harsh, but it's not very often that I find myself able to say about a piece of music, 'I wouldn't change a note of that'.
I've recently come to realise the reason for this is that there are particular compositional elements in music which are significant for me - particular harmonies, chord progressions, and rhythms: however, in most 'well-balanced' compositions, these elements will not be used extensively, since unless the music is minimalist, excessive use of one particular element would be against the rules of 'correct' composing. (This is why I'm interested in minimalism: it gives me 'permission' to write an entire piece consisting solely of just a few musical elements.)
My favorite composers all have one thing in common: a large proportion of their output contains sections (the key word here is 'sections') that make use of these compositional elements which I've identified as being special to me. However, it is extremely unusual for an entire work or movement of work to make exclusive use of these elements, and the sections that do are usually very brief - anything from a page or two to only a few bars long!
The point of this post is to share some of those rare pieces that are perfect to me, so perfect I wouldn't change anything about them. This list is very incomplete; I may add to it over time, but for now it's restricted to music that a) I can find on youtube and b) is "classical".
Ravel: Daphnis & Chloe - Lever du jour (arranged for 2 pianos)
This is an unusual Youtube discovery. I love the original version of Daphnis & Chloe, but I have always prefered piano texture to orchestral texture, and just by chance I came across this incredible arrangement for two pianos of my favorite movement, Lever du jour. It's one of the most amazing things I've ever heard; the pianists and arranger are geniuses.
Steve Reich: Electric counterpoint - 3rd movement
Music for 18 musicians
Six marimbas
Music for large ensemble
As one of my favorite composers of all time, Steve Reich is right up there with Ravel, and a big inspiration to me. His music always amazes me because he uses musical elements I consider perfect, and uses them exclusively. The 3rd movement of Electric Counterpoint is a particularly good example since it consists of two of my all-time favorite chord progressions. It's kind of creepy, actually, because it's like Reich and I share an identical aesthetic understanding.
Messiaen - Regard de l'Esprit de joie
I first heard this piece from the Vingt Regards played by Konrad Olszewski during the 2012 Sydney International Piano Competition, and it rendered me speechless. I still have no words to describe it, although 'utter perfection' comes close.
It's extremely unfortunate that the recording of Konrad's performance in SIPCA is no longer on the web, since I haven't yet been able to find an interpretation of this piece which I like as much as his. Pierre-Laurent Aimard will have to do...
Ginastera: Piano Sonata No. 1 - 4th movement
I discovered this extraordinary piece completely by accident when browsing Youtube one day. The first time I heard it, I just sat there gaping from beginning to end. While the whole sonata is a masterpiece, and I particularly love bits of the first movement, this movement is the only one about which I can say 'I wouldn't change a note'.
Leo Ornstein: Piano Sonata No. 8 - movement 2c
How can I even begin to describe how perfect this is? Just listen, and hopefully you will get it too. (Ornstein is brilliant, by the way.)
Rachmaninov: Etude-tableau Op. 39 no. 8
Since Rachmaninov is one of my favorite composers, it's fitting that something by him should make it into this list. I tried to learn this etude a while ago, but had to stop when I started to get RSI! One day...
Bach: D minor concerto - 3rd movement
To even suggest that one might want to change something about a piece of Bach seems preposterous to me, but I love this movement of this particular concerto so much that I thought it deserved a mention. I've learnt the first 2 movements and am half-dreading, half-looking forward to learning the final one, as it's the most atrociously difficult movement to play, but also my favorite.
Rautavaara: Piano concerto no 1 - 1st movement
I've recently come to realise the reason for this is that there are particular compositional elements in music which are significant for me - particular harmonies, chord progressions, and rhythms: however, in most 'well-balanced' compositions, these elements will not be used extensively, since unless the music is minimalist, excessive use of one particular element would be against the rules of 'correct' composing. (This is why I'm interested in minimalism: it gives me 'permission' to write an entire piece consisting solely of just a few musical elements.)
My favorite composers all have one thing in common: a large proportion of their output contains sections (the key word here is 'sections') that make use of these compositional elements which I've identified as being special to me. However, it is extremely unusual for an entire work or movement of work to make exclusive use of these elements, and the sections that do are usually very brief - anything from a page or two to only a few bars long!
The point of this post is to share some of those rare pieces that are perfect to me, so perfect I wouldn't change anything about them. This list is very incomplete; I may add to it over time, but for now it's restricted to music that a) I can find on youtube and b) is "classical".
Ravel: Daphnis & Chloe - Lever du jour (arranged for 2 pianos)
This is an unusual Youtube discovery. I love the original version of Daphnis & Chloe, but I have always prefered piano texture to orchestral texture, and just by chance I came across this incredible arrangement for two pianos of my favorite movement, Lever du jour. It's one of the most amazing things I've ever heard; the pianists and arranger are geniuses.
Steve Reich: Electric counterpoint - 3rd movement
Music for 18 musicians
Six marimbas
Music for large ensemble
As one of my favorite composers of all time, Steve Reich is right up there with Ravel, and a big inspiration to me. His music always amazes me because he uses musical elements I consider perfect, and uses them exclusively. The 3rd movement of Electric Counterpoint is a particularly good example since it consists of two of my all-time favorite chord progressions. It's kind of creepy, actually, because it's like Reich and I share an identical aesthetic understanding.
Messiaen - Regard de l'Esprit de joie
I first heard this piece from the Vingt Regards played by Konrad Olszewski during the 2012 Sydney International Piano Competition, and it rendered me speechless. I still have no words to describe it, although 'utter perfection' comes close.
It's extremely unfortunate that the recording of Konrad's performance in SIPCA is no longer on the web, since I haven't yet been able to find an interpretation of this piece which I like as much as his. Pierre-Laurent Aimard will have to do...
Ginastera: Piano Sonata No. 1 - 4th movement
I discovered this extraordinary piece completely by accident when browsing Youtube one day. The first time I heard it, I just sat there gaping from beginning to end. While the whole sonata is a masterpiece, and I particularly love bits of the first movement, this movement is the only one about which I can say 'I wouldn't change a note'.
Leo Ornstein: Piano Sonata No. 8 - movement 2c
How can I even begin to describe how perfect this is? Just listen, and hopefully you will get it too. (Ornstein is brilliant, by the way.)
Rachmaninov: Etude-tableau Op. 39 no. 8
Since Rachmaninov is one of my favorite composers, it's fitting that something by him should make it into this list. I tried to learn this etude a while ago, but had to stop when I started to get RSI! One day...
Bach: D minor concerto - 3rd movement
To even suggest that one might want to change something about a piece of Bach seems preposterous to me, but I love this movement of this particular concerto so much that I thought it deserved a mention. I've learnt the first 2 movements and am half-dreading, half-looking forward to learning the final one, as it's the most atrociously difficult movement to play, but also my favorite.
Rautavaara: Piano concerto no 1 - 1st movement
Friday, 7 December 2012
Illegal fingerings.
As a piano student, fingerings are possibly one of the things I've struggled most with. When I first started having lessons, the simple fingering patterns for playing scales in both hands completely confused my brain. I got used to it pretty quickly, and it soon became intuitive. Nevertheless, fingerings remain the problem I most often need to consult my piano teacher about, and they are a source of minor disagreement between us.
I started having lessons relatively late, at the grand old age of 11. Before that, I had taught myself to play, and learnt or attempted to learn some quite complicated pieces. As a result of having no guidance I developed a few 'bad' habits in my technique. Some of these habits disappeared once I started having lessons, but one persisted for some time (and continues to persist even now, in a way). This was my unconventional choice of fingerings - not in scales but in actual pieces (I usually stuck to the textbook version of things for scales.)
I firmly believe that since everyone's physical shape is different, there can be no RIGHT fingering for a certain passage. I rarely find the 'official' fingerings printed in scores, if there are any, satisfactory without at least some tweaking for my individual comfort. What feels quite natural to someone with large hands and long fingers, for instance, might be impossible for someone with smaller hands, and that person might find it easier to use a fingering which the person with larger hands finds very clumsy and awkward.
However, there seem to be certain conventions in modern piano playing that state that some fingerings, in some situations, are simply...forbidden. Illegal. 'You can't do that. It's not an approved fingering.' That's the feeling I get, anyway.
In any case, my teacher and I usually disagree about what fingering is the 'most natural'. The fact is, there is no absolute 'most natural' fingering because what is natural for one person's hand shape can be extremely uncomfortable for another's. This is actually the scenario that crops up quite often with my teacher these days: he has huge hands (able to span an eleventh) while I can only span a tenth, which is quite a big difference even if it only amounts to one note on the keyboard.
However, one of the reasons I like to consult my teacher about fingerings is that often he DOES come up with a much simpler and more natural solution, which, for some reason, I would NEVER have thought of myself. I have a strange tendency to devise fingerings which are unnecessarily complicated. Often I will write a fingering onto a score which felt quite natural at the time, only to go back to it later and wonder 'why on earth did I do that?!' The fingering I find 'most natural' at a particular time for a particular passage I've learnt may feel completely wrong in a years time when I go back to that piece and try to play it again. This is especially the case in Bach.
Bach is not pianistic music. It was written in a time when pianos as we know them today didn't exist, and where keyboard technique was far removed from the flowing, velvety legato that came into existence in the Romantic era. The fingerings in Bach are atrociously awkward, and more or less defy everything that the Approved Textbook of Fingerings tries to tell you (I just made that up, by the way...)
Very early on in my piano education, I half-learnt the first movement of Bach's 2nd partita. Despite having very little knowledge of the conventions of piano technique at that point, I actually learnt to play it at a considerable speed SOLELY because I used 'illegal' fingerings. At that point, I hadn't learnt any of the conventions of fingering, so it didn't feel unnatural or even awkward to break the rules. But today, as a pianist who plays Chopin and Rachmaninov and can hardly approach a black note without using the 4th finger on it, when I return to that partita it just feels...wrong. I can't play it at all anymore. The fingerings are too unnatural compared to the 19th-century Romantic technique that has become intuitive to me.
That's not to say that I have COMPLETELY dropped my unconventional fingerings - quite the contrary. I'm now learning Bach's D Minor Concerto, and while my fingerings might not be as outrageous as they were when I learnt the partita all those years ago, they still spark a lot of controversy during lessons!
I would be really interested to know what other pianists/ piano teachers thing about 'illegal' fingerings. Are there any fingerings you wouldn't let a student use, and if so, how can you justify it, since you can't BE them and experience what it's like to play a particular passage with their fingers?
I started having lessons relatively late, at the grand old age of 11. Before that, I had taught myself to play, and learnt or attempted to learn some quite complicated pieces. As a result of having no guidance I developed a few 'bad' habits in my technique. Some of these habits disappeared once I started having lessons, but one persisted for some time (and continues to persist even now, in a way). This was my unconventional choice of fingerings - not in scales but in actual pieces (I usually stuck to the textbook version of things for scales.)
I firmly believe that since everyone's physical shape is different, there can be no RIGHT fingering for a certain passage. I rarely find the 'official' fingerings printed in scores, if there are any, satisfactory without at least some tweaking for my individual comfort. What feels quite natural to someone with large hands and long fingers, for instance, might be impossible for someone with smaller hands, and that person might find it easier to use a fingering which the person with larger hands finds very clumsy and awkward.
However, there seem to be certain conventions in modern piano playing that state that some fingerings, in some situations, are simply...forbidden. Illegal. 'You can't do that. It's not an approved fingering.' That's the feeling I get, anyway.
In any case, my teacher and I usually disagree about what fingering is the 'most natural'. The fact is, there is no absolute 'most natural' fingering because what is natural for one person's hand shape can be extremely uncomfortable for another's. This is actually the scenario that crops up quite often with my teacher these days: he has huge hands (able to span an eleventh) while I can only span a tenth, which is quite a big difference even if it only amounts to one note on the keyboard.
However, one of the reasons I like to consult my teacher about fingerings is that often he DOES come up with a much simpler and more natural solution, which, for some reason, I would NEVER have thought of myself. I have a strange tendency to devise fingerings which are unnecessarily complicated. Often I will write a fingering onto a score which felt quite natural at the time, only to go back to it later and wonder 'why on earth did I do that?!' The fingering I find 'most natural' at a particular time for a particular passage I've learnt may feel completely wrong in a years time when I go back to that piece and try to play it again. This is especially the case in Bach.
Bach is not pianistic music. It was written in a time when pianos as we know them today didn't exist, and where keyboard technique was far removed from the flowing, velvety legato that came into existence in the Romantic era. The fingerings in Bach are atrociously awkward, and more or less defy everything that the Approved Textbook of Fingerings tries to tell you (I just made that up, by the way...)
Very early on in my piano education, I half-learnt the first movement of Bach's 2nd partita. Despite having very little knowledge of the conventions of piano technique at that point, I actually learnt to play it at a considerable speed SOLELY because I used 'illegal' fingerings. At that point, I hadn't learnt any of the conventions of fingering, so it didn't feel unnatural or even awkward to break the rules. But today, as a pianist who plays Chopin and Rachmaninov and can hardly approach a black note without using the 4th finger on it, when I return to that partita it just feels...wrong. I can't play it at all anymore. The fingerings are too unnatural compared to the 19th-century Romantic technique that has become intuitive to me.
That's not to say that I have COMPLETELY dropped my unconventional fingerings - quite the contrary. I'm now learning Bach's D Minor Concerto, and while my fingerings might not be as outrageous as they were when I learnt the partita all those years ago, they still spark a lot of controversy during lessons!
I would be really interested to know what other pianists/ piano teachers thing about 'illegal' fingerings. Are there any fingerings you wouldn't let a student use, and if so, how can you justify it, since you can't BE them and experience what it's like to play a particular passage with their fingers?
Saturday, 20 October 2012
musings on the technique of great composer-pianists
I often think that one can tell a lot about the technique of a pianist (who also happens to be a composer) by the music they've written for the instrument.
On second thought, though, this isn't actually true. A good example is Ravel, who wrote some of the most atrociously difficult piano music in the repetoire, yet by all accounts wasn't an outstanding pianist himself, although he must have been a decent one to be able to play pieces like Gaspard de la nuit and Jeux d'eau.
However, if there is one pianist whose piano music is an indicator of their own piano technique, it would have to be Rachmaninov. It's easier to judge how Rachmaninov's technique relates to his piano writing than it is for many other composer-pianists, since he fortunately left behind what is a fairly extensive collection of recordings for someone who was alive when recording was only a recent invention.
There are a couple of things one immediately notices about Rach's pianism.
Firstly, he appears to have had an extraordinary technique. He was voted 'greatest pianist of all time' in Limelight and I think this is entirely justified, judging from the recordings I've heard. His playing had an incredible clarity and precision, combined with a gorgeous tone. Technical difficulties which would cause many other pianists to sacrifice tone, balance or clarity for accuracy didn't bother Rachmaninov at all. On top of that, his interpretation was very tasteful and simple, and he never over-used the pedal (as many pianists - even brilliant ones - seem to do these days.) This cleanness and understatement was quite unusual for his time, and I suppose his technique could be considered the forerunner of 'modern' piano technique (as exemplified by pianists like Pollini and Brendel.)
Secondly, Rach famously had very big hands (apparently he could span a 13th), and his piano music often incorporates impossibly large stretches which would have been quite easy for him and for anyone else with big hands, but can pose serious problems for other pianists! As I've discovered, however, the effect of Rach's technique on his writing for piano goes far beyond huge stretches.
For the past few days I've been working on a section of the 2nd concerto (specifically, the first movement, pages 19-20 in the Schirmer edition.) Rachmaninov never skimps on virtuosity in the left hand as well as the right, and beautifully written though it is, I've been struggling particularly with the second half of page 19 (for some reason, I don't have any trouble with page 20.)
I've found that in order to make the very dense and complex textures of this writing actually sound good, it's necessary to have a virtuosic command of the pedal, a very refined spacial awareness of where every key on the piano lies, and a lot of strength and dexterity. These qualities seem like something Rachmaninov would have had in great quantity.
After working on pages 19 and 20 of the concerto this evening, as usual I finished my practice by playing Chopin's Etude op. 25 no. 12.
Since this etude is the perfect way to instantly put a piano OUT of tune, I've actually stopped playing it at the end of practice sessions since getting my piano tuned a few weeks ago. Playing this etude is the way I build and maintain the muscle in my arms, and I notice very quickly if I don't play it for a while, so the last time I attempted it (a few days ago), it was a bit of a disaster.
When I tried again today, however, something had changed. I found myself hitting a lot more of the right notes than before, and had a much stronger sense of spacial awareness and coordination.
I feel quite certain that the intensive practice I did earlier on Rach 2 has improved aspects of my technique I wasn't even aware were lacking. Maybe the reason is that through his piano works, Rachmaninov has passed on his own technique to anyone prepared to spend the time and effort required to develop that technique?
On second thought, though, this isn't actually true. A good example is Ravel, who wrote some of the most atrociously difficult piano music in the repetoire, yet by all accounts wasn't an outstanding pianist himself, although he must have been a decent one to be able to play pieces like Gaspard de la nuit and Jeux d'eau.
However, if there is one pianist whose piano music is an indicator of their own piano technique, it would have to be Rachmaninov. It's easier to judge how Rachmaninov's technique relates to his piano writing than it is for many other composer-pianists, since he fortunately left behind what is a fairly extensive collection of recordings for someone who was alive when recording was only a recent invention.
There are a couple of things one immediately notices about Rach's pianism.
Firstly, he appears to have had an extraordinary technique. He was voted 'greatest pianist of all time' in Limelight and I think this is entirely justified, judging from the recordings I've heard. His playing had an incredible clarity and precision, combined with a gorgeous tone. Technical difficulties which would cause many other pianists to sacrifice tone, balance or clarity for accuracy didn't bother Rachmaninov at all. On top of that, his interpretation was very tasteful and simple, and he never over-used the pedal (as many pianists - even brilliant ones - seem to do these days.) This cleanness and understatement was quite unusual for his time, and I suppose his technique could be considered the forerunner of 'modern' piano technique (as exemplified by pianists like Pollini and Brendel.)
Secondly, Rach famously had very big hands (apparently he could span a 13th), and his piano music often incorporates impossibly large stretches which would have been quite easy for him and for anyone else with big hands, but can pose serious problems for other pianists! As I've discovered, however, the effect of Rach's technique on his writing for piano goes far beyond huge stretches.
For the past few days I've been working on a section of the 2nd concerto (specifically, the first movement, pages 19-20 in the Schirmer edition.) Rachmaninov never skimps on virtuosity in the left hand as well as the right, and beautifully written though it is, I've been struggling particularly with the second half of page 19 (for some reason, I don't have any trouble with page 20.)
I've found that in order to make the very dense and complex textures of this writing actually sound good, it's necessary to have a virtuosic command of the pedal, a very refined spacial awareness of where every key on the piano lies, and a lot of strength and dexterity. These qualities seem like something Rachmaninov would have had in great quantity.
After working on pages 19 and 20 of the concerto this evening, as usual I finished my practice by playing Chopin's Etude op. 25 no. 12.
Since this etude is the perfect way to instantly put a piano OUT of tune, I've actually stopped playing it at the end of practice sessions since getting my piano tuned a few weeks ago. Playing this etude is the way I build and maintain the muscle in my arms, and I notice very quickly if I don't play it for a while, so the last time I attempted it (a few days ago), it was a bit of a disaster.
When I tried again today, however, something had changed. I found myself hitting a lot more of the right notes than before, and had a much stronger sense of spacial awareness and coordination.
I feel quite certain that the intensive practice I did earlier on Rach 2 has improved aspects of my technique I wasn't even aware were lacking. Maybe the reason is that through his piano works, Rachmaninov has passed on his own technique to anyone prepared to spend the time and effort required to develop that technique?
Thursday, 30 August 2012
Post-practice reflections: Speed versus musicality
In the past couple of days, I've been seriously considering what I want the final tempo of the 2nd movement of Rachmaninov's second piano concerto to be. The middle movement of Rach 2 has several quite drastic tempo changes. To me, these are extremely important. When I started learning the fastest, and possibly most technically challenging, section of this movement (right in the middle, leading up to the cadenza - marked 'Piu Mosso'), I had set a target speed on my metronome which, at the time, I thought the fastest REALISTIC speed I could achieve.
As it turned out, by the time I'd worked that section up to my target speed of crotchet = 70 bpm, I felt as if I could easily do it a bit faster. So I set a new target speed: 80 bpm.
I'd already made the decision that I wanted to take this movement very slowly, even in the faster sections. I wanted all the notes to be clearly audible, all the wonderful and bizarre chromatic harmonies to stand out. But once I'd perfected the 80 bpm speed, I suddenly realised that when I stopped playing with the metronome, the technical aspect was so effortless that I instantly sped up.
On all the recordings I've listened to the 'Piu Mosso' section is played incredibly lightly, nimbly, and the final part of it sounds almost more like a trill than proper passagework. When left to my own devices, free of the constraining metronome, I couldn't help but imitate this speediness now that I had the technique to.
Of course, different pianists DO take it at different tempos. I even went to the trouble of working out the tempos of my 3 favorite recordings: Rachmaninov took the fast section at a whopping 125 bpm, Yefim Bronfman at 115 bpm, and Van Cliburn (whom I admire specially for his slower interpretation) at 100 bpm.
Yet all of these pianist play the fast section much faster than I was aspiring to.
In my practice session tonight, I tried a number of different metronome speeds, ranging from my original target of 80 bpm to Van Cliburn's nimbler 100 bpm. I couldn't make up my mind which tempo was best. On the one hand, I wanted all the notes to be audible, and not to simply sound like a blur. On the other hand, it felt so much better to play fast, and this was my natural tendency as soon as I turned off the metronome. So I did a little experiment.
I played from a few bars before the start of the fast section at a tempo I found comfortable and thought sounded nice. When I reached the fast section, I let myself settle into the tempo that felt natural, and which I always reverted to when I wasn't consciously aiming for a particular speed.
Then I stopped and turned on the metronome, adjusting the tempo until it matched what I'd just been playing. It was 90 bpm - halfway between my target and Van Cliburn's tempo.
The issue of tempo choice is more complicated than just choosing an appropriate tempo for the fast section, however. There are, as I have already mentioned, several other tempo changes in this movement, and how they all relate to each other is vitally important. If I decided to change my target speed for one section, I have to adjust all the others to fit in with it - it's like a sort of tempo 'ratio'.
For now, I've decided that 90 bpm is my tempo of choice for the 'Piu Mosso' section, but the process has made me realise that I have to be careful about sacrificing my musical intentions for the sake of virtuosity. I'm not really interested in technique for the sake of technique. One needs technique to execute one's interpretation of a piece, but if the interpretation doesn't demand virtuosity, one has to know when to hold back.
P.S. On the spur of the moment I decided to video myself during my practice session this evening, which means I can now actually hear how the different tempos I was trying out affect the sound of the music and my degree of accuracy and so forth. I've never done this before, and it was very interesting. Here's a link to the video
As it turned out, by the time I'd worked that section up to my target speed of crotchet = 70 bpm, I felt as if I could easily do it a bit faster. So I set a new target speed: 80 bpm.
I'd already made the decision that I wanted to take this movement very slowly, even in the faster sections. I wanted all the notes to be clearly audible, all the wonderful and bizarre chromatic harmonies to stand out. But once I'd perfected the 80 bpm speed, I suddenly realised that when I stopped playing with the metronome, the technical aspect was so effortless that I instantly sped up.
On all the recordings I've listened to the 'Piu Mosso' section is played incredibly lightly, nimbly, and the final part of it sounds almost more like a trill than proper passagework. When left to my own devices, free of the constraining metronome, I couldn't help but imitate this speediness now that I had the technique to.
Of course, different pianists DO take it at different tempos. I even went to the trouble of working out the tempos of my 3 favorite recordings: Rachmaninov took the fast section at a whopping 125 bpm, Yefim Bronfman at 115 bpm, and Van Cliburn (whom I admire specially for his slower interpretation) at 100 bpm.
Yet all of these pianist play the fast section much faster than I was aspiring to.
In my practice session tonight, I tried a number of different metronome speeds, ranging from my original target of 80 bpm to Van Cliburn's nimbler 100 bpm. I couldn't make up my mind which tempo was best. On the one hand, I wanted all the notes to be audible, and not to simply sound like a blur. On the other hand, it felt so much better to play fast, and this was my natural tendency as soon as I turned off the metronome. So I did a little experiment.
I played from a few bars before the start of the fast section at a tempo I found comfortable and thought sounded nice. When I reached the fast section, I let myself settle into the tempo that felt natural, and which I always reverted to when I wasn't consciously aiming for a particular speed.
Then I stopped and turned on the metronome, adjusting the tempo until it matched what I'd just been playing. It was 90 bpm - halfway between my target and Van Cliburn's tempo.
The issue of tempo choice is more complicated than just choosing an appropriate tempo for the fast section, however. There are, as I have already mentioned, several other tempo changes in this movement, and how they all relate to each other is vitally important. If I decided to change my target speed for one section, I have to adjust all the others to fit in with it - it's like a sort of tempo 'ratio'.
For now, I've decided that 90 bpm is my tempo of choice for the 'Piu Mosso' section, but the process has made me realise that I have to be careful about sacrificing my musical intentions for the sake of virtuosity. I'm not really interested in technique for the sake of technique. One needs technique to execute one's interpretation of a piece, but if the interpretation doesn't demand virtuosity, one has to know when to hold back.
P.S. On the spur of the moment I decided to video myself during my practice session this evening, which means I can now actually hear how the different tempos I was trying out affect the sound of the music and my degree of accuracy and so forth. I've never done this before, and it was very interesting. Here's a link to the video
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