Around the music stand

The Art of Programming - part 2

2011-11-14T14:17:00.001-05:00

So why am I writing this week? Two instances of programming: one of a student and one of a professional ensemble. The student is still learning the craft of performance; the ensemble supposedly knows its business.

First the student. It’s a typical case, in which the student lists (in alphabetical or chronological order) the music they would like to perform, or feel they should include, on their graduation recital. It’s a good start: knowing the field. These recitals DO have to show mastery, but let’s also see the creative musician, the performer, the artist at work too. For example, a recital which links dance-styles across the centuries (estampies, a French dance suite, a modern work inspired by dance) shows off both technical and stylistic mastery AND the work of a thoughtful, imaginative musician who hears connections and leads the audience along with him. As musicians-in-training, these students need to study ALL of their craft.

And then to the pros. OK, so we were thankfully not guilty of the music-history lesson. And the program did include a variety of instrumentation: audiences do enjoy changes of color. (“What WAS that instrument you played in the third piece?”) Yet instead of a multi-course banquet, carefully thought-through by a chef, sometimes we find ourselves playing the equivalent of a buffet, or worse, the pot-luck supper. All is not lost, though, even with seemingly unrelated dishes: it’s how you put them together that matters. You’d rarely serve soup with coffee, or begin a meal with dessert (although it does make for an interesting alternative).

Similarly, the sequence of the music IS important. The flow of music from one piece to the next has to make sense to the performers, if that flow is to be communicated to the audience. And sometimes that flow – that kind, gentle, considered, and appropriate connection of one piece to another – is missing. I’m not sure I really want to start my “feast” with tiramisu, especially if there’s steak to come later, or if the meal is to end with a little quiche…

So, it’s audience opinion time! As a listener, do you need an “appetizer” to get your ears in the mood? Do you want an extravagant dessert to finish? Are you even aware that some programs might be more satisfying than others, or are you simply glad to eat?

The Art of Programming - part 1

2011-11-14T13:54:00.001-05:00

This past week my thoughts have turned to the art of programming. And truly it is an art to put together a collection of pieces for a satisfying musical experience, both for the performer and the listener alike.

During the course of my studies, I learned a lot about how to program. One of the most demanding things about my doctoral program was preparing 6 recitals. OK, so one of these was a lecture-recital, but still, that is 5 programs of an hour each. If you are a recorder player, you know about the limited repertoire for our instrument: it’s not like we can throw together a Brahms sonata, a Mozart sonata and a Bartok sonata, as a violinist could. You need to think in-depth about the range of repertoire (or lack thereof), and put some kind of coherent thought into which pieces make sense together. They have to make sense on some kind of intellectual level, I think, but MOST importantly, they have to make sense to the ear. The audience needs to feel led from one piece to another. Abrupt jolts need to be deliberately planned, not simply happen as a matter-of-course.

For me, the clearest lesson in programming came, not from an instrumentalist nor a soloist of any kind, nor from an orchestral conductor, but from a choral conductor. It was 1996, I was at Indiana University and Paul Hillier was conducting his inaugural concert of the Pro Arte Singers. The program had been posted around the Music School, and was very different from the usual fare: Byrd’s Four Part Mass was paired with a work by Arvo Pärt. I recall going to the performance, a little non-plussed yet intrigued by the selection. Within moments of hearing the transition from the Byrd to the Pärt, however, I was convinced of the genius in the programming.

These pieces took the ear kindly, gently, appropriately, thoughtfully, from one repertoire to another. It was not a random pairing, and the pieces were performed (at least to this listener’s ears) with the idea that they were connected. I could write at length now on the connections between these two works, but at the time I was an inexperienced musician-in-training, and yet I understood at some deep level why these pieces belonged together on a concert program.

Since that moment, my thinking about programming has centered on the ear. Programs of early music in particular can often be a kind of music-history lesson. Much as I find music-history fascinating, these programs frankly bore me to tears. They make little sense to me as a listener, they fail to move me, even on an intellectual level, and yet time and again I hear (and sometimes perform) concerts in this format. I’ve been part of two major concerts this year with fascinating, brilliant music and amazing, creative musicians, and in each case the performances were, to a greater or lesser extent, compromised by a historical approach, rather than an aural one.

However, this is 2011, and I am pleased to report that more ensembles are thinking ‘outside the box’, or rather ‘off the straight line’, when it comes to putting together concert programs. Please, let’s have more of it: more thinking as musicians and less as music-historians. And more thinking about our audiences and how they experience our music.

To be continued….

Taking Care

2011-11-03T21:44:00.000-04:00

I think the basis of the best music-making is the simple matter of taking care: in order to take care of the music, we must take care of ourselves and take care of each other.

For ourselves, we must take care that we are getting the best results possible. That means really paying attention to both technical and musical details. It means listening honestly to the sounds we are making, rather than the ones we want to hear. It is “tough love”: tackling problems, so we can move beyond them. This taking care of the details is also taking care of the most important person when it comes time to perform: if you are confident in your abilities, you will feel more at ease on stage. That surely is taking care of yourself! And it is also taking care of the audience….

The musicians in the best ensembles and orchestras also take care of each other. As a wind-player, I speak from my experiences in that section of the orchestra, but the same is true of other sections and other ensembles. Good wind sections take care of each other: coordinating breathing for example, or really working toward a fantastic blend of color. When each player is simply playing their line for themselves, the result is rarely one that you’d want to hear. In the winds, there’s usually a principal and a second (or more) for each instrument. As a regular second, I’ve come to the conclusion that one of the main responsibilities of that role is to make the principal sound EVEN better. If that is not taking care of someone, what is?

And then there’s the conductor… Occasionally, you get a simply magical conductor who really seems to care: about music AND about people. One conductor – X – stands out in my memory. X cared passionately about the music and absolutely knew what he wanted, yet respected and cared enough about the players to allow them the freedom to do their best work. As a consequence, the players were totally intent on doing whatever it took to realize his vision, and it was a memorable performance. I recounted the experience a few months later to a singer who regularly worked with him. When I told her, “All I had going through my head was, ‘This is for X, this is for X,’” she immediately responded, “I think exactly the same thing – every time!” The care goes in both directions…

Smaller groups, especially those in which care and respect for each other has been cultivated over time, often give transcendent performances. Musicians in these ensembles have an awareness of and a sensitivity to each other that goes beyond the ordinary, and is found in the attention to sound quality, to intonation, to rhythmic tightness or flexibility as needed, in the yielding to one another as the music demands. The care for each other allows them each to be their best, to gain both support and freedom, the chance to stand out and to blend in. It’s very much akin to family life: such care allows for self-expression and spontaneity, it offers both discipline and challenge, and it recognizes personal struggles and triumphs. Just like families, these ensembles have issues too, but when it comes to the music, the results of that care almost defy description.

So, if you play or sing, ask yourself some questions. The next time you practice: are you really taking care of yourself? The next time you play with others: do you really care about your fellow players and the task you face together, and do you care enough to do something? And the next time you witness an extraordinary performance: was there anything care-less about it?

Perfect Pitch?

2011-10-30T20:00:00.000-04:00

I think I was about 13 or 14 when I discovered that not everybody could hear a note and know what its name was. It was during ear training class, and my teacher at first thought that I was cheating and had peeked at the keyboard. Then he realized that I really did know by sound alone what the name of every note was, and told me I had “perfect pitch”. To my embarrassment, I became the circus freak in the music class, and the teacher (and later the rest of the class) would check over and over with the piano to see if I knew which note or notes they were playing. I can’t remember when I didn’t have this “gift”, and I didn’t think it was so special.

What is usually called “perfect pitch” is what I’ve come to call “acute pitch memory”. It won’t help you play in tune any better than anyone else, and it’s no measure of musicality. Much of the time it’s not very useful, and some of the time it’s a curse. However, the time it is most useful is when you are taking classes in “ear training”, as all music students do.

For those without this “gift”, ear training classes always seem pretty daunting. One of the goals is to learn and then remember the sound of intervals, chords, chord progressions… Well, for me, it was all backwards. I knew what the notes were in the same way as I knew what my family looked like, and then from there it was just a matter of writing them down. I could then focus on rhythm. My fellow students were understandably envious about how easy this was for me.

What they didn’t realize is that I would hear two notes by name, and not hear the interval. I would hear the note name as I would hear the note, and then I would hear the next note name as I would hear that note. After that it was a case of calculating the interval from the note names. It is quite the opposite from hearing the interval and then calculating the note names. I don’t think I ever learnt to hear all those different sixth chords we were supposed to have mastered, just the notes...

For an “ordinary” professional musician, having perfect pitch is not the end of the world. But I’m no ordinary musician: I play historical instruments, and we play at many different pitch levels; that is, our note names are based on the frequency (in hertz) of where A is. That first exploration was a rude and painful awakening. Whereas my sense of pitch had been based up till then on A=440, now I was working at A=415, a half step down… My sound universe was literally torn apart. My fingers went to one place and my ears heard something that didn’t line up. My aural perception was completely thrown off, like losing your sense of balance, and the whole process made me physically ill for about 2 weeks. Then one day I woke up and suddenly I had another sound world in which I felt familiar. All the notes had names again…

Nowadays I describe this switch from one pitch center to another as being like changing a disc in my brain. As a player, I need to function at A440, A415, A430, A392, A466, and others. Some are easier to shift to than others. And interestingly, I can also identify notes better with some instruments than others. String instruments are usually easy, as are piano and high winds. More difficult are brass instruments, lower instruments in general. I'm sure this is because my memory works best with what it has heard most of: a childhood spent playing recorders, flute, violin and piano.

So when you hear of someone having perfect pitch, don’t think that their ears are any better than anyone else’s, or that they find it easier to play or sing in tune, or that they must be a brilliant musician. It just means that they have an acute memory for pitch (within a few cents) in the same way that some people have a “photographic memory” or others can remember sports statistics.

After all, it’s not what you remember, but what you do with that memory that matters...

You should write a book!

2011-10-25T13:34:00.000-04:00

Why write a blog? Why indeed. Why didn’t I jump on the bandwagon a few years ago? And why do it now?

For years, my adult students have been telling me, “You should write a book!” In fact, one of them takes notes so assiduously in ensemble sessions that I have told her that shecan write the book for me. I mean, who has time to write a book these days? But I recently realized I could share the same sorts of thoughts and ideas in a blog. It’s a lot easier, after all, to write a little here and a little there to share with the world than it is to write a full blown book. No need to worry about pulling all the threads together, or contradicting what I say on page 47 with something on page 133. This is about music and playing; it’s all in flux.

But it’s not just a blog for recorder players and others studying music. It’s for all those for whose lives include music. The musings come from my life as a performer, my life as a listener, my life as an observer. Some of it may interest you, some not. Some may be relevant, some not. It will, of necessity, reflect what’s happening right now in my musical life. I hope you’ll take the rough with the smooth, and be part of my audience. Please subscribe!