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Friday, May 02, 2008

Enescu Lives



I'm saying this is a "must-hear".

Sometimes, listening to a performer of the past play something of the "standard repertoire" seems strange, because each age has its own "standard" way of playing. Fashion is always fashionable until it ceases to be so. That's why the way we play today will one day be seen as strange (I hope, because it sounds rather strange to me now). Yet to hear someone of any age play his own music poses no cultural problems for the ear. Every part of the style is perfect and perfectly appropriate.

Here is Enescu! He's playing some of his magic music for you.

I'm afraid I can't work out which Sonata this is he's playing here - but there are only a few so we should find out eventually.

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Monday, April 07, 2008

Real People

It's hard to imagine old black-and-white people as real colour people. All the old people - Busoni, Liszt, Rachmaninov, Alkan, Chopin and company - they were all colour people.

And then it's hard to hear old recordings as real performances ("colour"). I hear Rachmaninov tearing away at 300 mph in his 3rd Concerto and wonder what he really sounded like.

I'm sure we can get closer to imagining what it was all really like.

They were people, like all the people you see today. Not monochrome prints.

Something must be done to invite them to step out of the page...

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Tuesday, April 01, 2008

Chasse-neige (Snowdrift)

Liszt is strange sometimes. He had problems with being considered serious. He wrote so much for the crowd that he must have felt a bit odd. Maybe he felt he was not quite being himself most of the time. Was he a serious composer or just an octave-merchant? Well, you know, Beethoven wrote octaves...but not like that!

Perhaps this is one reason he liked to paraphrase (transcribe) other people's music.

Yet Liszt also wrote more serious-sounding music, such as his earnest and for-posterity Sonata in B minor. Serious composers wrote sonatas, remember!

On the one hand, to me this work sounds like a more cerebral version of the Mephisto Waltz no. 1, with added religious subject matter (also improved with things stolen from Alkan's Quatre Âges sonata). On the other hand, the Faust story (Liszt picked the Lenau version, but he would obviously have known the Goethe one too), no matter how sensational the episode, has serious philosophical undertones - and with Liszt, as a cultured and intelligent man, no matter how much of the music is directed at the gallery, I think there is always some serious purpose not far away from the surface.

Anyway, there is a nice piece at the end of his Transcendental Studies, called Chasse-neige.

These studies are often difficult, and often quite big and "Lisztian". Yet writing studies is a scholarly occupation, like writing sonatas, so Liszt is being serious again as well.

Bearing this in mind, I think it's interesting that he ends with a more introverted piece. It's true, it does get loud, but also it has some of the quietest, lightest writing of the twelve studies.

What I wanted to tell you was this.

Liszt seems to me to go in a serious direction at the end of the Transcendental Studies. This serious snow-music reminds me of something else - the lonely figure at the end of Schubert's Winterreise, left out of the village like the old organ-grinder, in the end perhaps being erased by the white snowy landscape.

I find it amusing to note that while Schubert does it his way, Liszt's idea has us not so much erased by frozen blank finality - more like completely buried in the avalanche!

It was rather a dramatic snow-storm, after all.

But we shouldn't judge Liszt by our own standards, or anyone else's. Times were different then.

All the same, I rather like this piece.

It's really transcendental, too. To play it at its best would not sound particularly obviously difficult. But someone good enough to do that would be quite shockingly good!

I don't think I've ever heard it played exactly as I imagine it...but Mr. Arrau is good.

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Monday, October 15, 2007

ALKAN

I do like to read some nice information about Alkan. The fact that I have written it myself doesn't put me off at all, oh no.

Alkan is...well you really should know. If not find out!

Alkan is my favourite composer. Although my favourite piece is the Beethoven Violin Concerto (not by Alkan). However, statistically Alkan wins by having more pieces I like. But let's not have Alkan and Beethoven competing, please. After all, they are different. There is no comparison!

So what to tell you about Alkan? The following shiny fishes of delight, which I have gathered from Ronald Smith's book (two books in one now, Alkan: The Man/Alkan: The Music). In English it's the main book (or only book?) for reading in some depth about this great composer. Yes, great, not odd or unusual. Busoni says, in the Foreword to his edition of Liszt's Studies:

These fifty-eight pianoforte pieces alone would place Liszt in the rank of the greatest "pianoforte" composers since Beethoven, Chopin, Schumann, Alkan, Brahms.
And that's true so just think about it please.

OK good things to tell you about Alkan:

1. He entered the Paris Conservatoire at the age of six.
2. He won first prize for solfège at the age of seven and a half.
3. He won first prize for piano when he was eleven!
4. Much later, when he was teaching at the Conservatoire, he awarded a special prize to César Franck. The reason was that Franck decided his sight-reading exam was too easy so played the piece perfectly but in a different key and thereby failed the exam! Presumably Alkan thought he was worth a prize.
5. Alkan may have had (or definitely had, or something) a son known as Delaborde, who was keen on swimming. A joint natatory outing in the river Seine shortly preceded Bizet's death! Not only that but soon after Bizet died, perhaps from swimming with Delaborde, the survivor began the process of marrying Mme. Bizet!
6. Well actually these are all quite gossipy facts, aren't they. Wouldn't it be better to talk about something more useful?

Yes, I certainly will. But that's for next time...

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Friday, June 15, 2007

Music of the Future

"Who can ever say that something which has no end has now reached its end? Small-minded people have always wanted to place a full stop after every genius. After Mozart, if we want to stick to the last-but-one."

Johannes Brahms, letter to Clara Schumann, 11 October 1857

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Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Where I have been, and what I did while I was there

Well, have you spotted that I haven't been writing this month? Me too. I don't like to leave you alone in the bleak internet without my protection but there is a reason for my absence. I have been being an accompanist! The reasons for this are: it's near my house, I get money, I get the benefit of other people's lessons and masterclasses, also it gives me something to think about.

The other reason for my absence is to do with piano practice, and is something I'm not revealing at the moment....

Interesting people I have met and been in lessons with include Pascal Némirovski (piano), Thomas Brandis (violin), and Tomotada Soh (violin, formerly Szigeti's assistant). I heard a few interesting things there. Also I find it's good just to be in the room with a master of some instrument or subject - I learn even without learning! I can't promise it's the same for everyone though (unfortunately!)

So what have I played? Have a look at the list:


Bruch Concerto for Violin and Viola (or Violin and Clarinet)
Stravinsky Violin Concerto (1st movement)
Mozart Violin Concerto No. 5 (1st mvt)
Brahms Violin Sonata No. 3 in D minor (complete)
Takemitsu Hika (vln)
Wieniawski Variations on an Original Theme (vln)
Messiaen Theme and Variations (vln)
Prokofiev Violin Concerto No. 2 (1st mvt)
Grieg Violin Sonata No. 1 (1st mvt)
Szymanowski Violin Concerto No. 2 (1st mvt)
Szymanowski Violin Sonata in D minor (complete)
Weber Romance (trombone, presumably an arrangement for this instrument from maybe a cello piece or something)
Reinecke Ballade (flute)
Godard Valse Op. 116 No. 3 (flute)
Gaubert Sonatine (flute; complete)
Creston Sonata (alto sax)
Grovlez Sarabande and Allegro (alto sax)
Shostakovitch Violin Concerto No. 1 (1st mvt) - twice!
Lutosławski Recitative and Arioso (vln)
Berlioz Harold en Italie (1st mvt; viola)
Poulenc Flute Sonata (1st and 2nd mvts)
Strauss Violin Sonata (1st mvt)
Mendelssohn Violin Concerto (1st mvt)
Bloch Trombone Symphony (complete)
Schumann Stück im Volkston Op. 102 No. 5 (I think; trombone, arranged from cello piece)
Bozza Ballade for Trombone and Piano
Bozza Hommage à Bach (trombone) - twice
Pryor Variations on Flower of Scotland (trombone)
Šulek Sonata "Vox Gabrieli" (1st mvt; trombone)
Rossini "Una Voce poco Fa" (from Il Barbiere di Siviglia; soprano)
Debussy Romance (soprano)
Menotti "Ah Michele don't you know" from The Saint of Bleecker Street (sop)
Mahler Hans und Grethe (sop)
David (Ferdinand not Félicien) Trombone Concertino (complete; sight-reading in the exam!)

That's it, finish!

I'm not sure, but it seems like a lot. What do you think?

Another reason I have been doing a lot of this is that other pianists agree to play things and then change their mind the day before the performance. However I do not change my mind.

When I was 14 I used to have a job accompanying for singers (3 nights a week at its maximum) at the local music academy, also where I had my piano lessons with Alex Abercrombie. He was a pupil of Yvonne Loriod and introduced me to the music of Finnissy (the two of them had been at college together). Also it was rather good to have an Alkan enthusiast in the local area!

You know, there is a difference between playing a piece without learning it (sight-reading) and playing it with all the details checked. Yes, you are saying, a big difference! But I can normally play something without knowing it - most music is similar after all. For example the key of C minor appears many times throughout pieces I know; certain topics like "Funeral March" have fellow pieces of the same type that I can remember and so I already have an idea of what it's going to be like. More could probably be said about "How to Sight Read"!

But when I'm doing that it's not the same as having a relaxed control over the material such as I have in a piece I'm familiar with. So that was the main, well, not really problem, with doing the accompanying, but it was at least something not-quite-positive that could be said about it. I hope to be able to know more music better.

But it's nice to meet all those pieces. It's worth practising sight-reading so you can do it too! It will help all those people with music exams and help you learn more pieces yourself!

As Charles Rosen says in "Piano Notes":

In about six months of sight-reading for three hours a day, one could go through most of the keyboard music of Bach, Handel, Mozart, Chopin, Schumann, Mendelssohn, and Brahms. Another few months and one can add Haydn, Debussy, and Ravel. Another hour and a quarter would suffice for all of Schoenberg's piano music (or two hours if you have trouble reading it at first), and an hour and a half will get you through Stravinsky, including the works for piano and orchestra, and ten minutes each for the solo piano works of Anton von Webern and Alban Berg.


So now you see what can be done. Of course, you don't have to do all that, but if you are going to have a job playing the piano in some form, it would be worth it. Also if you enjoy the piano I would imagine it would be interesting.

Having sight-read all those works, then you could decide what was good for you to learn. Otherwise it's back to the Chopin Four Ballades - AGAIN!

If you play the Four Ballades, I want to feel they are "Your Ballades" (pardon), otherwise it gets a bit upsetting for me. Crash crash crash there they go again. Oh and look I'm being sensitive here (where I can't play in tempo)!

And then there are other composers not on the Rosen-List, above. What are they like?

OK, that's all for today, see you soon!

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Thursday, March 08, 2007

The Language of Music

It's hard to explain impossible things to you.

But the reason one person writes to another is that there is something he needs to tell that person, something which he thinks the other person doesn't know. The only problem is that when a fact is an unknown fact, it is hard to understand. In fact it may be impossible to understand - it will take a lot of problems and hard work to finally see what it was. Sometimes, indeed, you can't just tell someone the answer they need, because they won't understand without actually discovering the answer for themselves. That's why we have symbols like mazes and spirals. Labyrinths were popular in ancient art. Popularity comes when something resonates with many people, no matter what the intention behind it. In this case, the Labyrinth is a journey you must follow until it is solved - there is not normally a short way through.

The Labyrinth is a part of the ear, too.

When we hear music we can identify patterns. Without them, it would probably be noise. But as long as we can fit the sound to a pattern we feel there is some sense behind it. We keep creating possible patterns to fit to the stimulus, trying to find a match for one or more templates that we have stored, or creating a new one based on the incoming material. So although I said we try to find a fit, really we are creating the pattern that we hear. The sound is what it is, but the pattern is our own. Listen to noise and see how soon you start to hear words. They may not be there as such, but we are looking (listening) for them.

So we may find there is sense at the first hearing of a piece of music. That depends on what experience we have. Whatever the case, we will try and we will find something. But you might end up saying, no, I just couldn't make anything of it. Like the ladies in the Wigmore Hall who laughed at the 'wrong notes' in a Webern piece - which was written in 1899! I was there, you can believe me.

There are "dissonant" cases where the music is too different from the listener's internal templates and antagonism results. Of course, the dissonance is not necessarily a question of some dissonance in the music's harmonic idiom - I was referring to the dissonance between what they are hearing and what they might expect to make sense, or what they have heard before and got used to. But on the whole the music one hears is mostly more or less familiar - you tend to recognise it as music, and more particularly as "our music". Statistically we are more likely to hear music we already recognise, of course - because statistically we will stay in more or less the same place.

Recognition comes then, somewhat or a lot. You can tell there is a loud bit coming up because it starts getting louder. It started quiet so you know it will be quiet for a bit. Or after learning a bit more, you know that if it is quiet, it might stay quiet or might SUDDENLY get loud. You start to learn what the options might be. And if you know a bit about music you might here where the harmony is going. You might recognise the sort of "subject" the composer is thinking of. Of course there is not a subject, it is music not words, but there are associations and special patterns we notice. It might be something clear like the sound of a bird (the cuckoo in Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony) or something ambiguous like the sound of water or wind in a Schubert song. It might be a topic like "military" (Chopin Polonaise) or "exotic" (Debussy Pagodas) or "academic" (Handelian fugue in Mozart or Beethoven). Whatever it is, you learn, and then finally you understand. It can take repeated hearings to get there though - although most do not try after the first attempt. And sometimes there is no attempt! (What are the chances of success there I wonder?)

All of these insights come with practise and understanding. Some come with learning and knowledge.

They say that a child's mind is a clear mind. They say a child will see the obvious when everyone else convinces themselves otherwise or trips themselves up in tangles of thought and blind guesses. That's why there is the famous story of The Emperor's New Clothes. Maybe it's funny, I don't know. I'm sure no-one believes it could ever really happen. But that's the shock you get when you realise it's happening all the time. Look at what people are doing around you now. A little or a lot, helping or un-helping, but they are certainly taking a lot of different approaches to the maze of their life. Certainly the mazes are different, but can all the people be right? The child says: I thought you had to get to the centre. (Does that mean it is easier than it seemed?)

Yes, you try to hear some sense in the sound coming in. But we are in luck, because the person who created it all - the composer - put sense in at the beginning. So we are in with a fighting chance!

I am convinced that we can understand music purely by paying attention to what the composer has put in it. That's the approach I took when I wrote about Evryali, and it's how I try to understand music on a daily basis. The significance of this is that it doesn't matter how much you know before you get started. Knowledge came down to us because other people noticed things; that means we can notice them too. But it will take a long time if we try to understand the knowledge AS WELL as the music. That's two jobs, you see. Fortunately I have tried to understand the music, afflicted with only a slight knowledge of the technical processes involved. (That's not a joke, I really don't know much!). That's why I'm here today to tell you where to look.

The first time I noticed something important about music was in a Mozart symphony last year. It wasn't a good performance (maybe that's why I noticed it). The symphony was called "The Jupiter", but I don't think that matters because I don't like the "I know it all" approach to music: Ah, The Jupiter, yes, of course. Beethoven's second Razumovsky Quartet, yes. Opus 106, a masterpiece. It does annoy me rather, you see this is talking about music without mentioning the music. Perhaps it is not talking about the music? I know it's helpful to use labels so we can know what is being discussed, but these are the names on the filing cabinet. They are the names on the files. They are not the contents of the files. Inside are lovely golden sounds without names. Songs without words that sing in my heart.

I forget exactly what it was in that Mozart symphony. I think it was a movement in the harmony. I realised he was doing something really funny, moving somewhere no-one could have predicted. I wondered why no-one was laughing. I think it was because they were hearing "A Mozart symphony" - the one in their heads, perhaps. You don't need Sherlock Holmes to tell you that the best Mozart symphony comes from Mozart, not from us. By some twist of fate, that was actually what I was hearing. Yes, no incompetence on the part of the conductor or players prevented me from hearing what the composer had put into the music. It was all there, and it always is in any piece or performance.

Music is highly cultural, you know. There is a lot to learn about. But as it happens you don't particularly need to learn any of it. If you are responsible and care about the music and why it exists then I think it won't hurt to try learning a bit. But you have to listen first.

I listened, and I am now telling you this:

A master composer knows his job and tries to get better at it.

The best composers didn't stop when they had had enough, or when they thought they were good enough. They continued changing.

In these cases, the golden secret inside centre of the music was what led the creator - it was what they were trying to communicate! In the other cases, the composer got tired and his forms started writing themselves, though there could still be flashes of inspiration. It could never dry up completely (some music leads me to doubt this but it is true)

The secret was called ecstasy. Did the composer want to be a composer, or could he not stop being a composer? "Ecstasy" is a word that means being outside yourself. What is outside? Whatever we don't already know. Other people. Other places. Other ideas. Mistakes. Answers. Genius.

Whatever you think about music, I think we all have to agree there is some kind of vision involved in it. Someone wants to communicate something, and that is their vision. It can be predictable, clichéed, or previously impossible - a surprising thing of brilliance and power. With skill, the vision becomes clearer.

That vision is present in every part of the work, and through the opposition between the parts we can appreciate what it is. (The word for an arrangement of parts is composition)

You won't at first know what a piece of music is saying. It's important to remember that it isn't saying anything. As long as you can say it in words, you are not there. You can talk about it but you have to live it to see it.

With repeated slow careful exposure to music you can learn to feel what it really is. Your mind is not understanding it, your heart is not feeling it, but these senses may be involved.

Remember what I am telling you: it is real. Music is real. There is a real reason for it. It is not something in a book or on a CD, it is something outside you, coming in. Also remember that if you were lost in a labyrinth, you might forget your journey. The outside might seem dark and unfriendly. Think then of what it's like to find the way through the maze. Find the end, and you see you were the one who had gone outside. Really the music is inside. People who don't listen are stuck outside. When we hear it truly, we are all joined up again. Or starting to be.

Primo Levi was in a prison camp. Then he sent us a message through his books so that the world would change. James Clavell was in a prison camp. He did the same. He did a good thing too, because he loved the people who imprisoned him. That is how he was set free. Any others who still hated them were still prisoners, weren't they? And Ronald Searle was in the same camp. He had to carefully hide his drawings while he was there. He sent us messages too.

There is a well-known analogy that life is like a bird flying through a lighted hall. It is light for a moment, then it is dark again. That's silly, because although I can see what it means, I think they are looking at it from the wrong side. Think what the other birds are thinking. Wot is that bird doing stuck inside that dark hall when we are all out here?

I spoke of prisoners because when we are stuck or lost, what we need most is a way out. Sometimes it is all we can do just to survive. There isn't much sign of life outside the prison. But one day a message comes.

To understand the message is all we need to do.

It is not obvious. But it is there. If you can love it, then you are hearing it.

This is the language of music.

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Thursday, February 01, 2007

Charles Rosen is Here

Charles Rosen was born on May 5th 1927. On February 2nd 2007 he will play Beethoven's Appassionata Sonata and Diabelli Variations at the Queen Elizabeth Hall, London. This is his eightieth year and tonight he was giving a talk in a funny room in the "newly refurbished" (i.e. not finished yet) Royal Festival Hall complex. He stood in front of the conference table and spoke from memory following a quite precise mental map of his hour-long discourse, interrupted only by anecdotes, reminiscences, and interesting facts. Behind the table was an upright piano that said "Welmar". Behind that was a door that said "Toilets". Mr Rosen didn't seem to mind. The main thing was that he was here.

Charles Rosen knows an awful lot about music and culture. I very much recommend to you his book "The Romantic Generation" which is a never-ending compendium of insight into the Romantic vein of music. He is an important man in the musical world but doesn't seem self-important. His only admissions of his own importance were a few jokes such as saying that when he had to move away from the microphone to the piano people at the back might not hear what he was saying, "But then, not everything I say is so interesting" - pause for laughter (which did come) because he obviously knows that everything he says is interesting. That's fine because he's right!

The talk was called "Beethoven's Ambition" and weaved its way through the territory of 18th century musical Europe at a time when although there were accepted great masters of art or of theatre (Raphael, Michelangelo; Aeschylus, Euripides, Aristophanes etc.), there were none of the new instrumental style of music in which Mozart, Haydn, and Beethoven hoped to make their way.

I made notes when I got home and what I remembered best were the anecdotes. Is this because of limited brain power, or is it just that Mr Rosen produces wisdom in a form that is useful and can be remembered?

Here is what he said:

When Stravinsky said he wanted his music played "without expression", that was wrong - Stravinsky never conducted his music that way. It wasn't expression he didn't like, it was Koussevitzky's expression!

Haydn was asked to send an opera to be performed in Prague. He replied that the operas he had written for the court at Esterhazy would not be suitable because they were written for a more provincial setting. He also said he couldn't send a new opera because he'd just heard The Marriage of Figaro and didn't care to try his luck at doing better!

The Magic Flute was the most varied opera (in terms of different forms and techniques used within the opera) written from its time until Alban Berg's Wozzeck.

E.T.A. Hoffmann was the greatest music critic ever.

George Bernard (pronounced here BerNARD) Shaw said that we would be shocked by the music of Mozart if it were not for its lovely melodies.

The Minuet finale of the Diabelli Variations shows Beethoven's lyrical genius - something little considered, and something that came a lot easier to Mozart than to Beethoven.

OK that's all for now. I might add more as I remember them. Tomorrow is a busy day with a Pierre Laurent Aimard masterclass in the morning, a lecture by Christopher Elton on the piano sonatas of Haydn at 6.30 then dash off to hear Charles Rosen play! It sounds like I am back at college again with all this to do. But I will never think I am too important to learn things, from anybody, famous or not. That's why hopefully one day someone will write about some interesting facts I said. While I was standing in front of a door saying "Toilets".

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Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Granados

The composer Granados was born in 1867. He was in America in 1916, and because he was suddenly invited to give a recital for the President, he missed his boat back to Spain. Instead, he took a different boat to England, and then transferred to another one heading for France. But the First World War had started and the ship was torpedoed. Granados jumped from the lifeboat to save his wife but could not and also HE DROWNED!!!!!!!!!

But his music survived.

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Monday, November 13, 2006

A New Discovery

I'm learning the Schumann Fantasy. That is to say, the Fantasie in C major, Op. 17, by Robert Schumann (circa 1836). I have been practising away very nicely. Do you know what happens when you practise? Ideas appear. That's what I'm going to tell you about today.

Anyway, here is the first page of the score (copyright Henle 2003). You can also see my notations on it, so if they are of any help, please absorb!


The Schumann Fantasy is a grand, great work. I heard it described recently as "possibly the greatest work of the nineteenth century". Schumann liked it originally but he wasn't so sure a few years later.

I am learning this piece because it suits me. I see eye to eye with it - and it passes the repertoire test. This is a test I just invented to ascertain whether a piece is worth learning. It goes like this: "Would you be happy to perform this work every day for the rest of your life?". That's it. And I would, so that's why it is going to be one of my pieces.

Look at the left hand part. E.g. the first bar! That's all left hand. Those semiquavers needed a bit of practise (about two days to get going), and there's a lot of this left hand activity in the piece, so it will come in handy later (frequently!). It's strange that the first page of a new piece often takes much longer to learn than any other page. Probably because lots of the material is introduced at the opening and subsequent pages more than likely are formed of the same material, so having learned it slowly at first, what one learned carries over into the rest of the piece and saves time later.

So these left hand semiquavers. Playing away at these (quite slowly, carefully, making sure I hit the keys in the middle, making sure the notes sound, etc.) for several hours, I start to get ideas. One in particular was this. Even though this piece is usually heard with a lot of pedal, as a rather grand wash of sound, it is possible to play sometimes with less pedal. As an experiment it is possible to do anything, of course. And that's partly what I am doing in practice, experimenting - not to find something that appeals to me, but to try and find the sound and expression that belongs to the work. The true voice.

Following the idea of trying less pedal, I started to hear something. For one thing, I started to hear the notes! I could imagine this material sometimes solid-sounding (something like the traditional all-purpose sound), sometimes with more detail peeping through. OK, I was getting somewhere now. The character of the music was starting to appear. It was no longer notes, it was starting to be alive!

As the music grew more vivid, colours appeared out of the black notes and white page. And I heard something. You might hear it too, especially in the following part (first bar of the bottom line):


Play it lightly, and does it remind you of something? How about this:


That is the opening of a piece by Debussy called Jardins sous la pluie ("Gardens in the Rain") from his set called Estampes. Do you think there might be some similarity? I thought so. the Debussy is a lot quieter (it gets louder later, mind you) but apart from that, it's more or less the same thing.

OK, you say, so what? Well, so nothing. It's just an interesting insight into the Schumann.

Or is it more than that?

Originally the Fantasy was conceived as a sort of memorial to Beethoven, the proceeds from the sale of which to go towards the building of a physical memorial in Bonn. Schumann quotes Beethoven, especially in the first movement (the quotation from An die Ferne Geliebte only appearing in its entirety at the end of the movement, by which time it is no longer a quotation, seeming to be something you've always known - see Charles Rosen's book "The Romantic Generation" for more on this). So when Schumann was first thinking of this work, it was as a "Grand Sonata...for Beethoven's Monument".

Hey, look at this. When Schumann first had the inspiration for this piece, he wrote about it in his diary on the 9th of September 1836:

"Schlafen auf d. Wiese im Regen. Dann fürchterl. Giessen u. [illegible] Idee zu Beethoven"

"Sleeping in the meadow in the rain. Then terrible downpour and [illegible] idea for Beethoven"
Rain, hey? How about that. I think I believe his diary.

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Saturday, October 21, 2006

It's Done

I've done it!

I played most of my 21 new pieces (a few more to do tomorrow then that's it).

The most alarming thing was what happened after I played the set of 12 birthday pieces written for Michael Finnissy. I gestured to the audience (as one does) since I knew all the composers were there except two. Suddenly they all stood up at the same time and advanced on me! I'd never seen such a thing before. Normally there is only one composer to shake my hand but here was a multitudinous horde approaching at great speed!

Actually only one or two had time to shake my hand but they all stood in a (long) line and took a bow.

I hurt my thumb a bit even though I was wearing gloves at the time (it's good to wear gloves to play cluster-glissandos!) and I had the usual Post-Concert Fatigue Syndrome, which is awful crippling pain in my body the next day or just after the performance. I would like it to stop happening, and maybe it will. But luckily you can't have the PCFS without the concert, and it's the concert that's the important part so that's fine.

It's quite good to have concerts with living composers present to hear their own works. It might make one reflect on the situation in concerts where there are no living composers in attendance. E.g. most classical concerts. I certainly feel that in many cases there could be something - or someone - missing. Eh?

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Monday, September 25, 2006

English Country-Tunes



I was there!

I attended Michael Finnissy's performance of his famous piano work "English Country-Tunes" yesterday. The floor shook (and it was a big room) and everyone cheered.

It was the friendliest event I have been to at The Warehouse (home of contemporary music concerts that cost £900 to put on).

This was the last performance of the Finnissy Weekend, organised by the British Music Information Centre and directed by Matthew Shlomowitz and Laurence Crane.

I again noticed that live music is more striking than recorded sound. So let's have more concerts, please.

I also noted that English Country-Tunes, which, being music, cannot be described adequately in words, is what you get when a country has had no creativity for 300 years and then has to make up the balance!

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Sunday, August 27, 2006

Rrrrrrhapsody

A film about Rachmaninoff is going to be made, directed by Bruce Beresford (director of Driving Miss Daisy) and called Rhapsody.

Based on a true story as told through the eyes of Rachmaninoff's widow, the story will include never-before-revealed details about the secretive musician and the love triangle that inspired some of his greatest works at the time of the October Revolution of 1917 in Russia.
(Reuters, found on various websites)

And if we want to know more about this film we can go to the Internet Movie Database and look at some details about it. What do we find? All this:

* Tsarist Russia
* War Refugee
* Threesome
* Childhood Memory
* Separation
* Uprising
* Title Based On Song
* Classical Concert
* Separated
* Unfaithful Husband
* Secret
* California History
* Secret Love
* Unfaithful Groom
* Three Some
* Childhood Trauma
* Siberia
* Unfaithfulness
* Teacher Student Relationship
* Classical Music Score
* Symphony Orchestra
* Wartime Romance
* Symphony
* Classical Music
* Surrogate Mother
* Young Love
* Secret Lover
* California
* Summer Home
* Wealthy Family
* Summer House
* Character Study
* Rachmaninov
* Writer's Block
* Student Teacher Relations
* Cheating Husband
* Adopted Nephew
* Young Lovers
* Turn Of The Century
* Celebrity Status
* Marriage
* Winter
* Love
* Women's Prison
* Adoption
* WWI
* Independent Film
* USA As Promised Land
* Based On True Story
* World Music
* Achievement
* U.s.s.r.
* Absent Parents
* Women Rivals For Man
* Adapted Score
* USSR
* Historical
* University Student
* Youth Orchestra

Can you make a film out of that? I betcha Hollywood can too!

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Saturday, August 05, 2006

Who or What is Chopin?

Who or what is Chopin?

How often do we think of France or French things in connection with this composer?

To me, it seems that there are a lot of French connections in the mind. Well, he did live in France mostly so maybe that is not surprising...but he wasn't French, was he?

Or was he actually a "French Composer"? He lived in France, he is sometimes considered a/the precursor of Debussy and the Impressionists, on classical compilation albums he is generally played by somebody with "François" somewhere in his name (in my experience), his name appears often as "Frédéric François Chopin", and while the French are of course perfect and don't need any help from outside (except for using 98% English words with "le" in front of them), I think they like to keep a connection with this man. The French Composer, Chopin. Actually, his surname is French, isn't it. Well, that's not his fault.

There is nothing at all wrong with being French. Ask a Frenchman!

So this would not be a problem in itself. Unless of course it were to turn out not to be accurate.

You see, I always believe there is a real "hidden character" to every composer, or every piece of music (since composers change sometimes, if you're lucky). We listen to CDs and play in competitions and it all sounds like general "Piano Music" - or if someone wants to sound like they have a personality then they can do extreme things with the music like making sudden explosions, playing very fast or slow, etc. etc. - and at all times there is only a little bit of a distinction made between the feeling or character of the different works. I suppose the emphasis is on the piano playing, in fact, which seems like it would make sense. But given a choice between hearing the music of the composer or the music of the pianist, which would you choose? You see what I mean.

So to me Chopin was always maybe a little bit boring or something, a bit hard to grasp what it was all about. It seemed to have no particular style of its own, since it was THE style of the most popular piano music ever written. It got so famous, it had become a headline with not much personal contact to be had. Marilyn Monroe often did that kiss for the cameras, and that was "Marilyn Monroe", but was there more? I'm sure Marilyn was in there too somewhere. Oh, and Norma.

My understanding of Chopin got somewhere when I was looking in the book "Chopin: Pianist and Teacher" which I think is a useful book and I recommend it, although I don't have a copy myself. In this book there is a picture of a page from Chopin's teaching diary (he started at 8 in the morning!), and what gave me a big clue was how he had written the days of the week. On Wednesday it said "Pon."

What is Pon.? It is short for Poniedzałek - Polish for Wednesday. I know we already knew Chopin was from Poland but seeing, in his own writing, that he thought in Polish meant I now understood that he was a distinct personality with his own character. He wasn't French, he was a human person who came from Poland and was Polish. Nobody is entirely national, you can't just characterise music as "Polish" because there are always other influences and directions it takes. Particularly with Chopin who had a lot of input from Italian Opera and Bach, to mention two.

Just seeing "Pon." didn't tell me much about this composer. But it helped me realise that there was something to find out.

I think clues are valuable. There is always a clue in there somewhere if you are patient and listen.

Now I think of Chopin in the same sort of "drawer" as Bartók. It helps me, it may not help you, but I hope this helps somehow!

(Now one often sees his name written "Fryderyk Franciszek Chopin", which I'm sure is not the full story either - but then we can never be completely sure of having the full story on anything - we have to keep looking just in case!)

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Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Our Fingers


Well, this is the kind of thing I get up to at my house. Yes, thinking of fingerings for piano music.

The example is from the beginning of Beethoven's "Pastoral" Sonata, Op. 28 in D major.

As you can see (as you can see even better if you click the image), the note D features rather heavily in the tenor part (left hand). Also if you can read my writing then you can see that I thought I have got better things to do than bang out the Ds with my thumb all the time.

What I arrived at, seemed to be better. These fingerings are OK, i.e. definitely not wrong. If they are not quite right then I will change something. But I think it is right, or at least I am comfortable with nearly all of it.

Strange to think that there are so many other notes in this piece that I don't need to invent a fingering for, yet I have spent all this time on a repeated note. Oh well, that's my brain I suppose!

If I hadn't thought about it, then I could have played this note with my thumb and managed OK. But something would have felt wrong, and perhaps some of the notes wouldn't have sounded too. I wonder what other people do?

Without details (the right kind of details) there is no picture. No sound picture, I mean. And it may have taken a while to look at these details, but I won't need to do it again. Ever!

That doesn't mean I can't revise it if I want to, but without paying any attention to these details there would be nothing to revise, just a sort of vagueness. And this note D is important in this piece! On and on and on it goes but it is as important as your heartbeat. Which it rather reminds me of...

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Saturday, May 27, 2006

Rumours of his own demise

I heard today a recording of the Mozart Concerto for Two Pianos in E flat, K. 365, played by Chick Corea and Friedrich Gulda (conducted by Harnoncourt). That is Chick Corea, the jazz pianist, playing Mozart, with Friedrich Gulda, the classical pianist who also played jazz. It was quite good. I have now read that in the late 1990s Gulda faked his own death in order to see what the obituaries said about him. This is quite interesting! I would like to know a bit more...

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Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Paderewski's Parrot

Paderewski had a parrot. He got it in New Zealand. It would scratch at the door when he was practising. Then when it was let in, it would perch on his pedalling foot. At certain moments it would exclaim,"Lord, what beautiful music!"

I read this in The Paderewski Memoirs. There is no mention of the parrot on the Internet, which is why I had to tell you the story myself. If you ask me, there is something wrong with people. Fancy not knowing about this parrot!

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Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Art

I have found an online video of Art Tatum playing in 1954! Video, Vi-de-o! It is him!

Now you can see it yourself.

What do you think?

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Saturday, April 29, 2006

My Legs

Picture of Michael Finnissy
The concert was very acclaimed - I suppose I should believe everyone and say: it was good. Of course, naturally there were things I would like to do better. Lots of things! I was happy with it, though.

You can see the programme now, available in two parts: page one, and page two. (requires Adobe Acrobat PDF reader)

I will be playing the same three Finissy Gershwin Arrangements in Berlin in two weeks. (As well as other works, of course!)

So now all we have is the famous Leg Issue. My legs hurt a lot after I play! Why is this?

Not immediately after, but when I have got back to wherever I am staying (my house, in this case). Then I am like a cripple. It's a bit of a mystery, but it will be gone quite soon - until next time!

Michael Finnissy was pleased with his concert. It was a good audience, and they were all listening very well. Howard Skempton was the nearest person - he, like all of them, so welcoming the music that I could only play better!

Lots of good composers under one roof! Quite memorable - for those who were participating - different for those who were slaving away at the piano - memorable in both ways though!

Any questions?

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Monday, March 06, 2006

Roger North

Henry Purcell (1659-1695) wrote an opera called The Fairy-Queen. The music was lost at some point and not found until many years later. The score can now be found at the Royal Academy of Music. I know, I listened to a recording of part of it and followed the music in Purcell's handwriting!

Roger North (1653-1734) said:

There was so much of admirable musick in that opera, that it's no wonder it's lost; for the English have no care of what's good, and therefore deserve it not.

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