Dutifully reading the music criticism in the Times daily, once in a great while I am shaken out of my perpetual state of mild bemusement with a "what the ....?" moment of amazement. James Oestreich's recent coverage (can't call it a music review because actual musical values weren't explored) of Christopher Taylor's performance of the Goldberg Variations on a rare two keyboard Steinway deemed his performance "praiseworthy", then went on to criticize "a modicum of missed notes" and "wayward phrases", and especially his taking of an intermission in the 90 minute work. The final dismissive phrase (really, do they go to a special school for this?): "It was a fascinating evening but still mostly on the level of experiment rather than finished performance."
Well, I'll say from the start, I wasn't there and haven't had the pleasure of hearing Christopher Taylor's playing. But...what's wrong with experimentation? When I read the reviews of most new or improvisational performance (as well as theater, opera and dance for that matter) the spirit and courage of experimentation and originality is usually the most compelling and celebrated component discussed. And last time I checked, it was quite impossible to be experimental and finished at the same time. Why must classical performance be judged first (or solely) on it's "security" and "technical command", while the real life blood of passion, heart and soul-the part that we actually experience and listen to music for- hits the cutting room floor?
I'm excited by the courage and drama of experimentation in the arts-aren't we all? So I say "bravo" to Christopher Taylor for taking it to the mat and challenging the status quo. Maybe it wasn't squeaky clean, but maybe it didn't need to be, either.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Monday, July 28, 2008
Turn, turn, turn
About a year ago I started using a Freehand Systems Music Pad for my non-memorized concert work, such as performances of complex new music or chamber music. This is basically a notebook computer that stores your scanned or downloaded scores and displays them page by page, controlled either with a foot pedal (the most practical) or a touch screen method.
The advantages over a human page turner are obvious. No more early, late, missed or double turns, no missed repeats or frightening da capos. No one on stage bobbing up and down every few minutes, upsetting the visual equilibrium. No imposing on musician friends to turn pages for you when they would rather just relax and enjoy the performance.
So, kudos to the folks at Freehand for at least stepping up to the plate. Overall, I like the box, but it has been a bit of a bumpy relationship so far. Scanning and downloading my own scores is pretty time consuming and complex (lots of emails to tech support), with mixed results regarding clarity. I find the onscreen annotation process (fingering, dynamics, etc.) a bit unwieldy and laborious . Freehand does offer a large selection of downloadable scores for purchase, not unlike many other sites on the internet, and like them it is a hit or miss proposition as to quality. A recent download of the Brahms Piano Quintet revealed three wrong notes in the first movement alone, and several omissions of phrasing and misplaced clefs. I suppose I can overlook a missing slur here and there, but actual wrong notes? And of course, there are no indications of editorial provenance or critical notes that would accompany printed editions. Perhaps this is why usage in the classical field does not seem very widespread at this point. However, if you crave an instantly transposable version of "The Way We Were" you are in business.
For me, the pluses still outweigh the minuses, but for the cost of the unit I'd say the folks at Freehand have a ways to go if they want more serious musicians as customers. Speaking of which, I'd love to hear from you about your Freehand experience; it's a bit of a lonely world out here right now!
The advantages over a human page turner are obvious. No more early, late, missed or double turns, no missed repeats or frightening da capos. No one on stage bobbing up and down every few minutes, upsetting the visual equilibrium. No imposing on musician friends to turn pages for you when they would rather just relax and enjoy the performance.
So, kudos to the folks at Freehand for at least stepping up to the plate. Overall, I like the box, but it has been a bit of a bumpy relationship so far. Scanning and downloading my own scores is pretty time consuming and complex (lots of emails to tech support), with mixed results regarding clarity. I find the onscreen annotation process (fingering, dynamics, etc.) a bit unwieldy and laborious . Freehand does offer a large selection of downloadable scores for purchase, not unlike many other sites on the internet, and like them it is a hit or miss proposition as to quality. A recent download of the Brahms Piano Quintet revealed three wrong notes in the first movement alone, and several omissions of phrasing and misplaced clefs. I suppose I can overlook a missing slur here and there, but actual wrong notes? And of course, there are no indications of editorial provenance or critical notes that would accompany printed editions. Perhaps this is why usage in the classical field does not seem very widespread at this point. However, if you crave an instantly transposable version of "The Way We Were" you are in business.
For me, the pluses still outweigh the minuses, but for the cost of the unit I'd say the folks at Freehand have a ways to go if they want more serious musicians as customers. Speaking of which, I'd love to hear from you about your Freehand experience; it's a bit of a lonely world out here right now!
Monday, July 21, 2008
When worlds collide
If you haven't been following Greg Sandow's riff on the nature of music criticism-or, the adventures of Ms. Popula and her evil twin, Sir Classical Drymouth-then get on over there.
It's up to part 4, with no end in sight.
It's up to part 4, with no end in sight.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Fuel
I just plunked down a sizable chunk of money to "pre-buy" my heating fuel for this coming winter here in the northeast, and it makes me wonder how folks are going to handle the looming economic crisis, and what might change in how we live and share with others. And what does my life as an artist have to do with it? For instance, of what earthly use will my upcoming performances of Ives and Rzewski this fall be to the common good?
My answer is, probably not a lot, since at this point in time the majority of people aren't touched in their lives much by classical music. But what can I bring to people who are open to this experience, and by extension the family and friends they interact with? Will these performances be merely a diverting evening out for them, a wash of somewhat comprehensible sound play, a chance to admire or criticize my pianistic abilities? My hopes are otherwise.
Can th
e recitation/sound illustration of Oscar Wilde's searing letter from Reading Jail in Rzewski's brilliant De Profundis reach beyond its melodramatic surface to prove the radiant power of acceptance over the soul-crushing injustice and prejudice so rampant in the world today? Can the Concord Transcendentalists' courageous message of universalism speak across time to the modern day listener when she hears the thunderbolt of Ives' Emerson? Will the sensual strains of Thoreau remind her of the fragility and power of nature as we hurl down the path of ecological destruction?
Charles Ives asked in a slightly different context: "Can music do this?" Whether it can or n
ot, I'm willing to go down trying. If my listeners leave the experience somehow transformed, moved to take some different action in their daily walk, then there is ample reason to carry on this tradition. Besides, I will need the money to pay the gas bill.
My answer is, probably not a lot, since at this point in time the majority of people aren't touched in their lives much by classical music. But what can I bring to people who are open to this experience, and by extension the family and friends they interact with? Will these performances be merely a diverting evening out for them, a wash of somewhat comprehensible sound play, a chance to admire or criticize my pianistic abilities? My hopes are otherwise.
Can th
e recitation/sound illustration of Oscar Wilde's searing letter from Reading Jail in Rzewski's brilliant De Profundis reach beyond its melodramatic surface to prove the radiant power of acceptance over the soul-crushing injustice and prejudice so rampant in the world today? Can the Concord Transcendentalists' courageous message of universalism speak across time to the modern day listener when she hears the thunderbolt of Ives' Emerson? Will the sensual strains of Thoreau remind her of the fragility and power of nature as we hurl down the path of ecological destruction?Charles Ives asked in a slightly different context: "Can music do this?" Whether it can or n
ot, I'm willing to go down trying. If my listeners leave the experience somehow transformed, moved to take some different action in their daily walk, then there is ample reason to carry on this tradition. Besides, I will need the money to pay the gas bill.
Friday, July 11, 2008
More than meets the eye
Next month I’ll be making a recording that includes Bela Bartok’s Improvisations, and even though that work is fully written out, its title turns my thoughts to the role of improvisation in classical music. We know that great composer/keyboardists like Bach, Mozart, Beethoven and Chopin (to name only a few) were consummate improvisers. But from the late 19th century on, classical musicians have been learning and performing music exclusively from score, with little emphasis on spontaneous music making. This was certainly the case for me, until recently. My friend and mentor Titus Abbott, a terrific composer and saxophonist, has been introducing me– coaxing, luring rather–to the heady world of on-the-spot composition, and the result has been transformational.
Granted, I’m not a completely hopeless or resistant case. My previous work in musical theater required a great deal of comping in various styles, and many of the new music scores I have played over the years have included improvisational elements. As a re-creative artist, I spend a good deal of time decoding the compositional processes in the works I play, and I always try to ground my phrasing in heart-based, emotive spontaneity, informed and tempered by style considerations. But some part of me has always wondered, like Peggy Lee, is that all there is?
A simple truth is unfolding for me: a few minutes a day spent in free composition, even improvising on something as simple as two or three interval groups, opens my ears more directly and completely than any other musical activity. As a result, my desire to work within the confines of notated music is refreshed, and my interpretive insight seems more honest and true. That’s a sound improvement in my book.
Granted, I’m not a completely hopeless or resistant case. My previous work in musical theater required a great deal of comping in various styles, and many of the new music scores I have played over the years have included improvisational elements. As a re-creative artist, I spend a good deal of time decoding the compositional processes in the works I play, and I always try to ground my phrasing in heart-based, emotive spontaneity, informed and tempered by style considerations. But some part of me has always wondered, like Peggy Lee, is that all there is?
A simple truth is unfolding for me: a few minutes a day spent in free composition, even improvising on something as simple as two or three interval groups, opens my ears more directly and completely than any other musical activity. As a result, my desire to work within the confines of notated music is refreshed, and my interpretive insight seems more honest and true. That’s a sound improvement in my book.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Passage
I’ve been playing the piano for most of my life, professionally for the last thirty years or so. I’m not a writer, but I have always read very widely. In this venue I’m going to share some observations about the classical music world today and explore my own music-making ideas with a wider audience than one could ever hope to have in the endangered field of fine music performance.
I play and appreciate all sorts of piano music: some very new music, some improvisatory music, a lot of music from the mid- to late 20th century, and a culling from the usual repertoire of 18th and 19th century compositions. In the last few years, I have taken to playing these “standard” works on pianos of earlier design (wooden-framed pianos of the 1790-1830's) and feel that their sonic qualities are more consistent with my view of these composers’ intentions. Not surprisingly, I am mostly alone in this conclusion (more later, to be sure). And right now I am preparing a concert of works with obvious extra-musical, literary influences: Frederic Rzewski’s De Profundis (with spoken text from Oscar Wilde’s letter from prison), and Charles Ives’ second piano sonata (the Concord). I’ll write about these works in coming entries.
No doubt my ongoing desire to program and perform unconventionally comes a bit from my rural upbringing far from the center of things in a tiny, serene river village in northern California. When I left home at seventeen to study piano with Thomas Schumacher at the University of Maryland, I took with me a distinctly non-urbane blend of nature worship, Armenian spiciness (from the Bagdazians, my mother’s family) and an insatiable hunger for unusual repertoire. I went on to Juilliard the next year and, after a few bumps and shouts, I graduated.
Running as fast as I could away from Lincoln Center, I indulged my theater fantasies for a few years, playing late night cabarets downtown and working in stock and off-Broadway. My classical technique was a big plus in this ham-fisted arena, so I got some good work. But eventually I decided to get “serious” about my art, and in a fog of masochism entered some piano competitions. If I had won one of them, that fact would certainly now appear prominently on my website. Still, I persevered. My friend Kathryn Lewis and I managed to beat the machine together with a bronze medal in the Dranoff International Duo-Piano Competition, did the New York debut thing, and several years of touring with now-defunct Community Concerts. Shockingly, adoring audiences and standing ovations across the country were not enough to propel us to household name status, and to the Emerald City of profitable bookings and supportive, loving management. And so I returned to my den to lick my wounds, and ultimately to rediscover and refine my true repertory. In the meanwhile, they invented the Internet. I should say that during all of this, I was financially sustained by working (tirelessly!) in my life partner Henry’s food businesses.
In the last year, I have come to realize, in a rather colorful, Messiaen-like epiphany, that I have not been alone in my quiet rage against the system. It took about forty years, but people are finally realizing that classical music, in this country at least, is being brought down by a destructive brew of cultural snobbism, musical conservatism and small thinking. There are people writing brilliantly about this crisis, and about new directions in music performance, and I have links to some of them here. They inspire me beyond measure. I hope in this space to show how one person, with spirit, is navigating these rough waters.
I play and appreciate all sorts of piano music: some very new music, some improvisatory music, a lot of music from the mid- to late 20th century, and a culling from the usual repertoire of 18th and 19th century compositions. In the last few years, I have taken to playing these “standard” works on pianos of earlier design (wooden-framed pianos of the 1790-1830's) and feel that their sonic qualities are more consistent with my view of these composers’ intentions. Not surprisingly, I am mostly alone in this conclusion (more later, to be sure). And right now I am preparing a concert of works with obvious extra-musical, literary influences: Frederic Rzewski’s De Profundis (with spoken text from Oscar Wilde’s letter from prison), and Charles Ives’ second piano sonata (the Concord). I’ll write about these works in coming entries.
No doubt my ongoing desire to program and perform unconventionally comes a bit from my rural upbringing far from the center of things in a tiny, serene river village in northern California. When I left home at seventeen to study piano with Thomas Schumacher at the University of Maryland, I took with me a distinctly non-urbane blend of nature worship, Armenian spiciness (from the Bagdazians, my mother’s family) and an insatiable hunger for unusual repertoire. I went on to Juilliard the next year and, after a few bumps and shouts, I graduated.
Running as fast as I could away from Lincoln Center, I indulged my theater fantasies for a few years, playing late night cabarets downtown and working in stock and off-Broadway. My classical technique was a big plus in this ham-fisted arena, so I got some good work. But eventually I decided to get “serious” about my art, and in a fog of masochism entered some piano competitions. If I had won one of them, that fact would certainly now appear prominently on my website. Still, I persevered. My friend Kathryn Lewis and I managed to beat the machine together with a bronze medal in the Dranoff International Duo-Piano Competition, did the New York debut thing, and several years of touring with now-defunct Community Concerts. Shockingly, adoring audiences and standing ovations across the country were not enough to propel us to household name status, and to the Emerald City of profitable bookings and supportive, loving management. And so I returned to my den to lick my wounds, and ultimately to rediscover and refine my true repertory. In the meanwhile, they invented the Internet. I should say that during all of this, I was financially sustained by working (tirelessly!) in my life partner Henry’s food businesses.
In the last year, I have come to realize, in a rather colorful, Messiaen-like epiphany, that I have not been alone in my quiet rage against the system. It took about forty years, but people are finally realizing that classical music, in this country at least, is being brought down by a destructive brew of cultural snobbism, musical conservatism and small thinking. There are people writing brilliantly about this crisis, and about new directions in music performance, and I have links to some of them here. They inspire me beyond measure. I hope in this space to show how one person, with spirit, is navigating these rough waters.
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