Federico Mompou

I don't remember the last time I was so excited about a composer discovery. Seriously. I discovered Federico Mompou like ten minutes ago, and have spent the last nine minutes furiously youtubing everything I can find. I'm so excited that I have to write about this right now instead of practicing for my lesson.

Mompou was a Spanish composer during the late 20th century (he died in the eighties). According to Wikipedia (my most reliable source during this hasty, excitable post), he was influenced by French Impressionism, most notably Satie (whom I also love! Eek!).

I really don't know anything else about him, and am too excited about sharing this with the world to actually look anything up. His music is beautiful. Maybe this is just my rebelling against too much Mozart. Mompou is gloriously ametrical and ethereal. There's so much space! And freedom!

Just listen, and revel in it!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jweZ2sgHwhE&feature=related

Prodigy

If I ever wind up having to seriously teach piano, I'm going to tack on a postscript at the end of my syllabus. It will be titled "Concerning Your Child Prodigy" and will include this excerpt from Schonberg's fantastic book The Great Pianists.

"In 1770 Mozart, on tour with his father in Italy, gave an exhibition (for it was an exhibition rather than a concert, even though it was "reviewed") at the Reale Accademia in Mantua. At the Accademia there were several professional musicians, and they prepared the program. First one of the boy's symphonies was played. Then he was soloist in a piano concerto that he had to read at sight from manuscript. Then he was supplied with a solo sonata which he not only had to read at sight but also supply with variations; and, that done, he had to transpose the work to another key. Then he had to compose an aria on the spot, to words given him, sing it himself and accompany himself on the clavier. Following this, the concertmaster of the orchestra gave Mozart a theme, and Mozart had to improvise a sonata from it. Then he had to improvise a strict fugue. Then he had to play the violin in a trio. Finally he conducted, from the clavier, one of his own symphonies. Mozart was fourteen years old at the time."

In conclusion, a six-year-old's ability to play Chopsticks does not make him a prodigy.

Schumann Dichterliebe

So, for my midterm for studio accompanying, I had to play one of these two Schumann lieder. Because our professor loves us so much and wants us to learn, I also had to write a paper about these two lovely lieder. I'm posting some excerpts from the hastily written paper because I feel guilty if I go too long without posting something. I also feel guilty if I take the time to actually write something out for this blog when I have a mountain of reading to do for piano lit.

Enjoy! And you can listen to the first piece here and the second piece here.

Dichterliebe, or “The Poet’s Love” was composed by Robert Schumann in 1840. The set consists of sixteen songs, the text for each song written by German poet Heinrich Heine. This piece follows the song cycles of Schubert’s Die Schöne Müllerin and Winterreise. From the perspective of a pianist, the music itself seems to take precedence over the text. It is well known that Schumann believed poetry to be a substandard art form compared to music. He once said that “it must wear the music like a wreath.” This song cycle has a hyper-sensitive, very intimate feel. Schumann obviously takes great care with each song, often employing suspensions and chromaticism. Each song is relatively short, but there is incredible depth of emotion within each.

Im Wunderschönen Monat Mai is the opening song for Dichterliebe. A fairly accurate translation is presented here:

In the darling month of May when

Buds were bursting into bloom

And birds were trilling, I told

Her of my love and longing.

This song is a beautiful and intimate start to the cycle. The melodic line lifts through each verse, creating a sense of longing and yearning. The dynamics never reach beyond mezzo forte, keeping the tone light and feminine. The accompaniment in this song doubles the vocal line in the top voice. This happens fairly often with Schumann’s works, and should be disguised. It would be best to bring out different voices, rather than the mimicking top line. The piano should sing out while the vocalist is silent, but remain sotto voce when the vocalist begins to sing. Because this song is so tender, it might be best to ritard a bit in measure four, before the singer comes in. It creates an air of expectation. The last chord of this song is particularly interesting. The song ends on a seventh chord, unresolved. This adds to the feeling of expectation which is pervasive throughout the song. This unresolved chord is resolved at the beginning of the next song in the set.

The other song which I would like to discuss, as I mentioned in the introduction, is Ich Grolle Nicht is drastically different, and stands apart from the other pieces in Dichterliebe. This is inherent in the text, which follows:

I’ll not complain though my heart is breaking.

Love lost forever! Though you glitter with diamonds

I have long known there is no answering ray of light

In the blackness of your heart; long known that a

Serpent feeds on this heart of yours. I saw, my love,

How wretched you are.

How different from the sweet, tender Im Wunderschönen Monat Mai! In this song cycle about a poet’s love, this is the only song which expresses any negative emotion. This is one of the most popular and challenging songs in the cycle. The accompaniment consists entirely of block chords, which gives a deceptive air of uniformity. In fact, elasticity is necessary to convey the emotion of the song. The song is brimming with irony. The singer proclaims that he bears no grudge, but it is obvious from the character of the piece that he does. The phrase “Ich grolle nicht”, loosely translated “I’ll not complain”, is repeated several times for emphasis. This adds to the irony of the piece—it is obvious that the singer is complaining throughout the song, and wishes to do so.

Don't Judge Me

I've been reading The Inner Game of Tennis for my piano pedagogy class at Baylor. I'm almost to the end (fortunately. The paper is due on Tuesday.) As the title suggests, the book is about tennis, but has been applied to music as well.

Anyway, I'm not going to go into details about the entire book. As I have to write a paper about it, I might put excerpts up later. What I want to talk about is a chapter towards the end, titled "Games People Play on the Court." This could just as easily be called "Games People Play on Stage." He breaks down the attitudes which people have towards the game of tennis (or the act of performing). These genres are playing to achieve excellence, playing to make or keep friends, and playing for health or fun. He also breaks these into sub-genres, but I won't go into that.

The author tells us that most people go into a sport (or play an instrument) for fun, but that it quickly becomes competitive. Musicians in particular tend to set impossible standards for themselves. Because of this, playing music often becomes a source of frustration when, in fact, it should have the opposite effect.

The author, Timothy Gallwey, explains that this is rooted in the beliefs of Western culture. (I agree with him, by the way. Otherwise I wouldn't be writing this in such a sweet and amenable tone.) We measure others by their competence. We strive for excellence so as to be respected. Because that's how one gains respect, no? Musicians are judged based on how well they perform. You are a good musician if you can perform well. Because of all this, we form a pattern of measuring our self-worth based on whether or not we succeed at any given thing. Others judge us based on our actions, therefore we judge ourselves based on actions.

I hope that you've noticed the glaring problem. It is this: for every winner, there's a loser. And musicians have it the worst. Why? Because music touches people, and as a result, there are a hell of a lot of people who want to be musicians. This means that, in the music world, for every winner, there are a million losers.

My real mission in writing this is to remind my fellow musicians to remember why you're playing in the first place. Particularly in the classical world, it's all too easy to get caught up in being better than the person sitting next to you in studio. I'm directing this to other people, but I have to remind myself of this every day. I'm not especially competitive regarding other things, but I am fiercely so when it comes to playing the piano.

Remember to play because it makes you happy--not because your self-worth hinges on your ability.

How Much Should We Practice?

This is because I need an excuse to not stress about not getting in my four+ hours every day.

Read here.

Mozart Piano Concerto #22

I apologize for my negligence. I feel like I'm drowning in music that I need to learn. Among the music is my lovely Mozart concerto. (As an aside, I love it when, while learning a piece, friends reach the point where they begin calling it "their" piece. Their concerto. Their sonata. I think that it's a milestone in the personal development of the musical learning process. If that makes sense.)

I don't know why pianists don't play this concerto more often. To be honest, this is the piece that sold me on Mozart concertos. I never found them to be particularly interesting or engaging before. Though, it could also be my taste, which (I hope) is expanding and refining.

I could write for ages about how much I love this concerto. But I've only memorized the first movement, so I'll talk about the others later. (I never feel that a piece is really known, internalized, until it's memorized.) I love that it opens with big, triumphant E-flat chords. It reminds me of Beethoven's Emperor Concerto, though maybe with less bravado. It quickly withdraws into a pretty, sweet melody. For four measures. Then the E-flat chords are back! It's so teasing and charming and just delightful. The piano work is brimming with fast scales and arpeggio figurations. It keeps with the charming character, I think.

Listen to an Annie Fischer recording, if you can find one. She doesn't take the piece too seriously, and I think that's key.

How to Be a Concert Pianist

I had to read an article for my piano pedagogy class about concert pianists. Some researcher got together a bunch of concert pianists and asked them about their lives. It turns out that there are quite a few similarities among the pianists. Here's a bit from what I wrote (and I wrote it in a hurry, so forgive my potentially poor writing).

"All of the pianists started piano lessons at a fairly young age. Interestingly, most did not take lessons of their own accord. Common through all of the pianists was the parents’ belief in the value of music lessons. Even when the parents were not musical themselves, they insisted on piano lessons for their child, and almost all relied on teachers who lived close by. The first teacher was generally an average pianist, though all of the pianists had fond memories of their first teacher. Lessons were basic, and regular recitals were part of said lessons. Most of the pianists practiced at least one hour per day at this early stage, and a parent would often sit in on the practice sessions, praising the child and giving instruction as needed.

By high school, most of the pianists had moved on to new and better teachers. Lessons became more detailed, dealing with interpretation, technique, and building repertoire. It was at this point that most of the pianists began to develop a deeper commitment to the piano, listening to recordings, attending concerts, and reading books about composers, for example. Practice became less about time and more about what one needed to do with the music. Many of the pianists started to play in youth competitions. Notably, the pianists who participated in these competitions stressed that merely playing in the competitions was much more important than winning or losing. By this point, it was obvious to most of the pianists that a career in music was eminent.

Between the ages of twelve and nineteen, the pianists started lessons with master teachers. At this point, they were working with professional musicians who understood the implications of a solo career as a concert pianist. The amount of work required for each lesson demanded a minimum of four hours of practice per day, sometimes more. All of the pianists mentioned that it was at this point that they began to take charge of their music, interpreting the music for themselves, rather than interpreting solely on a teacher’s advice. In a sense, they took over their own development. "