Many members of this new generation of prominent young string players (people in their twenties, mostly) seem to have benefited from excellent teachers who have managed to nearly eliminate any sort of tension or difficulty in their playing. They have techniques that are completely flexible and they seem to be in complete control of applying intricate musical nuances at any time. They are well versed in various kinds of "stylistic" playing (baroque style, tango style, bluegrass style, jazz style), and they know the ins and outs of playing chamber music because they have had oodles of opportunities to play at string camps and music festivals. They have had the benefits of reading magazines like "Strings," have had college courses to help alleviate performance anxiety, and have the world at their fingertips via cell phones and the internet. Some of them have even taken courses in the "business of music," and many of them are able to play on reasonably-priced instruments made by contemporary makers.
The road ahead for these players is by all means not rosy because of the demographics of the audience for classical music, but this generation seems to have a "leg up" on my generation of musicians who were in their twenties around twenty years ago.
Much of the repertoire for strings--particularly music from the later classical period and the romantic period, involves music written by composers who infused their music with some sort of personal emotional struggle. Those that didn't (like Mendelssohn) sought to depict the emotional struggle of others, or simply the emotional struggle in the music he respected.
Here is my question: When music that, at its essence, is "about" emotional struggle and ultimate existential questions becomes easy to play because of technical advances in the instrumental approach, does the substance suffer?
Technorati tags: classical music, musical performance
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Early Music
I came of musical age in the 1970s, near the beginning of the "original instruments" movement, before the term "historically-informed performance" was used to describe the kind of playing that came from applying information found in historical music treatises to modern-day playing of music written before the era of recorded music.
My first early music experience happened on New Year's Eve in 1971 or so when I heard Franz Bruggen play the recorder on a television program. I believe he played some Van Eyck pieces (it was late—around midnight, and I was young—11 or 12, so I don't know for sure). What I do know for sure is that it was at that moment that I wanted to play some kind of flute. I thought that they were pretty much all alike, so I went for the modern one that was in my house when my mother could no longer play it because of her arthritis.
My next encounter with early music came when I discovered a New York Pro Musica recording of Monteverdi madrigals from the 1950s in my parents' record collection (actually it was part of the collection that they never played, so I just co-opted the recording). Then came a recording by the same ensemble made in the 1970s of the first printed collections of music printed by Petrucci. I discovered Josquin Des Pres. It was recommended to me by my violinist neighbor Jane Starkman, who told me that she was going to Holland to work with Franz Bruggen. Of course I bought the recording immediately.
When I got to Juilliard in 1976 the basic attitude of the students there was that people who devoted their time to learning to play "period instruments" were people who were otherwise hopeless on modern instruments. Not wanting to be hopeless, I stayed away from touching anything resembling a baroque instrument, but did spend a lot of time playing my modern flute with harpsichordists and thinking about Monteverdi and Josquin.
My last year at Juilliard I finally got the chance to hear Franz Bruggen play a concert. After hearing him play I was convinced that I needed to learn to play the recorder. I believed that instrument was the key to what I wanted to do musically as a flutist. I got to talk with Bruggen back stage for a few minutes about the possibility of studying with him. Later I was told that the "early music" scene in Holland, where Bruggen lived and taught, was a rather sexually open "scene." This intimidated and scared me, so I set my musical future compass on the possibility of learning to play baroque music in one of the other European countries. I was interested in learning about the music, not the "lifestyle."
When I got to Europe I found myself in the lucky position of getting a teaching job, and the main part of the job was to teach recorder. I had to teach myself the instrument in a hurry, which was a total pleasure. I still wanted to find out the "secret" of the baroque style, so I moved to Vienna and studied with a very fine recorder teacher named Hans Maria Kneihs. To my surprise what I learned from Hans was basic musicianship. I learned how to use the various attributes of the recorder and the tongue to accomplish certain musical objectives, but Hans's main concerns had to do with the basic musical concepts of playing in tune, in rhythm, and making musical sense out of the phrases in front of him. I'm sure that there was scholarship involved, but there were no stylistic "gimmicks."
It was at a master class with Hans and his students that I discovered the baroque flute. Somebody had one. I tried to play it, and it sounded horrible. When I returned to Boston I was able to buy one that was easy to play, and I set out to teach myself to play by using exercises by Frederick the Great (I know now that they were written for Frederick by Quantz) and the baroque music in the flute repertoire. Then I heard that there was an excellent baroque flutist in Boston named Chris Krueger, so I went to him for lessons. I learned the same stuff from Chris that I learned from Hans: Basic musicianship.
Now I know that the style of a piece of music is something imbedded in that piece. I also know that outside "rules" applied to music in the wrong way (like using French ornamentation in a piece of German music) is pretty distasteful. I have learned to read treatises with a sense of the motivation of the writer, and my sense is that Quantz (who wrote the mother of all flute methods) was trying his best to get Frederick to play tastefully. Likewise with Leopold Mozart when he wrote about vibrato. He didn't want string players to imitate singers who used a tremolo type vibrato. People read this "lack of vibrato" clause as a stylistic affect that can be applied to make "early music" sound "authentic." A gimmick. A trick. I personally think that a natural vibrato is a lovely thing.
Most of what I have learned about playing "early music" comes from playing baroque music on good copies of the instruments it was written for. Anyone who wants to learn to play in an appropriate baroque style would do well to buy or borrow an appropriate instrument and learn to play it from scratch and always apply the rules of good musicianship.
Technorati tags: classical music, early music, performance practice
My first early music experience happened on New Year's Eve in 1971 or so when I heard Franz Bruggen play the recorder on a television program. I believe he played some Van Eyck pieces (it was late—around midnight, and I was young—11 or 12, so I don't know for sure). What I do know for sure is that it was at that moment that I wanted to play some kind of flute. I thought that they were pretty much all alike, so I went for the modern one that was in my house when my mother could no longer play it because of her arthritis.
My next encounter with early music came when I discovered a New York Pro Musica recording of Monteverdi madrigals from the 1950s in my parents' record collection (actually it was part of the collection that they never played, so I just co-opted the recording). Then came a recording by the same ensemble made in the 1970s of the first printed collections of music printed by Petrucci. I discovered Josquin Des Pres. It was recommended to me by my violinist neighbor Jane Starkman, who told me that she was going to Holland to work with Franz Bruggen. Of course I bought the recording immediately.
When I got to Juilliard in 1976 the basic attitude of the students there was that people who devoted their time to learning to play "period instruments" were people who were otherwise hopeless on modern instruments. Not wanting to be hopeless, I stayed away from touching anything resembling a baroque instrument, but did spend a lot of time playing my modern flute with harpsichordists and thinking about Monteverdi and Josquin.
My last year at Juilliard I finally got the chance to hear Franz Bruggen play a concert. After hearing him play I was convinced that I needed to learn to play the recorder. I believed that instrument was the key to what I wanted to do musically as a flutist. I got to talk with Bruggen back stage for a few minutes about the possibility of studying with him. Later I was told that the "early music" scene in Holland, where Bruggen lived and taught, was a rather sexually open "scene." This intimidated and scared me, so I set my musical future compass on the possibility of learning to play baroque music in one of the other European countries. I was interested in learning about the music, not the "lifestyle."
When I got to Europe I found myself in the lucky position of getting a teaching job, and the main part of the job was to teach recorder. I had to teach myself the instrument in a hurry, which was a total pleasure. I still wanted to find out the "secret" of the baroque style, so I moved to Vienna and studied with a very fine recorder teacher named Hans Maria Kneihs. To my surprise what I learned from Hans was basic musicianship. I learned how to use the various attributes of the recorder and the tongue to accomplish certain musical objectives, but Hans's main concerns had to do with the basic musical concepts of playing in tune, in rhythm, and making musical sense out of the phrases in front of him. I'm sure that there was scholarship involved, but there were no stylistic "gimmicks."
It was at a master class with Hans and his students that I discovered the baroque flute. Somebody had one. I tried to play it, and it sounded horrible. When I returned to Boston I was able to buy one that was easy to play, and I set out to teach myself to play by using exercises by Frederick the Great (I know now that they were written for Frederick by Quantz) and the baroque music in the flute repertoire. Then I heard that there was an excellent baroque flutist in Boston named Chris Krueger, so I went to him for lessons. I learned the same stuff from Chris that I learned from Hans: Basic musicianship.
Now I know that the style of a piece of music is something imbedded in that piece. I also know that outside "rules" applied to music in the wrong way (like using French ornamentation in a piece of German music) is pretty distasteful. I have learned to read treatises with a sense of the motivation of the writer, and my sense is that Quantz (who wrote the mother of all flute methods) was trying his best to get Frederick to play tastefully. Likewise with Leopold Mozart when he wrote about vibrato. He didn't want string players to imitate singers who used a tremolo type vibrato. People read this "lack of vibrato" clause as a stylistic affect that can be applied to make "early music" sound "authentic." A gimmick. A trick. I personally think that a natural vibrato is a lovely thing.
Most of what I have learned about playing "early music" comes from playing baroque music on good copies of the instruments it was written for. Anyone who wants to learn to play in an appropriate baroque style would do well to buy or borrow an appropriate instrument and learn to play it from scratch and always apply the rules of good musicianship.
Technorati tags: classical music, early music, performance practice
Monday, March 06, 2006
Music Competitions
I tend to think of music as the opposite of a competitive sport, but it seems that the major "measure" of musical accomplishment is how musicians fare in competition. Competitions are acceptable for things that you can measure, like how fast someone can run, swim, or bike, or how high someone can jump, but accomplishment in music goes so much deeper than the superficial. Unfortunately it is the superficial elements that get judged in a competition: how cleanly someone plays, how well in tune, how flawlessly. Flawlessness seems to be the measure of musical accomplishment for even the kindest and most musical of judges. It is my experience that when flawlessness is the goal, the chance for true musical expression to enter a given performance is slim.
"Classical" musicians make up a very small percentage of the population. I think it is insane that we have to compete with one another in order to get some kind of recognition or have some kind of career as performers. I have a "no competition" clause in my personal approach to music making. I have no desire to be, or play, or write better than anyone else, but I have a deep desire to play well, to have contact with like-minded musicians, and to bring people together with music.
Young people need to have chances to perform without being judged. Young people need to have the opportunity to reach and enrich the people who are listening to them. They need to learn that music is something that unites us all. They need to learn that an honest and expressive performance of a piece accomplishes much more than winning a prize. That should be the "goal" of all musicians.
Technorati tags: classical music, music competitions
"Classical" musicians make up a very small percentage of the population. I think it is insane that we have to compete with one another in order to get some kind of recognition or have some kind of career as performers. I have a "no competition" clause in my personal approach to music making. I have no desire to be, or play, or write better than anyone else, but I have a deep desire to play well, to have contact with like-minded musicians, and to bring people together with music.
Young people need to have chances to perform without being judged. Young people need to have the opportunity to reach and enrich the people who are listening to them. They need to learn that music is something that unites us all. They need to learn that an honest and expressive performance of a piece accomplishes much more than winning a prize. That should be the "goal" of all musicians.
Technorati tags: classical music, music competitions
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
It doesn't get any better than this
I just returned from Boise, Idaho after listening to a concert played by Jen Drake and the Darkwood Consort. Last year they commissioned me to write a piece for viola, bass clarinet and strings for their ensemble, and it seems that my devotion to writing pieces based on Hans Christian Andersen stories and the Danish-loving nature of their ensemble (not to mention their bass clarinetist) was a perfect fit, and their performance of my setting of "The Ugly Duckling" was really spectacular. They also performed another setting of an Andersen story that I wrote for viola, bass clarinet, piano, and narrator called "The Happy Family" about the last surviving members of a family of snails (yes, escargot) that lived in a burdock forest. Jen's husband Chad was the narrator (he made me cry), and Karlin Coolidge played the piano on "The Happy Family" and the flute on the array of Danish treat music that balanced out the program.
The whole experience was wonderful, and I was particularly blown away by Jen's tremendous energy, her ability to connect with her audience, her ability to be enchanting both as a person and as a player. She prepared an ensemble of high school string players who sounded like professionals.
Playing major and even minor viola repertoire in big cities is wonderful, but my hat goes off (and my heart goes out) to people like Jen Drake and Aage Nielsen (the bass clarinetist) who can create a whole new repertoire for their instruments, and do it in a city far away from the major cultural centers of the country for an audience of people who understand and appreciate precisely how special the whole thing is, and knows just how lucky they are.
Technorati tags: classical music, Boise, music in Idaho
The whole experience was wonderful, and I was particularly blown away by Jen's tremendous energy, her ability to connect with her audience, her ability to be enchanting both as a person and as a player. She prepared an ensemble of high school string players who sounded like professionals.
Playing major and even minor viola repertoire in big cities is wonderful, but my hat goes off (and my heart goes out) to people like Jen Drake and Aage Nielsen (the bass clarinetist) who can create a whole new repertoire for their instruments, and do it in a city far away from the major cultural centers of the country for an audience of people who understand and appreciate precisely how special the whole thing is, and knows just how lucky they are.
Technorati tags: classical music, Boise, music in Idaho
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Why do people play concerts?
Last night I played my first (first ever) violin recital. I have played viola recitals, but my pianist friend and I thought it would be fun to explore the violin repertoire.
It is a lot of work to play a recital, and the benefits that come from the process of practicing, rehearsing, publicizing, and performing are completely intangible. Everything vanishes into thin air as soon as you finish playing. A recording captures only the surface of the experience, and with it most of the mistakes.
I can't speak for everyone, but most musicians worry before performing (at least before playing a solo or chamber music concert). We worry about playing the right notes at the right time. We worry about making a good sound. We worry about physical comfort on stage. We hope that we are not getting sick. We think about what we eat and when we eat it. We worry about our instruments. We all double check to make sure that we have our music. We worry about making stupid mistakes and getting lost. We practice and rehearse in order to be prepared for whatever happens.
Most musicians' main concerns are to play the music accurately, and to establish a connection with our performing partners and our audience. We try to bring out as much of the beauty in the music as possible. We know that the performance is a succesful one if we have a good time playing.
The best compliment I can get after a concert is "I liked (this or that) piece," or "I enjoyed myself." Playing music for people is all about enjoyment. It should be a time when everyone is focused on what they hear--both the performers and the audience.
Everyone who plays any concert has moments that go better than other moments. We all make mistakes. Some are blatant and some are veiled. Anybody who goes to a concert to "keep score" of the mistakes that the people playing the concert make would probably be happier at a sporting event or a game show.
Technorati tag: classical music
It is a lot of work to play a recital, and the benefits that come from the process of practicing, rehearsing, publicizing, and performing are completely intangible. Everything vanishes into thin air as soon as you finish playing. A recording captures only the surface of the experience, and with it most of the mistakes.
I can't speak for everyone, but most musicians worry before performing (at least before playing a solo or chamber music concert). We worry about playing the right notes at the right time. We worry about making a good sound. We worry about physical comfort on stage. We hope that we are not getting sick. We think about what we eat and when we eat it. We worry about our instruments. We all double check to make sure that we have our music. We worry about making stupid mistakes and getting lost. We practice and rehearse in order to be prepared for whatever happens.
Most musicians' main concerns are to play the music accurately, and to establish a connection with our performing partners and our audience. We try to bring out as much of the beauty in the music as possible. We know that the performance is a succesful one if we have a good time playing.
The best compliment I can get after a concert is "I liked (this or that) piece," or "I enjoyed myself." Playing music for people is all about enjoyment. It should be a time when everyone is focused on what they hear--both the performers and the audience.
Everyone who plays any concert has moments that go better than other moments. We all make mistakes. Some are blatant and some are veiled. Anybody who goes to a concert to "keep score" of the mistakes that the people playing the concert make would probably be happier at a sporting event or a game show.
Technorati tag: classical music
Sunday, January 22, 2006
A Whole New Perspective
Yesterday I played the drum in a performance of Leopold Mozart's Toy Symphony. It was a wonderful experience. I was volunteered for the position at the dress rehearsal when the trumpet player mentioned that he could not play trumpet and drum at the same time in the last movement.
I didn't know how to hold the sticks, or really what to do. I got to go on stage without holding an instrument (the drum sticks were with the drum), and I didn't get a chance to practice for either of the two performances. It was an exercise in luck for me, and it was a good one. Usually I play concerts, even orchestra concerts, knowing every note of my part intimately, and knowing how my instrument will respond to every note. All of a sudden I was at sea, and I knew that I had to swim. Thank goodness the part wasn't difficult.
I counted like crazy, and stood at attention during the movements I wasn't playing (I always wondered how percussionists did that so convincingly), and at the second concert I was proud of the way I played. My career as a percussionist in a professional chamber orchestra has ended, and I am very grateful for having had the experience.
Technorati tag: classical music
I didn't know how to hold the sticks, or really what to do. I got to go on stage without holding an instrument (the drum sticks were with the drum), and I didn't get a chance to practice for either of the two performances. It was an exercise in luck for me, and it was a good one. Usually I play concerts, even orchestra concerts, knowing every note of my part intimately, and knowing how my instrument will respond to every note. All of a sudden I was at sea, and I knew that I had to swim. Thank goodness the part wasn't difficult.
I counted like crazy, and stood at attention during the movements I wasn't playing (I always wondered how percussionists did that so convincingly), and at the second concert I was proud of the way I played. My career as a percussionist in a professional chamber orchestra has ended, and I am very grateful for having had the experience.
Technorati tag: classical music
Monday, January 16, 2006
Joy of Practicing
I love to practice. Right now I'm practicing the violin with purpose because I'm playing a violin and piano recital in a few weeks (Mozart's birthday, January 27th to be exact) at the community college where I teach music appreciation. What I love most about practicing with purpose is the chance to take a mental and aural magnifying glass and examine every interval, every bow change, every shift, and every note for its resonance and relative comfort. It is in practicing when it is possible to really fix problems by rendering the awkward passages into passages of interest.
I love the feeling of "holding" long notes in my hands and letting them develop like a potter lets clay develop on the wheel. I love the way that working on a note-by-note basis can free up musical possibilities and allow new things to happen. I love the feeling that by working they way I am working, the concert might just have the possibility of being a real musical experience for everyone involved.
When I practice like this I feel like I am in the company of great violinists, both living and dead. It is not that I play like one, but I imagine that I am practicing like one. I believe that the better a musician is, the more attention s/he pays to the small details that concern moving through the music from one note to the next. I don't think that great musicians need to pay special attention to the technical details while they are performing because they worked on all the details during practice time. That kind of confidence allows musicians to express themselves and become one with the music and their performing partners.
I love the feeling of "holding" long notes in my hands and letting them develop like a potter lets clay develop on the wheel. I love the way that working on a note-by-note basis can free up musical possibilities and allow new things to happen. I love the feeling that by working they way I am working, the concert might just have the possibility of being a real musical experience for everyone involved.
When I practice like this I feel like I am in the company of great violinists, both living and dead. It is not that I play like one, but I imagine that I am practicing like one. I believe that the better a musician is, the more attention s/he pays to the small details that concern moving through the music from one note to the next. I don't think that great musicians need to pay special attention to the technical details while they are performing because they worked on all the details during practice time. That kind of confidence allows musicians to express themselves and become one with the music and their performing partners.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Mozart's Thematic Catalog
The British Library has a fantastic feature called Turning the Pages where they have an interactive "exhibit" of Mozart's thematic catalog. It is just about the most exciting thing I have seen on the internet.
Technorati tag: classical music
Technorati tag: classical music
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Remembering Leo Wright
This man was Leo Wright. He was at this particular jazz club because his wife Elly Wright was singing there. She sang in a wonderful stylized English that completely masked the fact that she was from Vienna.
Leo was in his early 50s and was in the process of recovering from a stroke. He had difficulty moving his right hand, but he was determined to get his playing back. In his prime he was one of the most versatile saxophonists around, as well as an extremely agile flutist. He had a huge international career, playing with Dizzy Gillespie in the 1960s, and making wonderful recordings. By the end of the evening we agreed to trade lessons. I would try to teach him to play the flute like Julius Baker, and he would try to teach me to swing. In order to accomplish these tasks we spent a lot of time together.
He was kind of like a surrogate father to me in Vienna. He and Ellie taught me to be proud of my American-ness. Elly encouraged me to read Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer which set me firmly on the path towards becoming a reader and loving literature.
I taught Leo to breathe by using his diaphragm. He never had adequate flute lessons (it seems that people didn't know much about the function of the diaphragm in playing the flute before the 1970s) and never learned to breathe properly. I believed that there would be a connection between this new (for him) type of breathing and his ability to relax and re-connect musically with his right hand. Somehow this connection worked. Eventually he was able to play again, and he made a big comeback several months after I left Vienna.
Leo used to bring me to jazz clubs all the time, and he used to encourage me to sit in with the musicians who were playing. Everyone respected Leo, so I guess they took a chance on me. I might have made a serious fool of myself, but Leo never let on that he thought so. I still learned a lot from Leo. As far as my learning to "swing" was concerned, I learned to appreciate good jazz playing, but I have never been able to play like a jazz musician myself.
I learned about dedication from Leo. Even when he was unable to use his right hand at all, Leo practiced long tones on the saxophone using only his left hand. I learned from Leo that the spirit of a musician is a very strong thing, and that a that the power of positive thinking is far stronger than I ever imagined it could be. I also learned about the particular strengths that I had myself.
Music is hanging around the air in Vienna. It always has been there, and it probably will always be there. Fritz Pauer told me that it has something to do with the water that flows in the underwater canals. Even in the silence of the night in Vienna, there is a certain musical rhythm in the air. Anyway, one day while I was walking in Vienna I started singing a tune. I figured it must have been something that I heard, but I couldn't place it. I sang it for Leo, and he had never heard it before either. He helped me harmonize it with jazz chords, and I let it rattle around in my brain for about 20 years until I turned it into a piece for string quartet that I called "Good-bye to Vienna." Of course I dedicated it to Leo, who is no longer alive in body, but will always be alive in spirit.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Starting Late
I have always been a late starter. I played the violin when I was a child and stopped within a few years for various reasons. When I needed to play an instrument as a teenager (needed meant that I needed to find a way to express myself), I started playing the flute. I was 13. Most of the flutists around me had been playing for several years, so I had to make up for lost time. I practiced every day for at least three hours. I listened to flute recordings, and I copied the attributes of the flutists I liked (there were only a handful in the 1970s). I practiced until midnight and woke up at 5:00 a.m. to practice so that I never had more than five hours between practice sessions. I practiced during school whenever I had free periods. I practiced scales and etudes all the time. I auditioned for Juilliard when I was 16, and I got accepted. I still felt like I was years behind everyone else--that I got in by a fluke, and that somehow I had fooled everyone.
When I started playing the recorder at the age of 22, it was easy to do. I just followed the pattern I used to learn to play the flute. When I started to play baroque flute at the age of 24, it came pretty quickly because I was used to starting things late. When I started playing violin for real at 32, it was a bit different. Things didn't go as quickly. It takes about five years to understand the left hand of the violin, and about ten to understand the right hand. It is a life-long process, but I'm happy that now, at 46 I have the same struggles with the violin and the viola that most string players have. I am beginning to understand the left hand and the right hand. Now that I have played violin and viola for thirteen years, I no longer feel like I am fooling anyone. I can play with confidence among my peers. I still practice every day.
I started writing music seriously at the age of 40. I had written music before I turned 40, but at 40 I decided to study composition, which meant that I had a person who I could show my pieces to. I wrote piece after piece. It was almost as if I had a backlog of pieces "under construction" floating around in the back of my mind that just needed to be written down.
I think that for me the pattern of starting late and making up for lost time has wonderful advantages. It helps you to understand the value of time spent building something. Starting late has made me a better teacher. When an adult beginner comes to me for lessons, I can distinctly remember how difficult it was to learn certain physical aspects of learning to play, and can also distinctly remember the process of transcending those difficulties.
Fourteen years ago I didn't play the violin, and I couldn't have imagined myself either playing the violin or daring to call myself a composer. Those fourteen years have passed at the same rate they would have if I didn't feel compelled to learn to play the instrument or compose; but since I have filled those years with doing what I love best, they have been the best years of my life.
Other late-starter-related posts here, here, and here (this one is about a string quartet project with adult quartet novices).
When I started playing the recorder at the age of 22, it was easy to do. I just followed the pattern I used to learn to play the flute. When I started to play baroque flute at the age of 24, it came pretty quickly because I was used to starting things late. When I started playing violin for real at 32, it was a bit different. Things didn't go as quickly. It takes about five years to understand the left hand of the violin, and about ten to understand the right hand. It is a life-long process, but I'm happy that now, at 46 I have the same struggles with the violin and the viola that most string players have. I am beginning to understand the left hand and the right hand. Now that I have played violin and viola for thirteen years, I no longer feel like I am fooling anyone. I can play with confidence among my peers. I still practice every day.
I started writing music seriously at the age of 40. I had written music before I turned 40, but at 40 I decided to study composition, which meant that I had a person who I could show my pieces to. I wrote piece after piece. It was almost as if I had a backlog of pieces "under construction" floating around in the back of my mind that just needed to be written down.
I think that for me the pattern of starting late and making up for lost time has wonderful advantages. It helps you to understand the value of time spent building something. Starting late has made me a better teacher. When an adult beginner comes to me for lessons, I can distinctly remember how difficult it was to learn certain physical aspects of learning to play, and can also distinctly remember the process of transcending those difficulties.
Fourteen years ago I didn't play the violin, and I couldn't have imagined myself either playing the violin or daring to call myself a composer. Those fourteen years have passed at the same rate they would have if I didn't feel compelled to learn to play the instrument or compose; but since I have filled those years with doing what I love best, they have been the best years of my life.
Other late-starter-related posts here, here, and here (this one is about a string quartet project with adult quartet novices).
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Musical Soup
After eating some cabbage soup my husband made for dinner, I started thinking about a piece by Satie about cabbage soup, which led me to search and find this collection of songs about soup.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Nostalgia for the Boston Symphony in the 1960s
I just listened and watched a DVD recording of Berlioz's "L'Enfance du Christ" made from a concert given in 1966 by the Boston Symphony Orchestra. This recording made it clear to me just how wonderful an orchestra the Boston Symphony was in the 1960s. I was impressed by the individuality and character in the sounds of the winds, and the pure beauty in the sound of the string section. There is a striking difference between the no-nonsense conducting by Munch and the hyper-emotional conducting that is so often practiced by conductors today. It was both a refreshing and an enlightening experience to see this.
VAI has a clip from the DVD on their website.
Technorati tag: classical music
VAI has a clip from the DVD on their website.
Technorati tag: classical music
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Remembering David Diamond
I was listening to a recording of the Grosse Fugue this morning, and the Grosse Fugue always reminds me of David Diamond.
At Juilliard, students were able to take "Literature and Materials of Music" classes with the composers on the faculty, and my second year I took a course on the fugue with David Diamond. Of course we listened to the Beethoven "Grosse Fugue." While it was playing Mr. Diamond shouted out the different parts of the fugue. He made sure to point out (loudly) all the statements of the subject, the answers, the episodes, and the strettos. After it was over he asked, "Miss Fine, what did you think of that?" to which I replied, "Mr. Diamond, I couldn't hear it." He said that he understood, and that he had been trying to hear the piece for years.
Right before Thanksgiving break I asked Mr. Diamond where he was going for Thanksgiving. He told me that he was going to Rochester to see his family. I told him that I had an uncle in Rochester, my great uncle Milton, Milton Bohrod, and I asked in an innocent way if Mr. Diamond might know him. Mr. Diamond replied, "I have played in a string quartet with Milton Bohrod for twenty-five years."
I didn't expect that. Actually, I didn't even know that Uncle Milton played the violin!
Mr. Diamond took a liking to me, and he told me about a book that was very important to him, something that I "must read." It was by Cyril Scott Music, Its Secret Influence Through the Ages. It opened a whole world concerning the idea of music and mysticism to me. I still own the book, and find that it has its unusual (some would say wacky) charms, but because Mr. Diamond recommeneded it to me I read it carefully and took it seriously. I guess that Mr. Diamond's Fugue class and Cyril Scott's book must have made strong marks on my psyche. I imagine that this is the kind of legacy Mr. Diamond would have wanted, and that is why I am sharing this memory.
At Juilliard, students were able to take "Literature and Materials of Music" classes with the composers on the faculty, and my second year I took a course on the fugue with David Diamond. Of course we listened to the Beethoven "Grosse Fugue." While it was playing Mr. Diamond shouted out the different parts of the fugue. He made sure to point out (loudly) all the statements of the subject, the answers, the episodes, and the strettos. After it was over he asked, "Miss Fine, what did you think of that?" to which I replied, "Mr. Diamond, I couldn't hear it." He said that he understood, and that he had been trying to hear the piece for years.
Right before Thanksgiving break I asked Mr. Diamond where he was going for Thanksgiving. He told me that he was going to Rochester to see his family. I told him that I had an uncle in Rochester, my great uncle Milton, Milton Bohrod, and I asked in an innocent way if Mr. Diamond might know him. Mr. Diamond replied, "I have played in a string quartet with Milton Bohrod for twenty-five years."
I didn't expect that. Actually, I didn't even know that Uncle Milton played the violin!
Mr. Diamond took a liking to me, and he told me about a book that was very important to him, something that I "must read." It was by Cyril Scott Music, Its Secret Influence Through the Ages. It opened a whole world concerning the idea of music and mysticism to me. I still own the book, and find that it has its unusual (some would say wacky) charms, but because Mr. Diamond recommeneded it to me I read it carefully and took it seriously. I guess that Mr. Diamond's Fugue class and Cyril Scott's book must have made strong marks on my psyche. I imagine that this is the kind of legacy Mr. Diamond would have wanted, and that is why I am sharing this memory.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Melinda and Melinda
Last night my family and I watched Woody Allen's 2004 film Melinda and Melinda. It had some terrific acting, particularly Radha Mitchell's ability to play the two contrasting Melinda roles so well, and Will Ferrell's ability to play Woody Allen as a plausible love interest so well. The film had the unlikely presence of not one but three pianists as romantic characters (one for each of the Melindas, and one for Melinda's friend-rival—actually you can count Melinda as one of the pianists, which brings the total to four), and one of them was even a composer.
Then there was a musical soundtrack that had lots of Ellington, Garner, and Hyman, the Stravinsky Violin Concerto (there was a line, "You certainly know your Stravinsky") and the Bartok Fourth Quartet featured prominently—even played on camera by the Shanghai Quartet and discussed slightly in the booth at a recording session. There is mention of Mahler's Second Symphony, and the principal players are even seen leaving a concert at Carnegie Hall discussing the "second movement" of something on the way out. There were also implausible musical moments: a performance of a Bach Prelude at a party by the soon-to-be love interest pianist (he entered as the "help" and I assume he left as a guest) that morphed into a four-hand version without the addition of the lower parts of the piano. One pianist got up and the other continued, but the remaining pianist was not sitting in a plausible spot for her hands to play the notes they were playing. There were also other scads of other implausibilities that you can read about in the reviews.
Then there is a scene in a movie theatre (probably the Thalia) where the soundtrack of the movie the actors are watching is billed in the credits as a piece by Brahms (which it was, in part), but the people who wrote the musical credits at the end of the movie neglected to mention that the slow movement from Beethoven's Seventh Symphony was in there too. (My daughter said to me "I love that. That's Beethoven's Seventh, right?"). I started wondering if Brahms had lifted the Beethoven's Seventh Slow movement and inserted it into his piece. I don't think so.
All in all I enjoyed the movie immensely.
Then there was a musical soundtrack that had lots of Ellington, Garner, and Hyman, the Stravinsky Violin Concerto (there was a line, "You certainly know your Stravinsky") and the Bartok Fourth Quartet featured prominently—even played on camera by the Shanghai Quartet and discussed slightly in the booth at a recording session. There is mention of Mahler's Second Symphony, and the principal players are even seen leaving a concert at Carnegie Hall discussing the "second movement" of something on the way out. There were also implausible musical moments: a performance of a Bach Prelude at a party by the soon-to-be love interest pianist (he entered as the "help" and I assume he left as a guest) that morphed into a four-hand version without the addition of the lower parts of the piano. One pianist got up and the other continued, but the remaining pianist was not sitting in a plausible spot for her hands to play the notes they were playing. There were also other scads of other implausibilities that you can read about in the reviews.
Then there is a scene in a movie theatre (probably the Thalia) where the soundtrack of the movie the actors are watching is billed in the credits as a piece by Brahms (which it was, in part), but the people who wrote the musical credits at the end of the movie neglected to mention that the slow movement from Beethoven's Seventh Symphony was in there too. (My daughter said to me "I love that. That's Beethoven's Seventh, right?"). I started wondering if Brahms had lifted the Beethoven's Seventh Slow movement and inserted it into his piece. I don't think so.
All in all I enjoyed the movie immensely.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Going into Music as a Profession
Thirty years ago I had my eyes and ears wide open. I understood a great deal about the business of music, but I still chose to go ahead and seek a musical education. I went to The Juilliard School of Music, one of the best conservatories in the country (some would say the world), and I came out of it with the hope that I would find work as a musician (I was a flutist at the time). I was lucky. I did find work as a musician, but it was not anything like the orchestra job that, as a teenager, I imagined I would get. It was also not in America.
My first job was teaching recorder and flute (mostly recorder) in a little town in Austria where one of my duties was to don a drndl and march in the town band for funerals. Later I had my taste of professional orchestral life subbing in the Hong Kong Philharmonic which came bundled with insecurities and never turned into a "real job." Many musicians from my generation went out of the country to find work. Some made lives in other countries, but many returned to look for jobs outside of music to support their musical habits.
After I retuned to America I married a great guy and moved to a small town in Illinois where I worked as the classical music director at a radio station (I learned how to do it on the job) and did a small amount of flute playing. I didn't have a master's degree, so I could not get a job teaching at the local university. I didn't get a master's degree because I didn't think it was ethical to encourage flutists to go into music as a profession.
Then I switched instruments: I learned to play the violin, and then learned to play the viola. After practicing at least three hours a day for several years, I was able to play in a professional string quartet. I got work playing string quartets for weddings and playing string quartet concerts. When the work is plentiful I make around $5,000 a year playing. Add a few freelance orchestral jobs to that and the amount I make playing my instrument goes up $2,000 or so.
I decided to get a master's degree in composition, and now that I have a master's degree I am qualified to teach music appreciation at a community college, which still does not bring my yearly wages above the poverty level. I also make a little bit of money as a composer (very little) and as a critic (very, very, little) and as a writer. These activities take a huge amount of time, and the amount of money I make per hour of work is not worth measuring or mentioning. These activities are labors of love.
I am thankful that I am married to a person who understands my need to be a musician and is able to support our family financially. My advice to anyone determined to go into music as a profession is to marry well (meaning marry someone who understands your musical needs and is able to support them) and to get a real education. Learn about the world. Learn to use your brain. Learn about history and science. Learn to read literature. Learn to write. Learn how to find happiness in things that do not cost money. Play concerts. Share your love of music with people, especially your children and/or other people's children.
Technorati tag: classical music
My first job was teaching recorder and flute (mostly recorder) in a little town in Austria where one of my duties was to don a drndl and march in the town band for funerals. Later I had my taste of professional orchestral life subbing in the Hong Kong Philharmonic which came bundled with insecurities and never turned into a "real job." Many musicians from my generation went out of the country to find work. Some made lives in other countries, but many returned to look for jobs outside of music to support their musical habits.
After I retuned to America I married a great guy and moved to a small town in Illinois where I worked as the classical music director at a radio station (I learned how to do it on the job) and did a small amount of flute playing. I didn't have a master's degree, so I could not get a job teaching at the local university. I didn't get a master's degree because I didn't think it was ethical to encourage flutists to go into music as a profession.
Then I switched instruments: I learned to play the violin, and then learned to play the viola. After practicing at least three hours a day for several years, I was able to play in a professional string quartet. I got work playing string quartets for weddings and playing string quartet concerts. When the work is plentiful I make around $5,000 a year playing. Add a few freelance orchestral jobs to that and the amount I make playing my instrument goes up $2,000 or so.
I decided to get a master's degree in composition, and now that I have a master's degree I am qualified to teach music appreciation at a community college, which still does not bring my yearly wages above the poverty level. I also make a little bit of money as a composer (very little) and as a critic (very, very, little) and as a writer. These activities take a huge amount of time, and the amount of money I make per hour of work is not worth measuring or mentioning. These activities are labors of love.
I am thankful that I am married to a person who understands my need to be a musician and is able to support our family financially. My advice to anyone determined to go into music as a profession is to marry well (meaning marry someone who understands your musical needs and is able to support them) and to get a real education. Learn about the world. Learn to use your brain. Learn about history and science. Learn to read literature. Learn to write. Learn how to find happiness in things that do not cost money. Play concerts. Share your love of music with people, especially your children and/or other people's children.
Technorati tag: classical music
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