Bach is hard

I've discovered that, at least in the pianistic field, pieces by Mozart are often given to young musicians as their 'first concerto'  or 'first sonata'. This seems to imply that such works are technically and perhaps emotionally less demanding than sonatas or concertos by other composers, and therefore suitable material for budding musicians who have, presumably, not yet developed these faculties.
I have even read things that imply that Mozart is widely considered to be inferior music ONLY suitable for this purpose, and not serious or "difficult" enough for fully-fledged musicians to pay any attention to.
As I am not personally fond of Mozart, I haven't played much of his music and thus don't feel qualified to judge whether it really IS less technically or emotionally demanding than that of other composers. However, it recently came to my attention that Bach is treated, by some, in much the same way: as excellent 'first concerto' material for children learning the piano, or (in the cases of the preludes and fugues) excellent exercise material, but not really of any worth to the experienced musician.

This horrifies me for a number of reasons. First, to suggest that anything Bach - possibly the greatest composer that ever lived - wrote has no musical worth is nothing short of blasphemy. I can hardly think of a great composer since Bach's time who has not, in some way, been influenced by his music. However, I hardly need that as an excuse for defending the excellence of his compositions. The main reason I'm offended by this devaluing, as it were, of Bach's music is because it implies that, like Mozart, playing Bach requires less technical skill or musical understanding than playing the music of other composers.

I've noticed a curious thing when I tell people (generally musicians or music lovers who aren't pianists) about the pieces I'm working on. The conversation usually goes something like this:
Me: 'I'm learning two concertos.'
Friend: 'Which ones?'
Me: 'Bach's D minor...'
Friend: *no reaction*
Me: '...and Rach 2.'
Friend: 'OOOH! That's one of the hardest concertos there is!' *impressed face*
Me: *mumbles something about Prok 2*
Misconceptions about hardest concertos aside, it seems like Rachmaninov universally holds the status of Serious Music, while Bach is...well...less serious music - even inferior music - in the eyes of many people. If I hadn't seen evidence of this attitude elsewhere, it would never have occured to me that people might think about Bach this way. Someone once told me they were surprised when they tried to play a Bach prelude and found it difficult. It strikes me as strange that people can listen to Bach and not hear the complexity of it.

To me, Bach has always been characterised by both outstanding complexity and technical difficulty; in the early music circle I grew up in, it was widely acknowledged that Bach was pretty much the hardest early music there was. But how does the technical difficulty of Bach compare to the music of the 19th and 20th centuries?

In Rach 2, most of the notes are for texture, and the few that form a melody are the ones that need to be brought out. This is usually achieved using the damper pedal and playing the textural notes lightly while the melody notes are played strongly. More often than not the 'textural' notes end up being drowned out by the orchestra anyway, and this combined with the concealing qualities of the pedal mean that you don't need to get every note right for the overall effect to be pleasant.
Since I like to actually hear all the notes, I strongly advocate NOT swamping them in pedal to hide technical inadequacies. The technique I describe above is one of things I find most frustating about modern pianists. But the fact remains that you can do that and get away with it, because romantic music was sort of written to be played like that. In fact, most of it is unplayable without a certain amount of pedal, although swamping is totally unnecessary if you are a good enough pianist (I could probably write a whole book blog post about pedal-swamping). I personally aspire to the clean, minimally-pedalled technique which the composer himself utilises, but the truth is my technique isn't good enough to pull that off most of the time.


On the other hand, under no circumstances will I resort to the pedal in Bach. It simply isn't in keeping with the sound I envisage for his music. I like a clean, percussive, articulated technique in Bach; it helps to emphasise the counterpoint and also makes the piano sound more like a harpsichord. But this clarity is a lot harder to achieve than the pedal-swamped passages found in romantic music. One wrong note in Rachmaninov might be barely noticable, but in Bach it could be a disaster. You can't fake it: every note is of equal importance (this is especially so in fugal passages, where each voice needs to be heard clearly.) Even if you do use the pedal (and thereby conceal half the notes, making wrong ones less apparent), the keyboard instruments Bach wrote for had a much lighter action than a modern piano, and so were much easier to play on. This made it possible to execute leaps and incredibly fast fingerwork that are awkward, to say the least, on a modern piano. When playing Bach on the piano, the performer often has to battle against the unwieldiness of an instrument for which the music was not designed.

Rach 2 is hard, and as soon as you introduce the concept of actually hearing all the notes, it gets much harder, because there are lots of them, and they are often very fast. But aside from one or two awkward passages (which can be glossed over with the pedal if necessary) most of the notes feel just right - so right that, once you've learnt them, they are not only easy, but actually physically pleasant to play. This can be attributed to Rachmaninov's own skill as a pianist, which enabled him to write music perfectly designed for the piano and the capabilities of the performer.

By all accounts, Bach was equally accomplished at the harpsichord, and no doubt his own concertos were similarly well-tailored to his instrument. Like Rach 2, the Bach concerto was never easy in the first place, but (if Bach's vocal works are anything to go by) it was probably written in such a way that once the keyboardist had learnt the notes, everything just flowed - at least, on a harpsichord, where the keys are much shallower than a piano's and only require about a quarter of the effort to depress. I actually have two harpsichords in my house, but they're both in such poor condition that I haven't been able to try playing the concerto on them (apart from the fact they don't have enough keys for the low notes; Bach must have had much bigger harpsichords.)

In the end, it's hard to draw a comparison, because the technique required to play Bach is so different from that required to play Rachmaninov.* All things considered, the two pieces are probably at around the same level of difficulty. This alone would probably surprise a lot of people. However, I'm finding the concerto that was written for the instrument I'm playing it on, regardless of the number of notes, is actually easier to execute successfully. Meanwhile, I've just started learning the last movement of the Bach concerto, and for the first time since I undertook learning these two concertos, I'm really struggling. I haven't started on the last movement of Rach 2 yet, and I'm fairly certain it's going to be the hardest. Will it be harder than the corresponding movement of the Bach? Even I would feel silly if I said it wasn't, but only time will tell!

*I have encountered pianists who fully appreciate the technical challenges of Bach, and even go so far as to admit they can't play it. These are accomplished musicians who have no trouble executing extremely difficult 19th and 20th century music, which demonstrates just how different the necessary technique is.

Concert review: Stefan Cassomenos 26/6/13

In 2012, I was fortunate enough to witness two incredible young pianists playing alongside each other - one as soloist and one as accompanist - in the Piano Concerto section of my local Eisteddfod. They were Konrad Olszewski and Stefan Cassomenos. Even in what one could say was the secondary role of accompanist, it was evident that Stefan was an extraordinary musician. They played one of my favorite concertos, Prokofiev's 3rd, and the whole experience was unforgettable. I was therefore very excited when I found out that both Stefan and Konrad had got into the Sydney International Piano Competition (SIPCA), and heartbroken when they didn't progress to the 2nd round.

I've just returned from the first recital I've heard Stefan play in person. This took place in the salon at the Melbourne Recital Centre, and I have to admit I much prefer this more intimate setting to the Elizabeth Murdoch Hall - the acoustic is beautiful and, in my opinion, far more flattering to the piano.
The closeness to the performer also gives me the opportunity to study a pianist's pedalling at close range, which I certainly did tonight.

I loved Stefan's choice of repetoire, some of which I'd already heard him play in SIPCA, and some of which he obviously learnt for SIPCA but didn't get the chance to perform due to not progressing past the first round. This included one of the Australian works commissioned for the competition, Carl Vine's Toccatissimo, with which Stefan opened the program and in which I would be completely confident to say his accuracy was 100%. For some reason I never fully appreciated this masterpiece when I heard it on the radio during SIPCA - I don't know whether it was never played particularly well (it's a technical monstrosity) or whether I was just so exhausted from hours of listening that I couldn't even take it in. But tonight, it left me fervently wishing I was able to compose like that - as did the 3 Ligeti etudes (Nos. 4, 11, and 8), during which I simply gaped the whole time.

After the Vine and before the Ligeti, Stefan played 3 Liszt etudes (Nos. 7, 11 and 8). I confess I'm not a fan of Liszt, but I marvelled at Stefan's technique in these extraordinarily difficult works. I particularly noted that Wilde Jagd, which I heard several times played by different pianists (including Stefan) during SIPCA, sounded distinctly more accurate than when I had heard him play it previously. In fact, I would venture to say it was 100% accurate.

Following the Liszt and Ligeti, Stefan played a Debussy etude (No. 11) which for some reason has left less of an impression on me than the other works on the program. I quite like Debussy, and I like that etude, but it didn't particularly stand out for me, perhaps because I was so busy anticipating the 5 Rachmaninov Etudes that followed.

When I hear what is, for me, a definitive interpretation of a work, from then on I never really like any other interpretation. This is how I feel about Ashkenazy's Rach Etudes, with one exception - Op. 39 No. 1, which I first heard played by Konrad Olszewski in SIPCA. Ever since then, no other interpretation of that etude has sounded right to me, and Stefan's interpretation of Op. 39 No. 1 doesn't quite cut it for me simply for that reason, but on some levels he has more technique than Konrad. It was interesting to hear how Stefan brought out melodies in this etude that I hadn't heard before.

At this point I can no longer put off discussing the one thing that struck me most about Stefan's playing this evening: his pedalling.

I was watching Stefan's feet the whole way through the recital, and was amazed to see that he frequently took the pedal completely off in technical passages where most pianists I've heard leave it down. Stefan used little to no pedal wherever he could, and only a pianist with impeccable technique can get away with the exposure this results in.
When he wasn't playing completely pedalless, Stefan changed the pedal frequently and subtly - sometimes fully changing, sometimes half or quarter-changing - so that there was always the utmost clarity. I was particularly struck by the way he used the sostenuto pedal in one piece to hold a bass chord while he played a delicate, virtuosic passage in the right hand, completely without the damper pedal. This is the kind of pedalling technique that seems to have been forgotten, or has gone out of fashion, and of which Rachmaninov is the supreme example.

My only criticism of Stefan's pedalling is a fairly minor one. He has a way of very abruptly lifting his foot off the pedal. He never does this in the middle of passages - as many pianists I've heard do - but only when he comes to the end of a pedalled section. Often it's quite effective, if the music is agressive, since the 'clunk' of the pedal adds to the overall harshness. But occasionally he does it when the music is less suited to added clunking, and I don't like it. However, it's part of his playing style and insignificant in comparison to his otherwise extraordinary command of the pedal, which particularly made itself clear in the Rachmaninov etudes.

Most modern pianists I've heard pay little, if any, attention to pedalling, and I gather that many judges don't either, considering some of the finalists in competitions. It's refreshing to come across a pianist who grants the pedal the importance it deserves. I reckon if we could hear Rachmaninov play his own etudes today, in person, his pedalling would not be unlike Stefan's. And as a self-confessed pedalling freak and Rachmaniac, that's more or less the highest praise I could give anyone.

Concert Review: Valentina Lisitsa 8/6/13

I originally discovered Valentina Lisitsa when I came across her Chopin Etudes DVD on Youtube. To start with, I didn't like her all that much. I appreciated that she was an excellent pianist with formidable technique, but her style wasn't to my taste. It was only once I realised how she was revolutionising classical music through the use of social media that my respect for her really took off.
Gradually I began to realise what she was doing was very different: she talked about the music when she did a recital, tweeted to people in the audience, and was prepared to livestream her practise and performances to the whole world.  Last but not least, whereas most pianists achieve fame by winning prestigious competitions at a tender age, Lisitsa's career took off via the internet when she was middle-aged, without the aid of any competitions (and the agents and record companies they entail) whatsoever. 

The Royal Albert Hall recital was what finally made me a fan. I'd listened to Ashkenazy's Rach preludes CD, but his intepretation, while excellent, had never really communicated the essence of the music to me in the way Lisitsa's did. I felt like I was hearing the preludes for the first time. It was then that I decided to learn Op. 32 No. 10, and my obssession with Rachmaninov began.

Some time later I joined with hundreds of other pianists and music lovers around the world to watch Lisitsa livestreaming her 12 hours of practise a day, and later a performance of Rach 3. It was an amazing experience, not least because of the wonderful live chat board, where I was able to talk with fellow pianists around the world and discuss what Lisitsa was playing in real-time.

Last weekend, I flew to Brisbane for a couple of nights and saw Valentina Lisitsa perform at the Queensland Performing Arts centre. It was unforgettable, and a very different experience to other piano recitals I've been to. Lisitsa talked at length about the music, the composers, her own childhood and the reasons for her programming (which was refreshingly unconventional) before sitting down to play, straight through, 6 Rachmaninov preludes, followed by Prokofiev's 7th sonata (a personal favorite of mine) and then the Beethoven Appassionata. And that was just before interval. She didn't want applause between pieces, but couldn't prevent a few outbursts from the enthusiastic audience.

From the very first piece, I disliked the piano. Lisitsa favours Bosendorfers, and it's a pity she wasn't able to play on one, because the Steinway in the auditorium was poorly tuned (not out of tune exactly; just poorly tuned), unevenly voiced and jangly. However, Lisitsa was able to make it sound beautiful, especially as she warmed up.

Hearing her play the Rachmaninov preludes again since I'd gotten to know them better, I realised I didn't actually like her interpretation of Op. 32 no. 10, the prelude I learned. Some of the more technically challenging preludes were also a bit messy, but when a performer sees the bigger picture rather than focussing on the details, mistakes are unimportant, and Lisitsa certainly saw the bigger picture. In fact the Rach preludes were really just a warm-up, and the fact that Lisitsa was able to play 6 such challenging works to open a recital is indicative of her pianistic skill.

The Prokofiev sonata and Beethoven which followed were flawless - and very fast, something which seems to be Lisitsa's trademark. After interval, she spoke some more and then played 8 Chopin nocturnes. This time the audience managed to not applaud between pieces. Again, the bigger picture was of the utmost importance. I was particularly impressed with how Lisitsa had programmed the nocturnes according to key; she had obviously put a lot of thought into the order of the works, rather than simply arranging them chronologically (as most pianists do). It's practically unheard of to put a Op. 55 before an Op. 15.

The final piece on the program was Liszt's Totentanz. There are several recordings of Lisitsa playing this on Youtube, but I swear she played it better in this recital than I've heard in any of her recordings (in fact, I would say that about everything she played). It was interesting to hear Totentanz again since I wrote my own variation on Dies Irae - I know the plainchant melody so well now that I hear it everywhere, and this familiarity meant that Totentanz made a lot more sense to me than it had before; I suddenly heard it as a piece of music and not merely as a way for the pianist to show off.

There followed a well-deserved standing ovation and two encores. The first was Liszt's transcription of Schubert's Ave Maria, which was very beautiful. Amazingly, Lisitsa then played La Campanella - a piece I would hardly have considered appopriate encore material after such an exhausting program! But Lisitsa's stamina is unfailing and this, too, was stunning. I couldn't help comparing the ending with Gavrilov's, which I think someone on Youtube once tried to call the 'fastest La Campanella' or something like that. Gavrilov fakes it, and in the last few bars is basically just playing random notes as fast and loud as possible (don't get me wrong, I do actually like Gavrilov - just not his La Campanella.)
In any case, Lisitsa did NOT fake it. I would even go so far as to say her accuracy was 99.9 percent (I heard no mistakes, but I have to leave a .01 percent margin to cover the possibility - after all, there are a lot of notes....)

The thing that impressed me most about Lisitsa's performance was her incredible stamina. Even some of the best pianists tend to hold back when they have a big climax to reach in a piece, or if they know they have to play something very technically demanding later. Lisitsa never held back once - she kept playing with the same intensity, showing no signs of fatigue, and maintaining an incredible volume. The secret to this is complete relaxation: you can tell just by watching Lisitsa play that she is very, very relaxed. Of course, physical strength is also necessary, but strength is completely useless without relaxation, and that isn't as easy as it sounds. In fact, the inability to keep my arms and wrists sufficiently relaxed is probably the thing that holds back my technique the most.

I think a lot of young pianists (including myself) could benefit from taking a leaf out of Valentina Lisitsa's book by viewing a piece of music, and the challenges it entails, as a whole and thinking about the overall impression rather than worrying about every mistake; and RELAXING and letting their entire weight sink into the piano. Relaxation doesn't just improve stamina: it also results in a beautiful rich tone, something that is distinctly lacking in most of the pianists I hear in competitions.

Many a Rach 2

It's not uncommon for me to listen to lots of different recordings and interpretations of the same work. However, nothing can compare to the number of different recordings of Rachmaninov's 2nd piano concerto I've listened to. If I come across a recording of Rach 2 I haven't heard before, I just HAVE to listen to it. And then, preferably, compare it with all the other Rach 2 recordings I know of.

The following are some of the pianists I've heard play Rach 2:

Van Cliburn
Alexei Sultanov
Andrei Gavrilov
Alexander Gavrylyuk
Vladimir Ashkenazy
Yefim Bronfman
Sviatoslav Richter
Garrick Ohlsson
Evgeny Kissin
Ivo Pogorelich
Benno Moisewitch
Valentina Lisitsa

These are merely the recordings I can remember of the top of my head, and which left an impression on me. I find comparing them fascinating - especially 'vintage' recordings versus modern ones. I usually prefer the vintage recordings in every respect, especially with regards to the piano tone. In old recordings the piano sound is warmer and closer. In modern recordings the piano often sounds harsh, percussive and distant, and you can barely hear it over the orchestra. Gavrilov's recording is one of the worst examples of this, which is unfortunate since I admire his interpretation - it has a slightly out-of-control quality I find exhilarating. Valentina Lisitsa's recording suffers from a similar production problem: it's a superb recording of the orchestra, in which you can hear details notably lacking in other recordings - pizzicato, pianissimo strings, and very enthusiastic timpani - but very little piano!

Here are my 'top three' recordings of Rach 2:
Vladimir Ashkenazy
There is a curious story attached to this recording. I originally heard Ashkenazy's recording with, I think, Bernard Haitink and the Concertgebouw of Amsterdam. I hated it. The piano sounded awful. 
I happened to come across a recording on Spotify recently with 'Andre Previn and Ashkenazy' listed as the artists. Unfortunately it didn't say who was the pianist and who the conductor. I searched in vain for the recording (a Decca Ovation: Rach 2 coupled with the Paganini Rhapsody). Eventually, I figured out that it could only be Ashkenazy playing, with Previn conducting the LSO. The recording is on Youtube, unfortunately chopped up into bits, but someone has put them all in this playlist for easy listening.
Ashkenazy's technique is flawless, and his interpretation incredibly sensitive. I really think Ashkenazy understands Rachmaninov better than anyone. The production is fantastic: the orchestra sounds great, but in no way swamps the piano, which has a beautiful tone and perfect clarity. Many recordings also lack the 'oomph' which Ashkenazy gives this concerto, and I do like a bit of oomph.
Van Cliburn
I first heard Van Cliburn's Rach 2 on Youtube and fell in love with his interpretation immediately; it's so warm and full of love for and understanding of the music. Cliburn takes all 3 movements a lot slower than is the norm, and I particularly admire this. His interpretation is romantic without being too sentimental. Above all, the recording - although old - is superb, and the piano crystal clear above the orchestra, which is something I look for in any concerto recording (and which is sadly lacking in many modern recordings.) This is my favorite version aside from Rachmaninov's own.
Rachmaninov
Before I go on, I should explain that there are actually 2 recordings of Rachmaninov himself playing Rach 2. Although almost identical in interpretation, the sound quality does differ a little: as one would expect, the (surprisingly rare) 1929 recording is somewhat higher quality than the 1927 recording.
Rachmaninov takes his own concerto incredibly fast. There's nothing wrong with this, and if I had Rachmaninov's technique I'd probably do the same, but I prefer the way Van Cliburn wallows in the music. However, aside from the tempo this recording is by far my favorite. Two things make it stand out particularly: the pedalless candenza (to date I have heard only one other pianist play the cadenza without pedal), and the fast 'Alla Marcia'. Pianists usually take this section way too slow (in my opinion), and it gets very laboured, detracting from the melody the orchestra plays underneath.

One of the things that distinguishes my 'top three' Rach 2 recordings from the rest is the absolute clarity of the piano part. Despite the low audio quality, there is still more piano detail audible in Rachmaninov's recording of Rach 2 than I have heard on many modern recordings. I don't know what they do differently these days, but the piano is always swamped by the orchestra. Perhaps there is also
the factor of technique - the clear, ambidextrous and under-pedalled style of playing which was prevalent during the earlier half of the 20th century, and of which Rachmaninov was the supreme example, is no longer fashionable. While there are still some more modern pianists who employ this technique, they are getting rarer and rarer, as is actually hearing the left hand in a recording of Rach 2. Coincidence? I think not.

Runners up include:
Yefim Bronfman - when I first started learning Rach 2, I hunted around for ages for the 'perfect' recording to buy. I was specifically looking for a modern recording, since I wanted to be able to play along with it and many of the older recordings are a slightly lower pitch. I chose Bronfman's due to the superb production. His technique is absolutely flawless, but the interpretation isn't particularly interesting.
Alexander Gavrylyuk - one of my favorite young pianists. His interpretation is original and beautiful, but I can't seem to get hold of the recording anywhere - all I can find is a couple of excerpts on youtube. I love the clarity of his playing. As I mentioned earlier, that kind of technique is rare in modern pianists.
Garrick Ohlsson - a really brilliant pianist I didn't even know about before I went to a concert where he played a Beethoven concerto. His recording of Rach 2 (which I can only find samples of on Amazon) is excellent. Listen to the sample of the final movement...!!!

A follow-up on the Chord Progression of Resignation

A couple of months ago I wrote this blog post about how harmonic structure relates to the emotional impact of music. It was something I'd been considering for a long time, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to discuss something so personal; I don't like talking about the emotional aspect of music, preferring to let it speak for itself (as, in my opinion, it should.)

In the end, I decided to go ahead and write about my discoveries, but keep most of what I said strictly within the realm of musical analysis. For example, I abstained from saying anything personal about the musical examples I linked to: I didn't say anything about how much I liked them, what I thought was special about them, or how they affected me emotionally. I just wrote one or two paragraphs detailing the harmonic structure of each example. Sometimes it was hard to refrain from gushing about pieces of music which I considered phenomenal works of art and incredibly creative and original in their use of harmony, but I stuck to my word and kept everything detached and impersonal.

However, since publishing that post I've discovered so much more music that uses the Chord Progression of Resignation that it's got to the point where I feel more needs to be said about exactly WHY I chose the music I did to illustrate the chord progression in question.

See, here's the thing: the Chord Progression of Resignation is a very, very common progression. When I first started listening out for it, I thought it was some extremely rare and outstanding harmonic structure which was to be found only in Ravel, Rachmaninov and certain kinds of progressive metal. This delusion didn't last long. Having trained my ears to recognise it, I was soon hearing the progression in even the most banal pop songs pumped out of bass-heavy speakers in clothes stores. And I found that, in the wrong context, the chord progression I initially thought encapsulated infinity (or something silly like that) could actually become boring.

It's not merely the ubiquitousness of the Chord Progression of Resignation that's made me think more needs to be said on the subject. It's also the fact that this progression is by no means the ONLY progression that makes me feel...well, the way the Chord Progression of Resignation makes me feel.
When I was in the process of writing my previous blog post, I actually started off listing about 5 different chord progressions which I thought were significant (although the Chord Progression of Resignation was still the MOST significant.) In the end, I had so many musical examples of that progression, and so few of the others, that I decided to devote the entire blog post to the one progression.

The truth is, although I still believe there is something distinctly special about the sequence of chords Im, III, IVm, VI, some pieces of music use them far more creatively and effectively than others, and the result is much more confronting (I feel that's an appropriate word for the effect I'm talking about) than, say, this, or 0:47 in this. I can think of way worse examples - in spite of myself I do actually get chills when I hear these songs - but they just don't compare to something like 8:09 in this - which isn't even, strictly speaking, the Chord Progression of Resignation! (VI, Vm, III, IVm, so while it still qualifies as a variant, it's a bit of stretch.)
The thing that's unusual about this usage of the progession is that it never resolves to the tonic, so you're left waiting for something that's never going to happen. Often such non-resolution is used to modulate into another key, but in this instance, the melody (which is almost an echo of the bass line a 5th higher) keeps the tonic firmly in sight, so there's no chance of mistaking the progression for III, IIm, VII, Im.
Unfortunately I can't include this song in my list of examples, since VI, Vm, IVm (which is what the progression really boils down to, since the III is little more than a passing note) is not close enough to the fundamental Chord Progression of Resignation to be classified as such.

One of the examples I recently added to my original blog post is from John Adams' opera Nixon in China. In the opening, the bass instruments in the orchestra set up the fundamental chord progression, starting with Im, VI, and then unfolding to encompass III as well. Meanwhile, the violins are playing natural minor scales in very clear 4/4 time, completely disregarding the off-beat entries of the rest of the orchestra. Due to the way the harmonic transitions are layered, it almost sounds as if everyone is playing in different time signatures. I don't have the score so I can't really analyse this piece, but I can tell that the enormous emotional tension of this opening is due largely to the way in which the different layers of the orchestra interact. Even after the chord progression shifts to something less portentous, the darkness and intensity established in the first section remains.

I think I've made my point now. The Chord Progression of Resignation is special, but just how special is highly dependant on how it's integrated with the music as a whole. This is what I've had to keep in mind when choosing what pieces of music to provide as examples. In the end, it boils down to what pieces I feel really deserve the title of 'art'.* A number of songs - including the first one I linked to above - have nearly made it into the list, but at the last minute I realised that in comparison to the other examples, there was a degree of complexity, or deliberate simplicity, or some indefinable stroke of genius lacking. Perhaps, if I persevere, I'll eventuallly be able to define exactly what that indefinable stroke of genius is - possibly a particular number of nonchord tones, or the way a melody interacts with the underlying harmony...

*The 2 compositions of my own which are on the list are not there for that reason; one of them I don't even like. I linked to them because I'd used the progression quite extensively before even identifying its existence, and thought that was interesting.

The Chord Progression of Resignation

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.

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