Pianist and Advocate of the Avant Garde

An Open Letter to Clavier Companion

2012-02-10T11:27:00.001-08:00

To Whom It May Concern,

I have been a subscriber to your magazine for a year. Ihave been receiving requests for renewal of my subscription. Unfortunately, Iwill not be renewing my subscription and I thought I would take a few momentsto explain why. I hope that this letter will give some of its readers pause.

I wish to say at the outset that I enjoy all forms ofmusic and as a pianist my repertoire ranges from Bach to Boulez, Chopin toCarter, and Debussy to Dutilleux. I first subscribed to Clavier Companion as a teaching resource—to stay abreast todevelopments in piano pedagogy and so forth.

We pianist are lucky to have such a vast and richrepertoire. As pianist it would seem to me that this would be something that iscelebrated and embraced, both as teachers and performers. Yet, this publicationseems to not only ignore the last hundred years of music, but it outrightdefames it.

I come from a conservative musical background and I didnot become interested in so-called “modern music” until I had finished myundergraduate studies. In the years between my BA and my MA the music ofpost-tonal composers began to intrigue me. So, I studied it.

Through my study of the music of the twentieth century Ideveloped an appreciation which grew into a love and advocacy for so-called “modernmusic.” It was through study that I became sympathetic and appreciative of thework of twentieth century composers.

Such sympathy and appreciation is utterly lacking in thispublication.

I am sympathetic to people who do not enjoy so-called “modernmusic.” Not enjoying so-called “modern music” does not, however, entail anactive assault on the genre.

This publications position regarding so-called “modernmusic” betrays its writers ignorance of the history and development of music(particularly receptionism) and its many assaults demonstrate its writers inabilityto objectively evaluate all forms of art and their own opinions.

Not only would a rigorous study of the history oftwentieth century music be beneficial for the writers of this publication, butso to would be a cursory study of aesthetics. The discipline of aestheticswould show this publications writers how to approach discussions on thefoundations and functions of art.

It would also show this publications writers why anarticle devoted to the opinions of Rachmaninov on the subject of so-called “modernmusic” is insufficient to show anything of truth about so-called “modern music.”

Rachmaninov’s opinions are Rachmaninov’s opinions. He’swelcomed to them, but the fact of who he is demonstrates nothing aboutso-called “modern music.”

In short and in summation, I refuse, as a pianist of thetwenty-first century, to subscribe to a periodical written by a staff thatignorantly attacks so-called “modern music” (which is now nearly one-hundredyears old!)

Regards,

James W. Iman

2012 Ideas

2011-12-04T06:27:00.001-08:00

I've been spending a bit of time tossing around things that I might try to tackle in the coming year. My goal for last year went--I think--considerably well. I didn't make it through the entire list of pieces I had set out to play, but I did make it through the bulk of them. With the forthcoming work to be done on my piano, I feel motivated to finish out the list of repertoire of 2011--so that's very likely for 2012.

But I'm also looking at new things to tackle...

Gyorgy Ligeti has written a set of 18 etudes for piano.

Pascal Dusapin has written a set of 7 etudes for piano.

I have found both sets of these etudes listed progressively (that is, not in numerical order, but in order from easiest to hardest). So, I'm considering working through as many of these etudes as my fingers will allow. Several of them are well within my technical grasp, several more will be challenging but possible, and a few of them are likely out of my grasp.

But I'm finding the prospect of the out-of-grasp-ness compelling and motivating. It's been a while since I've had to drive myself crazy working on something that is REALLY that hard (not because my technique is so consummate, it's not. I just haven't taken up the challenge in a while).

So, this will be a way for me to ease into this music and really push myself...potentially to prepare myself for more difficult works in 2013 (Boulez 2nd Sonata, Barraque Sonata...things like that!--ha!).

Boulez 3rd Sonata was on the list for 2011, and I had made it through most of the parts of the 2nd Formant before I abandoned working on it due to the disrepair of my piano. I want to resume work on this sonata once the repairs are made to my instrument.

Relatedly...

I've been in contact with Gilbert Amy. He has a piano sonata which he has described to me as "too experimental for programs nowadays." He was writing his sonata at the same time that Boulez was writing his 3rd sonata, Stockhausen was writing his Klavierstuck XI, and Bussotti was writing his Pour Clavier--all important aleatoric works of the 1960s.

My local music shoppe is looking into the availability of the score for Amy's Sonata. Depending on the availability of the work I might take it on later in the year. It's got a hefty price tag, but I'm really fascinated by this era in music and even if I don't play the work I'm very interested in studying the score.

I also really want to get back to making videos for my youtube channel.

My Piano Stopped Me

2011-11-29T10:02:00.001-08:00

I love my piano. Though, lately we've had a very one-way relationship (she sits in my studio and I neglect to play her). This isn't because I haven't been practicing--I have (though not as much as I should--as usual). It's because my piano has become in poor repair, some of which is routine maintenance I've been neglecting and some which is on the manufacturing end.

When I bought my piano I wasn't terribly well-learned in the fine matters of the inner-workings of the piano. I knew how I wanted it to feel and how I wanted it to sound. I knew a few typical issues encountered with pianos that I was looking out for. But I didn't know the really fine details like, strings level, hammer angle and bleeding dampers.

So, my piano needs to be tuned (it hasn't been in the three years that I've owned it, and it's a new piano so tuning should be regular--shame on me), it needs to be regulated, it could use a bit of a voicing...and I have strings that aren't level, hammers that don't hit the strings level and my dampers bleed--particularly when the sostenuto pedal is in use (the middle pedal, that is). The strings, hammers and dampers are not problems I caused through neglect and had I known then what I know now I might not have purchased the piano I did--or at least I would have made the tech fix them before I bought it.

I do like the sound and feel of my piano (when it's properly regulated!), so it's not as though I bought a lemon or anything...but I digress.

So, these issues--particularly that of the dampers while using the sostenuto pedal--have inhibited some of my goals for the current year.

When the year began (some of you may recall) I had a rather large list of repertoire I planned (hoped) to get through before the end of the year. With the end of the year quickly approaching I have come to accept that I will not fully reach my goal. Contributing to my failure are the repair issues with my piano.

Luciano Berio was on the list of repertoire for the year. The malfunction of my sostenuto pedal directly contributed to not getting through ANY of the Berio I had planned. Likewise, Boulez's 3eme Sonata makes extensive use of pedal effects which I was unable to accomplish.

The majority of what I could get through, I did get through--with a handful of pieces that were simply my lack of motivation.

One of the things I had hoped to do was record all of the Morton Feldman piano works I was working on this year. This was not accomplished because of the current condition of my piano. Indeed, all of the recording that I wanted to do this year was not done because of the condition of my piano.

So, today I made an appointment with a highly recommended tech to have my piano tuned and the rest of the "damage" evaluated for future (immanent) repair.

With any luck, come the beginning of 2012, I will spend the first couple of months recording the Feldman and possibly much of the John Cage and Earle Brown works I spent the year on.

I'm also looking forward to projects for 2012...but that will be for another post.

Early Morning Encouragement

2011-09-30T07:06:00.000-07:00

I wake up early (5:20), have a bowl of cereal, brew some coffee and sit down to watch the morning news, catch up on emails, read a few blogs, etc. Then I exercise, shower, putz around, have lunch and then practice until I teach (usually starting 3:30 or 4:00).

This morning, amid the tweets that awaited me was a tweet which linked to a brief blog by pianist Steven Osborne. In the blog, Osborne discusses his fears leading up to his project for Hyperion Records to record Ravel's complete piano music. Specifically, Mr. Osborne confesses his apprehension at the prospect of grappling with Ravel's Gaspard de la Nuit.

"Gaspard" is well-known among pianists as one of the most difficult works for piano. Typically, the fiendish difficulty is associated with the last movement of the work, Scarbo. Mr. Osborne, though, confesses that passages which were quickly manageable were the minority--that the work, as a whole presented more challenges that it did respites.

That was encouraging.

What was encouraging about this wasn't that a great pianist, whose playing I admire (his Messiaen is incredible), struggled with one of the hardest piano works in the repertoire--any pianist is going to struggle with that. What was encouraging about this was the remind it gave me.

I often have this misconception about musicians I look up to--that there is little if any struggle. That learning a piece for them really amounts to figuring out how they want to interpret certain passages. That the technique, the figuring out how to do it, is but a brief moment in their encounter with a piece of music.

I have a friend who is a concert pianist, whom I've heard play several times and with whom I've discussed struggles and problems in performances, so you would think I would have it solidly in my mind that all pianists struggle.

What we do is hard and it's nice to be reminded that we all start one note at a time--even the best of us.

C'est la Vie and Appreciation, Ex Post Facto

2011-09-21T17:14:00.001-07:00

This post is a bit of a reminiscence.

I've taken a bit of a hiatus from the large list of avant garde music to get through this year.

When I told Paavali about the list, he suggested that every now and again I play something conventional so my fingers don't forget...

I was asked to play for an upcoming meeting of the Pittsburgh Piano Teacher's Association for "American Music Month" (you may know it as "November"). I have elected to play Feldman's Three Pieces for Piano.

Thereafter, another teacher asked me to play for an upcoming meeting of Pennsylvania music teachers. Upon explaining who Feldman was and the general character of his music, the latter teacher became concerned and asked if I could play something "more traditional."

I obliged. Since, I've been working on Ravel's Miroirs.

Further, I've decided to work on Debussy's Images I and II (for reasons which may be elaborated in a future post).

Today I started looking at the first of the Images and it reminded me of a recital I attended a few months ago.

When I studied for my BA and Indiana University of Pennsylvania I studied with James Staples, a brilliant musician, a wonderful pianist and a great influence on my music making (much of his influence I'm only now discovering in my own teaching).

When I began my undergraduate work with Dr. Staples, I was not a technically proficient student--I hadn't started studying piano until I was 12 and from 12-15 was largely self-taught. Looking back, I don't think I was in a place in my development to fully appreciate his tutelage.

And I realized this months ago, at his retirement recital, listening to him perform selections from Debussy's Preludes.

If James Staples plays one composer with absolute authority and complete understanding, it is Debussy. And now that I've studied some of Debussy's bigger pieces (since my time with Staples) and am at the precipice of undertaking more, I am realizing the mammoth opportunity I missed during my undergraduate work.

My time studying with Dr. Staples is one of my if-I-had-it-to-do-over moments in life.

Maybe I'll give him a call when I have the Images ready.

Wagon

2011-02-06T05:41:00.000-08:00

Going to have to get back to it this week.

The Difficulty of Serialism

2011-01-27T03:11:00.000-08:00

Apart from its challenges to listeners (resulting from the fact that it is so drastically different from conventional forms of music--at least on the surface), serialism poses challenges to performers as well. Yesterday, while getting my fingers around Boulez's 12 Notations (at least 11 of the 12), I came face-to-face with them.

From roughly 1730-1925 all piano music was built using the same materials. Scales and chords are the most basic elements of all tonal music and pianists are faced with several ways to play these two elements. There are 6 basic "shapes" or "gestures" in piano technique: scales, chords, arpeggios (a variation on chords), octaves, double notes (3rds and 6ths) and ornaments. All piano music from the "common practice period" is simply different combinations of these 6 gestures.

With only 6 gestures, there are (seemingly) only so many combinations and as a result composers created a series of standard elements--certain accompaniment patterns and certain ornamental figurations that constantly reappear in much music from the common practice period.

So pianists spend the better part of their lives studying and mastering these gestures and the music that employs them. The complexity/difficulty of a particular piece of music depends largely on how complicated the combination of these 6 elements. Enormous contributions to the technical pallet of pianists were made by Chopin and Liszt who found innovative ways to use novel and ingenious combinations of these gestures.

The game changed a bit when Debussy hit the scene. Debussy, by all accounts, was not a particularly skilled pianists--probably quite average in his technical prowess--but what he had going for him was imagination. Debussy's music is hard--even the easiest pieces will challenge pianists that are new to them. His music is hard because he reinvents the way the gestures of piano technique are constructed.

Before Debussy the gestures of piano technique were constructed within the context of the 24 major and minor keys (12 major, 12 minor). Debussy introduced new scales and new types of chords. Once you wrap your brain around Debussy's new context, and once you realize that the gestures are the same as generations before, you will be able to cope with Debussy's piano music without too much struggle.

When Schoenberg wrote the first piece of music using the 12-tone method he eliminated the efficacy of the gestures of piano technique. The music of the common practice period is limited to 7 different notes employed at any given time (with the occasional foray into related notes); however, 12-tone music uses all 12 of the chromatic notes. 5 more notes might not seem like a lot--but when every combination is slightly different it poses immense challenges.

So, here lies the biggest challenge with playing serial music (for the pianist): every piece is conceived with a different order of the 12 notes and (usually) those orders never resemble a "key" as in the common practice period and so every piece possesses entirely new shapes and contexts within which the pianist must operate.

In short, every serial work the pianists learns is essentially learning to play the instrument all over again.

Now, this is not to say that there aren't certain shapes and gestures that will recur within a piece or even within several different pieces--but the combinations of these gestures is almost inexhaustibly novel.

This is, of course, to say nothing of the musical challenges--making the combinations of notes in space and across time form a coherent musical utterance. This is (as far as listening is concerned) the more important challenge of this music and a concern that is appreciable (Schoenberg played by Glenn Gould, a pianists who understood and loved Schoenberg's music, and Schoenberg played by any less intellectually strong pianists is noticeably different).

I'm just hoping that this project gets easier as I go!

The Other Things I'm Doing

2011-01-26T03:17:00.001-08:00

2010 wasn't terribly productive for me in more areas than just my personal study of my instrument--I also didn't do much reading. I read, just not consistently and not very much. So, I want to change that this year, too. I own lots of books and I think it's high time I start tearing through them.

I used to read almost obsessively to the point that I would compulsively read the labels of bathroom toiletries if I had no other reading material on hand (while using the bathroom, of course). While at work I would read whatever newspaper was lying around and read it regardless of how old it was or what the articles were. I want to get back to that--though not to quite the near-obsessive point as prior.

I have a reading list. I've tried to keep it within reasonable grasp. I'm not a fast reader (maybe 8 pages an hour, of dense subject mater) so I don't want to set my sights too high (as I might've done with the music I'll be playing!).

Here's the list:

Europe: A History. Davies, Norman.

Music in Medieval Europe. Yudkin, Jeremy.

Music in the Renaissance. Brown, Howard Mayer.

Baroque Music. Palisca, Claude V.

Music in the Classic Period. Pauly, Reinhard G.

Nineteenth-Century Romanticism in Music. Longyear, Rey M.

Twentieth-Century Music: An Introduction. Salzman, Eric.

In Search of Lost Time. Proust, Marcel.

Clearly, a history heavy list. "Europe" is a little over 1,000 pages and will be my morning reading--the hour or so after my morning workout/shower and lunch. It will be my staple reading throughout the year.

The next six on the list are the Prentice Hall Music History series. All together probably 1,000 or so pages as well. I'm currently reading the first and I will go in order through the history of music. I would like to have the series done by my birthday at the end of May.

As an advocate of Twentieth Century music I think it's high time I read one of the major works of Twentieth Century literature. I could pick an easier read (as though there is one in Twentieth Century lit!), but I've had Proust sitting on my shelf for a couple of years and I've attempted to start reading it and find that my energy quickly fades.

Not this year.

Proust is 4,000 pages and will likely consume the remainder of the year...if I can stick to it this year.

Time for Boulez

2011-01-22T15:11:00.000-08:00

Last week was not very good for practice. For whatever reason I couldn't dig up much motivation--I'll blame it on the winter blues. I had, earlier in the week, worked on the first page (of four) of Berio's Rounds but I didn't follow-through with it. So, I spent the total of an hour on one page of music most of the week. Really, really NOT the kind of productivity I'm looking to have this year!

Then Friday rolled around and, for whatever reason, I sat down with Boulez's Premiere Sonata and powered through the first two pages. Unfortunately the first two pages might be the easiest pages of the 19 of the work. BUT, the important thing is that Friday's mini-triumph has me feeling encouraged to work harder in the coming week.

I've never played any Boulez--apart from reading through a few of his Douze Notations and banging my head against the wall trying to work through his Deuxieme Sonata. The Deuxieme Sonata (i.e. second sonata, for those that might not have a bit of French in their repertoire) is incredibly hard--among the hardest works in the post-1945 school of composition (up there with the Barraque Piano Sonata).

The second sonata is not on the list for this year--unless by some miracle I get through the rest of the repertoire list--but all of Boulez's other piano works are. More on those when I get to them.

For the time being, the final week of January will be spent with Boulez.

A Cage Dilemma

2011-01-21T04:20:00.000-08:00

Steffen Schleiermacher has recorded the complete piano music of John Cage and I recently received his recording of Music of Changes (discussed in the previous entry). In the liner notes to the recording the label outlines the scope of their recording project: They are presenting recordings of all of the works that are written specifically for the piano and excluding works that are open to multiple realizations.

One such set of works are Cage's Variations I-IV. These four variations are all graphic scores that involve transparency paper, some cutting and arranging and interpreting lines, dots and circles into sound events.

I had originally planned to study these four variations and come up with my own realizations of them, but now I'm possibly reconsidering studying them. Not because I'm unfamiliar with such projects--I've interpreted my share of graphic scores and there are several others still on the list.

Bussotti's Fogli d'Album and Novelletta (both works I've studied and recorded) are largely graphic. Earle Brown's Folio, Four Systems and 25 Pages for Piano are on the list, all of which have a variety of graphic techniques (see picture). Likewise, Morton Feldman's Intersection 2 and Intersection 3--some of the first graphic scores that are quite literally graphs--are also on the list.

Frankly, the Feldman seem to pose the largest technical problems...but more on that another time...

So, what do my readers think? Should I study Cage's Variations I-IV?

John Cage - Music of Changes

2011-01-14T08:23:00.000-08:00

This is the most difficult work that is on the list for this year. I had hopped to start it last week, I wasn't quite feeling up to the challenge. Today I am going to begin studying the score with determined intensity and I have three recordings to employ to that end.

Score study, for those who haven't had the pleasure, is a combination of listening and reading with heavy amounts of analysis. It's goal is to make one familiar with the complexities of the score itself (so that the act of interpreting the symbols is easier...one hopes) and the complexities as they are realized (to make the sounds that one will hear as one plays familiar).

So that's what I'm doing today.

This, I think, is particularly important with this work for a couple of reasons. First, I'm not studying the work with anyone, so the insights of artists from their recordings is invaluable. Second, in the preface to the work Cage states that the notation is irrational in places and as such the decision is left to the performer what they play and what they exclude.

I have been in touch with one of the performers whose recording I will be studying and she (Tania Chen) informed me that she made no cuts to the score. As for the other recordings, I am unaware of any cuts going into the score study...I guess if I'm sufficiently studying the score, I'll find out if there are any cuts!

Feldman - Four Illusion

2011-01-12T04:42:00.000-08:00

On Monday's I teach a few lessons at a private school nearby. I've recently added a new student whose lesson leaves me an hour break between her (my last student) and the student before her. This week I took Feldman's Palais di Mari and Four Illusions with me, however, upon sitting at the piano I discovered that the pedal was in ill repair. A good pedal is needed for Palais di Mari to "work," so rather than suffering through that work, I looked over the Four Illusions.

(Just a note: the piano available is, without a doubt, in such poor condition that really ANY music I would have studied would, by definition, be suffering--but that is another thing all together.)

Feldman's Four Illusions are his first published works (I emphasize published because there are a handful of earlier, and a couple works written after Four Illusions that exist in manuscript) when the composer was barely in his twenties. They are interesting little pieces and show a heavy influence of the Second Viennese School, particularly Anton Webern (especially in the last two).

They are twelve-tone compositions and are utterly uncharacteristic of Feldman's mature works. Feldman's working habits are a bit of a mystery, the works that we would recognize as Feldman are not twelve-tone compositions, so how he arrives at his pitch material is not entirely understood. In his later works we know that his approach to composing was highly improvisational and so there's a lot of tiny cells of pitches that are near constantly reiterated and permuted.

But these are clearly twelve-tone. They're quirky and fun.

What's additionally interesting is that the publication of these pieces I have is apparently from an old periodical called "New Music." It seems that this was some sort of limited-run music serial that made available new works by (then) contemporary composers in a variety of genre (chamber, orchestral, vocal, etc.).

This publication is old. The pages are browned in the charming, ubiquitous way that old newsprint gets in a few years. The pages are starting to become a bit brittle. Working on these is going to be enjoyable for reasons wholly secondary to the aesthetic pleasure of music--though I will be enjoying them for that reason, too.

Week One in Review

2011-01-08T06:01:00.000-08:00

Yesterday marks the end of the practice week, proper. Considering my schedule I didn't get to actually start practicing until Wednesday. There have been further changes to my schedule--basically, as it turns out, I'm a lot busier than I was giving my self credit for. I want to overcome that, though. I will be stepping up my drive to pull this off, in fact, I can already feel myself more determined to work hard at this. A good sign.

Despite the challenges posed by my schedule, I was able to reach most of my goals. I got through 10 of the 19 fragments of Stockhausen's Klavierstuck XI (to be clear, that just means I've had them under my fingers, not that I play them with any proficiency at this point), I was also able to get through all of John Cage's Season (a set of 9 pieces, more on that next week) and a handful of other smaller works by John Cage.

The one goal I had officially set that I did not meet was the first variations of Berio's 5 Variations.

So, the goals for next week are:

Continue practice of Cage's Seasons, Two Pieces (1946), A Room, In a Landscape, Dream and Waiting; begin work on Cage's Metamorphosis; continue chipping away at Stockhausen's Klavierstuck XI, hopefully get through one of the larger fragments; begin work on Feldman's Four Illusions (his first published work) and 6 Intermissions (which I've played before); begin work on Berio's 5 Variations.

If I keep going at the rate that I'm going, this should be a readily attainable goal for next week.

I want to do an entry of Cage's Season and Two Pieces (1946) because after playing through them that strike me as being very interesting works. So, look for that in the coming week too.

Stockhausen - Klavierstuck XI

2011-01-05T03:03:00.000-08:00

I had a goal yesterday: One of them was to learn 5 fragments from Stockhausen's Klavierstuck XI (a performance here). There are 19 fragments scattered across a single, large page. Without getting into too much discussion about the construction and concept behind this work, Klavierstuck XI is an exploration of indeterminacy in music. There are many different examples of indeterminacy within music, here Stockhausen is placing the form (i.e. structure) of the work in the hands of the performer. In short, the performer decides the order in which all of the fragments occur.

As you can see from the picture (or maybe it's not entirely clear), there are varying lengths of fragments, ranging from a few beats to (in the case of the longer fragment) two systems (i.e. lines). My goal yesterday was to get through 5 of the fragments. I made it through 6--though to be clear, they are only in a preliminary phase of learning. I had attempted to start a 7th however I quickly became aware of the complexity of this music.

The 6 fragments that I managed were on the shorter side. Today I would like to tackle one of the longer fragments...we'll see how it goes.

A bit on my approach:

The order of fragments is entirely at the discretion of the performer. At the end of each fragment are instructions: one regarding tempo (Stockhausen's instructs that the performer select 6 gradations of speed which are the indication as "T1, T2, T3" and so forth), one regarding dynamic (i.e. the volume) and one regarding the mode of attack (that one is a little more complicated to summarize).

So, it's not simply a matter of playing the fragments in the order you see fit--there are rules that apply to the way in which you play each of the fragments and these can certainly complicate the process.

To practice this work--after the initial process of just LEARNING it--my idea is to practice each fragment repetitively at each of the 6 tempi and employing each of the modes of attack (dynamics are a bit less complicated to employ at all). This way I will play all of the fragments at all speeds and with all modes of attack and ensure (I hope) that I can play all of the fragments in the way the composer intends.

Berio - Cinque Variazioni

2011-01-03T19:01:00.000-08:00

Berio is interesting. Just how interesting, I'm not entirely sure at this point. I've listened to his complete piano works (I received a recording for Christmas) and they are a unique sonic experience. One of the most interesting facets of his compositions for piano is his interest in resonance. Though, as say that, it occurs to me that I am possibly generalizing a bit too much.

His Sequenza IV and Piano Sonata (his two major works for the instrument) really exploit the piano's powers of resonant sonorities. There two works, though, are going to be later in the year's project. The works I will be concerning myself with first are his 6 Encores and 5 Variations.

The 6 Encores are a mixed bag of demands. By and large they are within technical grasp inside of a month--I'm not concerned with what it will take to over come the Encores. The Variations are another story. There are, obviously, five variations and there are obvious rhythmic complexities that will be a challenge to overcome. There are also "digital" demands.

The thing that will make it manageable is it division into 5 parts, with each of the variations being roughly 3 pages in length.

The one that I expect to present the most challenges is the 4th variation--it's very busy. I think that the other variations will be under my fingers within the month. I imagine this will take me the better part of two months. I'm going to try to average learning a variation per week and spend the time thereafter really getting it in my fingers.

Incidentally, today was one of my busy teaching days, so I didn't get any practice done, I did however spend time studying the scores, listening to recordings and keeping myself motivated.

Tomorrow the fingers get to the keys.

Music of Changes, The Undertaking

2011-01-02T13:47:00.000-08:00

So after a mild (very mild) sense of being overwhelmed with learning John Cage's Music of Changes (see recording of Book 1 here), I've sat down and broken it into smaller pieces. When I say "I've broken it down" I really mean I've gone through the score and identified structural demarcations that Cage he in the score.

Music of Changes is divided into four books. Book I is ~4:00 minutes; Book II is ~20:00 minutes; Book III is ~ 10:00 minutes: Book IV is ~10:00 minutes. The entire work is 83 pages in length and the entirety of the work is divided into structural segments. Each of these structural segments is about 3 pages in length.

The structural segments will give me plenty of short-terms goals to achieve. This was a concern as this particular work is the longest of the complicated works on the entire repertoire list (which is why I'm starting it early). I had been initially worried that even with the large divisions into four books that it would be hard going--so many pages and so many notes can make a pianist feel easily discouraged.

So, this is encouraging.

Given the divisions, if I can average 3 pages per week (perhaps more as some pages are far less dense than others) then I can learn the work in about half the year and have half the year to really get to know the work.

Interestingly, in the preface to the work Cage acknowledges that there are parts that are unplayable and that the perform may omit. According to a page I read about Steffen Schleiermacher's recording , he omits a bit more than the handful of other pianists who perform the work--his recording is also a bit longer than most.

So, this adds an interesting facet to studying the work.

Here's How This is Going to Go

2010-12-31T09:02:00.000-08:00

I've been going over the logistics of this massive 2011 undertaking--making lists, drawing diagrams and generally trying to wrap my brain around it. It's going to be huge and this is becoming more and more apparent. I've opted to remove Erik Satie from my efforts. If I sit down and read through a handful of Satie's works, I'll make note of them, but I want to focus on 6 composers:

John Cage

Morton Feldman

Earle Brown

Karlheinz Stockhausen

Pierre Boulez

Luciano Berio.

There are 76 works on the list (this includes this like all 6 of Feldman's Intermissions, instead of treating each intermission as a separate work): 34 by Cage, 20 by Feldman, 7 by Brown, 7 by Stockhausen, 5 by Berio and 4 by Boulez. Luckily, a large portion of the Cage and Feldman are easy and I can probably work through handfuls of their pieces in a few sittings.

My overall approach will be to do pairs of works by each composer, starting the most difficult works immediately with an easier work. As I complete each easier work I will rotate another easier work in. Obviously the more difficult works will require more study and practice.

So, for example, the most difficult work by John Cage on the list is his Music of Changes which I will start immediately and pair with The Seasons, when I finish The Seasons I will rotate in Metamorphosis and continue working on Music of Changes and so forth.

The pairs of works for the "first round" will be:

Cage:

Music of Changes

The Seasons

Feldman:

For Bunita Marcus

Palais di Mari

Brown:

25 Pages

Folio

Stockhausen:

Klavierstuck IX

Klavierstucke I-IV

Boulez:

1ere Sonate

12 Notations

Berio:

5 Variationi

Rounds

And the New Goals are...

2010-12-28T13:26:00.000-08:00

I've been compiling a list of repertoire to tackle in the coming year. I had come across the suggested repertoire list for pianists planning to attend the Summer Institute for Contemporary Performance Practice. I was initially going to stick, more or less, to the list--making only a few substitutions and cuts for things I wasn't terribly interested in playing and so forth. Then, I decided to make the project a little more ambitious and turn it into a long-term goal for the year (my musician friends can tell you, I'm nothing if not OVERLY ambitious when it comes to musical projects--and often...fail).

So, the plan is:

I WILL be doing the complete piano works of Feldman (those published, at least...I have been able to acquire the manuscripts for a few early works). This is actually something I was very close to accomplishing last year. I was unable to reach the 2010 goal, but I was within striking distance. In 2010 I had not intended to do the longer/late works (Piano, For Bunita Marcus, Triadic Memories and Palais de Mari), but in light of this new project I will be adding them to the list.

I also want to do MOST of John Cage's works for un-prepared piano (a prepared piano is one that has had objects inserted between the strings, it gives the instrument the sound of a pitched-percussion ensemble). The works that I plan to exclude of John Cage are the Etudes Australes, which are insanely difficult and constitute roughly 3 hours of music. Leaving these off the list will still occupy a LOT of time, but most of the works, like Feldman's, are not terribly technically demanding (with the exception of Music of Changes and the Etudes Borealas, both of which are on the list).

Since John Cage and Morton Feldman are both big names in the "New York School" of composition, I thought it might also be appropriate to study the complete piano works of Earle Brown. Luckily, Brown has a handful of piano works, most of which (possibly all...I'll explain in a moment) are graphic scores which leave much of the interpretation up to the performer. There are two of Brown's piano works that are published by Peters Edition but are "rental only." I've contacted Peters Edition to see what the fees involved in the rental are and--if they are reasonable--to acquire them.

This will leave only two sizable chunks of New York School repertoire: the prepared piano works of Cage and the piano works (both prepared and not) of Christian Wolff. I'm not terribly familiar with the piano works of Wolff, but what I've heard I've found interesting, so I might make him a 2012 project--as well as the Cage prepared piano works).

That's in for the large American repertoire on the list. There are a few works by earlier American composers that will appear singly throughout the year (Ives, Crawford, Ruggles), but these are minor spaces on the list (with the possible exception of Ives' "Concord" Sonata).

Then there are the European composers.

I want to get through the complete piano music of Erik Satie, none of this music is particularly difficult, there's just lots of it. With the exception of the kitschy 3 "Gymnpedie," everything I've herd by Satie I've found to be very interesting. So, he will be a less challenging, but sizable repertoire to assimilate.

I've played Stockhausen's Klavierstuck IX and I want to get through most of his other Klavierstucke--excluding VI and X which are knuckle-busters. Most of these are shorter works which will present technical challenges and will be time consuming to learn, but wouldn't be too hard to keep in my "active repertoire" once they're under my fingers. They are also some of the most unique keyboard works to come out of the Darmstadt school.

I've never played any works by Boulez (though I have frustrated myself with the first 4 pages of his Second Piano Sonata and read through a couple of his Douze Notations), so I want to remedy that in the most extreme way I know...by playing all but the Second Sonata. So, I will be playing his Douze Notations, First Piano Sonata, Incises (2001), and Third Piano Sonata. IF (and it is a BIG if) I can get through all of that I might start looking seriously at the Second Sonata...but not until I get through the rest of it.

Then there is Berio. The original list actually had most of his piano works on it--only his Piano Sonata was left out (and "Rounds" which is originally for harpsichord). The Piano Sonata, in my estimation, only has about 4 pages that will pose much of a challenge (don't get me wrong, the rest will be a challenge, but playable), so I will add that to the list. "Rounds" is a brief work and don't seem to be too technically challenging, so I'll have no issue adding it to the list as well.

And that will be it. If I can get through all of those, my repertoire will be huge. I doubt I'll get through it ALL...but it's nice to try.

I plan to blog about it, too...maybe even vlog--I'm not sure...

Nearing the End of 2010

2010-10-21T08:22:00.001-07:00

So, it occurs to me that I have not done a good job of keeping my 2010 goals. I have severe doubts that I can reach all of my goals for the year, however, I am determined to complete one of those goals.

I'm on vacation this weekend. When I return I will begin recording the complete shorter works for piano by Morton Feldman. It's not a huge undertaking and I think I can accomplish it before the close of the year.

I've already played and recorded all six Intermissions, Piano Piece 1952, Piano Piece 1964 and Extensions 3. I want to rerecord these nine pieces. The rerecording will take place in the first week of November. The second week of November I will record Three Pieces for Piano, Piano Piece 1955, Piano Piece 1956 A & B and Variations. Nature Pieces excluded, this will constitute all of the piano pieces which use standard notation.

The third week of November I will undertake the non-traditionally notated works. These include Last Pieces, Vertical Thoughts 4 and Piano Piece (to Philip Guston). There are two graphic scores, Intersection 2 & 3, which will either be week four of November or week one of December.

This will leave only Nature Pieces to record in December.

Busoni, Prophecy and Objectivity

2010-09-16T06:47:00.000-07:00

I finished reading Busoni's Sketch of a New Musical Aesthetic. It is, apparently, one of the important early 20th century aesthetic works. Busoni laments the state of music (lamenting not uncharacteristic for Busoni, whose most well-known works are Elegies) and has a few interesting contributions to musical thought. Perhaps I'm understating that a bit--so let me put that into context.

When Busoni was writing his "Sketch," Europe was still enraptured with the late Romantic works of Wagner, Liszt, et al. Tristan und Isolde was not quite half a century old and Richard Strauss' Elektra and Schoenberg's Gurrelieder had yet to reach the world. It was with these two works (particularly Elektra) that the Romantic era came to an end. So, when Busoni was putting to paper his aesthetic musings, composers had not yet come to face the hard problem of music in a post-Wagnerian age.

In this regard, Busoni's writings are ahead of there time.

It might not be coincidental that Schoenberg had started to eschew tonality a few short years after the publication of Busoni's book. Indeed, several passages in Sketch of a New Musical Aesthetic appear to be incredibly anticipatory of Schoenberg's own treatment of harmony.

Strange that one should feel major and minor as opposites. They both present the same face [...] and a mere touch of the brush suffices to turn the one into the other. The passage from either to the other is easy and imperceptible; when it occurs frequently and swiftly, the two being to shimmer and coalesce indistinguishably.--But when we recognize that major and minor form one Whole with a double meaning [...] we arrive unconstrainedly at the perception of the UNITY of our system of keys. The concept of "related" and "foreign keys vanish, and with them the entire intricate theory of degrees and relation. We possess one single key. [emphasis original]

This can only be considered prophetic.

Busoni is also of the Objectivist school of musical though:

[...] [R]epresentation and description are not the nature of music; herewith we declare the invalidity of program music[...].

In reality, program music is precisely as one-sided and limited as that which is called absolute. In place of architectonic and symmetric formulas, instead of the relation of Tonic and Dominant, it has bound itself in the stays of a connecting poetic--sometimes even philosophic--program.

True, there are unequivocal descriptive effects of tone-painting (from these the entire principle took its rise+, but these means of expression are few and trivial, covering but a very small section of musical art. Begin with the most self-evident of all, the debasement of Tone to Noise in imitating the sounds of Nature--the rolling of thunder, the roar of forests, the cries of animals; then those somewhat less evident, symbolic--imitations of visual impressions, like the lightning-flash, springing movement, the flight of birds [...] These are auxiliaries, of which good use can be made upon a broad canvas, but which, taken by themselves, are no more to be called music than wax figures may pass for monuments. [emphasis added]

Busoni goes on to echo man of Hanslick's indictments of music as a means of expressing human emotions--that music cannot represent as object things which are essentially concepts.

This is somewhat puzzling to me as it seems outrightly contradictory to Busoni's thoughts in the very first chapter of his sketch:

Art-forms are the lasting, the more closely they adhere to the nature of their individual species of art, the purer they keep their essential ends.
Sculpture relinquishes the expression of the human pupil, and effects of color; painting degenerates, when it forsakes the flat surfaces in depiction and takes on complexity in theatrical decoration or panoramic portrayal.
Architecture has its fundamental form, growth from below upward, prescribed by static necessity; window and room necessarily provide the immediate and finishing configuration; these are eternal and inviolable requirements of the art.
Poetry commands the abstract thought, which it clothes in words. More independant than the others, it reaches the furthest bounds.
But all arts, resources and forms ever aim at one end, namely, the imitation of nature and the interpretation of human feelings. [emphasis original]

Strange. Not only is this contradictory, but Busoni never resolves this. If the goal of all art is to imitate and interpret human feelings, but music is impotent to do so, how precisely do we arrive at accomplishing this through music?

For this reason, it seems to me that Busoni has some interesting approaches to some of the problems of the aesthetics music--and has some very compelling and admirable prophesies!--but has little to offer the field as a whole. His music is great though!

On Hanslick's "On the Musically Beautiful"

2010-08-27T08:37:00.000-07:00

I finished reading Eduard Hanslick's "On the Musically Beautiful" last week. In many ways it is very clearly a product of its time and in one very surprising way it is ahead of its time (this will be addressed later).

Hanslick's critique of musical meaning is elegantly stated (if, at times, belabored and redundant). By contrast his attempt at a scientific analysis of what constitutes "beauty" in music is less than cogent.

He attempts to argue that "imagination" is that which endows a musical work with "beauty." His approach to this is based on a sort-of "it couldn't be this, so it must be this" mode of reasoning. In addition to being a shaky (nay, invalid) approach to philosophical (let along "scientific") argument, it seems to me that it does not necessarily follow, particularly in light of (and possibly in conflict with) his argument regarding "meaning" in music.

In short Hanslick argues (with absolutely success, in my opinion) that music is impotent to

convey emotions. This is a limitation, in some way, of all the arts: a painting cannot convey anything, it can only depict a set of circumstances--the meaning, he maintains, is extra-depictorial. For example, a painting of Prometheus Bound does not itself convey to us anything about the tragedy--it is only a depiction of a man chained to a rock being attacked by an eagle.

So it is with music, in fact music is far more limited in its power to depict. Painting can depict objects through literal representation (albeit, in two dimensions), it can depict actions (albeit as still-life). Music can only depict action as music exists only in time and not as object (although, this is itself a complicated aesthetic question!). So, music can convey events to the listener by imitating them (this is how we know music is depicting a storm, or the wind, or the ocean)--music conveys actions through abstraction. Music cannot convey abstractions, i.e. emotions.

So, this raises the question, what is imagination? How is it that the creative act (composing) endows a musical artifact with beauty? It seems to me that the notion of "imagination" is every bit as abstract as love or longing. If music cannot convey love or longing, how can music convey imagination? If love and longing are extra-musical interpretations, how is imagination any less extra-musical? So, in short, positing that imagination is the substance of beauty seems to me to be classic question-begging.

To be sure, I think there is an answer to this question--but Hanslick fails at answering it.

I will say, one of the things that frustrates me about a large portion of aesthetic writings I've encountered so far is their penchant for prescription. Many philosophers make descriptive statements about music and proceed to make prescriptive statements (Aristotle, for example) that do not follow from the description--you can't say what should be the case from what is the case. It's a fallacy that many otherwise good philosophers fall victim to when dealing in aesthetics and as such, I appreciate Hanslick's assiduous avoidance of the problem (this problem is known as Hume's Guillotine).

What's incredibly forward-thinking about Hanslick's book is his speculation regarding neurology (this struck me as being very similar to Darwin's speculations regarding DNA). At the time biology understood the physiology of the ear and they knew about neurons and the interaction of the body with the brain through the nervous system. What wasn't understood was exactly how the nervous system interacted with the brain--how were the stimulations sent through the tiny fibers transfered into the grey-matter and turned into sensations? Hanslick, in 1854, was already speculating that many of the answers to questions regarding musical perception and sensation are to be found in the study of the brain and the physiological interactions between the ear and the brain.

That, in my opinion, is stunningly brilliant thinking in the neurological dark-ages!

There have been several books published on this topic (books by Patel, Levitin and Huron to name only a few). The technology is still new and the extent of the research is still comparatively tiny--however, this has been one of the most fascinating and insightful areas of research into music to date (obviously, I suppose). There will no doubt be many more insights to be gained from neurology and this will certainly be an important facet to our understanding of aesthetics in the future.

We should, as Hanslick, assiduously avoid prescription, even in light of anything neurology might tell us.

Brief Update

2010-08-11T10:49:00.000-07:00

So, I dare say I've successfully been neglecting my blog. I wish I could say I've been as productive as I'd hoped to be--but I haven't quite lived up to my own expectations. (To my credit, where I haven't been productive in my intellectual/musical pursuits, I have been productive in increasing my exercise, so that's something.)

I've been reading "On the Musically Beautiful" by Eduard Hanslick. So far I'm just over two chapters in (it's my bed-time book) and have highlighted large swaths of text. Hanslick is from the school of absolutist thinkers. Absolutism, as far as aesthetics of music is concerned, holds the position that music cannot be about anything--whatever the listener thinks the music is "about" is only an interpretive product that exists only in the listeners mind. Hanslick maintains that tones (musical notes and the combinations thereof) may evoke certain emotions, but are not about those emotions. He likens music to flowers; flowers may be aromatic and colorful, but are not themselves about aroma and color.

This is, by far, the most philosophically rigorous book on aesthetics of music I've come across. It may very well serve as a solid foundation upon which to add further inquiry into modern musical aesthetics and the Avant Guard.

Next on the stack is a book published by Dover which is a collection of three aesthetic essays by Debussy, Busoni and Ives. I had previously begun reading the essay by Busoni (he was, apparently, the first composer to postulate the notion of electronic music--I hadn't yet found that particular contribution within the essay) but had never dedicated the effort to reading the book as a whole. I have read Ives' "Essays before a Sonata" back when I had sat down to attempt the Concord Sonata (in between my BA and MA, I made it a good 4 pages in--and then it became overwhelming!). I'm not sure to what extent the Ives will be applicable to my area of interest--but it will be an interesting read no less, I'm sure.

That's the extent of any significant contributions to my eventual goals--perhaps this entry will help jump start my productivity.

*fingers crossed*

2010 Goals

2009-12-10T11:04:00.001-08:00

As the new year approaches, and as I reflect on the productivity I had in 2009 (i.e. writing my thesis, giving my thesis recital, finishing graduate school, relocating and establishing my piano studio, recording two major works by Sylvano Bussotti, the recording of various 20th century works), I am turning my attention to things I wish to accomplish in the coming year.

Here are a few:

My interest in Morton Feldman is still strong and vibrant. I would like to re-record the works I did in 2009 as well as record the remainder of his piano works. This will include all of his piano works except for Plais de mari, Triadic Memories, For Bunita Marcus and Piano; likewise, it will exclude his early/unpublished works. I'm reasonable sure that I can accomplish this by years end as I have recorded about half of it to this point.

Thanks to some of the people I have met through youtube, thanks in large part to my recording of the Bussotti works, I have been introduced to Cornelius Cardew--or, I guess I should day, I've been introduced to his music (he died in 1981). Cardew is an interest person and I will be writing a post about him soon. For now; Cardew's work is easily divided into three periods: his early period wherein he followed the example of Schoenberg and wrote in the 12-tone technique; a middle period in which he embraced the avant guard and produced two of his most important aleatoric works and employed graphic notation; and his final period wherein he rejected all of his earlier work as elitist and turned to a more "comprehensible," neo-romantic style.

Of Cardew's works there are a handful that are of particular interest to me. First are three piano sonatas from his early, 12-tone period. None of these sonatas has been published (they exist in manuscript copies only), and only one of them has been recorded (the 3rd sonata). I have already begun, and intend to finish, editing these three manuscripts and recording them. Along with his three piano sonatas, I want to record two of his graphic works; Octet 61 (for solo piano and/or any other instrument(s)), and Volo Solo (for any instrument). The last work I am interested in recording is another middle period work February Pieces which uses mobile form.

The final musical project I plan to undertake is recording/performing the complete piano works of Ustvolskaya. I'm hoping to be able to perform these at my alma mater in a forthcoming Festival of Women Composers, an event held bi-annually at IUP. It's a week of lectures, workshops and concerts of female composers throughout history. Additionally it is an international festival, so there is a bit of repute that would accompany a performance at the festival. Ustvolskaya's complete piano works are comprised of six piano sonatas and a set of twelve preludes. I will, of course, be writing a post about her in the near future as well.

The piano sonatas can be heard here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2qIGDNQG30c

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-eqU62Uhxk

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UZHca-9U6mo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dI1XaKV3O8o

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TvELcETEtQg

Sonatas 5 and 6 are particularly interesting in their vast use of tone clusters. Have a listen, you'll enjoy them.

Boulez 2nd Sonata

2009-10-26T17:55:00.000-07:00

This will be an informal post...

I've been lazy about keeping up with my blog. My studio has been growing (a good thing!!) and I have several hours of lessons to teach each week. My recording for my youtube channel has also fallen behind (I will record the Bussotti soon, I promise!). Last, but not least, I've been somewhat negligent of my practicing lately, too. (Lest any of you think I've been completely unproductive--I have been reading and exercising a lot.)

So, this week I've been getting back into practicing. Honestly, my practicing hasn't been as frequent as it should be. Granted, I have learned and recorded about an hours worth of music since the summer, and I have been reading through a bit of music--but I haven't been really pushing myself to really learn any substantial repertoire (the Bussotti is substantial, for the record...when I get around to it...).

I've started to change that this week.

When I was in grad school I performed one of Karlheinz Stockhausen's "easier" piano pieces, Klavierstuck IX. (incidentally, the piece was the subject of my masters thesis). The Stockhausen Klavierstucke are some of the most important piano works of the 20th century and it was a big personal achievement to play one of them. Since Then, however, I haven't tackled any of the other substantial/important piano works of the 20th century.

In the middle of summer, once I moved to the new apartment and had settled in, I started speculating about what I might start working on...but I hadn't followed through, except to play bits of this or that. You don't learn 20th century piano music that way--they require a great deal of study, SLOW practice and constant attention to detail--it's not the kind of music you sit down and sight-read through.

I had settled on one of two works: either the Piano Sonata of Jean Barraque (pronounced Bar-uh-kay) or the Second Piano Sonata of Pierre Boulez. Both works are enormous, both in scale and technical demands. They are also both excellent examples of the height of serial composition. I had finally settled on the Boulez, but had really only learned the first page.

Yesterday I received an email from a friend of mine, Paavali Jumppanen. Paavali is a brilliant pianist. He tours the world playing solo recitals, chamber music and playing with orchestras--you know, lives the dream. So, I received an email from him, checking in, getting updates, the usual, and he asks me what music I'm working on...*gulp*

I had decided the day before the email that I was going to start getting serious about learning the Boulez, so I had put some time in and was a page and a half into learning it when I got the email...so at least I had an answer to give.

It's worth noting that Paavali had been the one to suggest that I learn the Boulez 2nd Sonata a couple of years ago. Why did he suggest it? Because he has played, performed and recorded all three of Boulez's piano sonatas--at the request of Boulez himself!

He suggested I learn the 2nd sonata a couple of years ago when I mentioned that I thought I might like to learn one of Boulez's sonatas. At the time I was leaning towards the 1st sonata--it's about 1/3 the length of the 2nd and not nearly as demanding--or so I thought. Paavali said that if I was going to put in the time, I should go ahead with the 2nd. In his words, the 2nd is no harder than the first, it's just longer. So, when I was weighing the options of Boules or Barraque, I told him about it...the conversation went something like this:

Me: I'm thinking of learning the Boulez 2nd Sonata.

Him: Are you sure? It's pretty hard.

Me: Yeah, but you said it wasn't any harder than the 1st sonata--just longer.

Him: Well, yeah....but it's a lot longer!

So, after I had made my choice he suggested that I learn it all in a short span of time and with a great deal of determination--sort of a dive-in-head-first-and-don't-come-up-for-air-until-you've-got-it approach.

And that's what I've decided to start this week.

The benefit of being friends with someone who knows this work well is that I have a resource for when I have questions about certain things and I've got someone to keep me on top of it.

It should be an exhausting journey but WELL worth it. I'll keep you all posted.

Sylvano Bussotti and Aleatory

2009-08-27T08:15:00.000-07:00

One of, by far, the most interesting artistic developments in the post World War II generation was that of aleatoric music. This procedure of composition crossed the Atlantic with the likes of John Cage, Morton Feldman and Earl Brown, who--like so many composers of the time--were drawn to the Darmstadt Summer Music Courses. Each of these composers contributed something new to the mix.

John Cage had started the idea and had explored many different ways of taking elements of musical composition out of the hands of the composer and putting them into the hands of the performer(s). His approach typically involved employing the I-Ching as a compositional "magic 8-ball." His most expansive use of this approach was in his "Music of Changes" (which is a direct reference to the I-Ching, which is called "the book of changes"). When Cage had first developed this method of composition he had called it "chance procedure." The process was later taken and adapted by Pierre Boulez and called "aleatoric."

Morton Feldman contributed "graphic notation," a system so called because Feldman's initial compositions in this style we're made on graph paper. Feldman's most expansive use of graphic notation is in his collection of pieces called "Intersection." There are a series of works, each for different instruments (two of which are for piano). In these pieces Feldman write numbers in any of a set of three rows of boxes; the upper most row indicates the high resister, the middle row indicates the middle register and the low, of course, the low register. The numbers in the boxed indicates the number of notes to be played in the indicated register.

Earl Brown, possibly the most important for this discussion, contributed the elimination of anything resembling usual notation. His first work in an aleatoric style is "Folio and Four Systems" and uses a completely different approach to notation. It's hard to say what it is exactly, but somehow the markings on the pages of this score are the vehicle for some sort of musical event. Brown has various compositions which combine somewhat "normal" notation with a wide variety of graphic notation (sometimes scribbles, some times shapes, so on). In many of Brown's works, the intent is that the shape or gesture of the notation prompt the performer(s) to mimic the shape or gesture.

In Europe, the notion of "chance music" was at the complete opposite end of the creative spectrum. Europe, and particularly the composers of the Darmstadt School, had become obsessed with absolute control over the musical substance. This search for control was a logical out-growth of Schoenberg's 12-tone method. The control exerted over the musical tones of a composition was soon expanded to the rhythm, durations, timbres, registers and dynamics of the musical fabric. This was "total serialism," or, as it is sometimes called, "multi-serialism." Total serialism inevitably led to the development of electronic music--but we will discuss that in another post.

Composers who were seeking something new, something other than total serialism, were drawn to John Cage's chance procedures. Sylvano Bussotti was one such composer (though it should be noted that chance procedures were used by total serialists, Boulez and Stockhausen among them).

Bussotti is a veritable Renaissance man. He is talented as a painter, poet, novelist, photographer, director and composer. Many of his works are as visual (both in a theatrical approach to performance and the appearance of the written page) as they are sonic [see the picture above].

The picture you see is the first piece in a work by Bussotti, "Fogli d'Album (1984)." It is a work for solo piano. It is a set of 13 pieces, each piece is one page and has musical notation in various places of photographs. Some of the notation is fairly traditional (as in the photo above) and some if graphic. The composers own performance of this work lasts just over 50 mins. The picture above is extracted from another work by Bussotti, his "RARA Requiem." Extracting parts of a larger work for presentation as a solo work is quite common for Bussotti, and not too uncommon for other composers of the time.

Of this work (i.e. Fogli d'Album), the composer has said: "The ideal performance[. . .] would be where sound managed to incorporate the actual taking of and impression left by the photograph. This would be rewarding for those who simply wish to look at these works and those who wonder what they actually sound like."

I had listened to the recording of this work before I received the score for it (the score is actually not published for sale--that's an interesting story in itself) and when I had sat down with the score and the recording I was puzzled. (I was astounded by the score when I first opened it--I had never seen music like this before!)

What was puzzling to me was how much the composer departed from what was written on the page. Now it seems that I should have expected as much! I emailed the composer about this work and about his performance of the work and asked him to clarify some things for me. Bussotti, however, does not speak a word of English. He forwarded my email to a friend of his in California, Luciano, and we discussed the work.

Bussotti, I was told, is not concerned with whether or not the perform plays the musical notation. His interest, instead, is on the performer spontaneously composing his impression of the page--the photo, the music, the interaction of the two.

What this work represents is a reversal of the usual imagination/musical conception. In other words: We are used to the notion of hearing a piece of music and, in our minds, creating an imagine, a scene, a story. This is almost second nature when hearing a piece of music--we almost can hear music WITHOUT seeing a picture. How odd is it then to be given the picture and also the music which accompanies it!

It is this factor, the picture preceding the music, which makes this set of pieces intimate as a piece of art. Bussotti put it nicely: "[T]he way the score is written out is a direct expression of the way the composer thinks."

I would add, that given the nature of the role of the performer--that of spontaneous improvisateur--the way these pictures are rendered is a direct expression of the thoughts of him as well.

Bussotti suggests that a performance of "Fogli d'Album" be an audio/visual performance, with the score projected on screen for the audience to see. As I record and upload these pieces to my youtube channel, each recording will be accompanied with the picture of the score and (where available) the original photograph.

Here are some of the more interesting works by Bussotti available for viewing on youtube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qy-QiMOZTG8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I6puKUBtse8

The Feldman In My Life*

2009-08-09T17:16:00.000-07:00

In an effort to keep my youtube channel regularly updated, I've decided to start a project I've been planning for some time. When I bought my laptop, I also bought recording equipment for it. When I finally bought my piano, I began making plans to produce my own recordings.

Recording the piano works of Morton Feldman has long been a part of my plans.

Feldman's compositional output for the piano falls into two basic groups; ubiquitously, the early works and the late works. The early works (those published, at least) span the decades from 1950 to 1964. The works, while not serial, owe much to Feldman's style; soft, short, terse. They range in length from a few lines to several pages and the temporal lengths are highly variable (Feldman provided metronome markings as ranges rather than explicit BPM's). The late works begin in the late 70s, with the publication of "Piano." This work begins to move towards many of things found in Feldman's late style; repetition and length. "Piano" does not exhibit the obsessive repetitions to be found in "Triadic Memories," published four years later.

"Piano" very clearly bridges the gap. Some of the early works begin to look forward to Feldman's obsession with repetition (the end of "Intermission 5" is a good example). "Piano" builds on this and adds modestly to the duration (by comparison, "Intermission 5" is roughly 5-6 minuets and "Piano" is roughly 20-30, depending on the tempo).

Length was increased exponentially in Feldman's next two works for the piano. "Triadic Memories" is a 90 minuet epic and "For Bunita Marcus" follows closely behind at 80 minuets (again, depending on tempo). These two works are highly repetitive, often with subtle permutations of rhythm to ensure that the listener have something to listen to. The length of these two works, and their repetitive nature, might seem off-putting to most listeners. Once the listener settles into the aesthetic Feldman is employing, the works become rich and dramatic in their own way.

A handy literary comparison would be that of "On Love and Barley" by Basho. While the Haiku's are not repetitive and the length of the individual poems might not be comparable, if one reads the entire collection of poems, the rhythmic composition of the Haiku becomes entrancing.

"Palais de Mari" closes the late works with palindromic satisfaction. "Palais de Mari" is a return to the sensibilities of "Piano" both in length and the use of repetition.

I will begin my project with the early works, though not in chronological order. There are also a handful of pieces for piano that are earlier than the published works or which have not be published. I've contacted the Paul Sacher Foundation in Basil. They are the owners of the manuscripts of these works. I hope to be able to obtain copies and also record them.

The project will be two-sided. I will record video performances which will be posted on my youtube channel. I will also record audio performances which I will produced and edited. The audio recordings will eventually be put on CD and made commercially available. I also hope to record the late works--eventually. I want to set my goals where I know I can reach them for the time being!

This will all begin as soon as I have my piano tuned!

*This is a reference to the title of one of Feldman's ensemble works.

4'33": A Closer Listen

2009-07-14T17:08:00.000-07:00

Those who don’t know exactly who John Milton Cage, Jr. is, usually know about a piece of music that is 4 minutes and 33 seconds of “silence.” I say “silence” because John Cage did not believe that silence exists, as such, and as the readers of my previous post will know, pointed to the lack of silence even when one is placed in an anechoic chamber. In any case, 4’33” is an almost ubiquitous piece of music, and can be found in all manner of “arrangements” for various instrument groups (it should be noted, though, that John Cage had himself composed “sequels” to the work involving different durations of time and different ensembles, though, clearly, none as successful—or perhaps, groundbreaking is the word).

When I was an undergraduate the work was a lark and students often joked about using it to fill recital time requirements, or performing it as an encore, or composing a theme and variations on it, or some other absurd pastiche. . .

The work, I admit, was absurd to me at the time and I took part in the caricatures of its substance.

It was absurd until I read the lectures and essays of John Cage; henceforth, the work has borne a peculiar sapience.

The most common interpretation of 4’33” (and that which implied in the clip above) is that what constitutes the piece is the ambient noise of the hall; the coughs in the audience, the hum of the ventilation system, passing traffic, so forth. This is true, but only in the most shoal consideration. This is, and is the only candidate, for the substance of the piece—non-musical noises. Considered in this light the piece can be little more than quaint. Separate from its philosophical genesis, it is not profound in the least—which is precisely while the piece is so ripe for satire.

Cage was taking the next step in a journey which had been initiated by Arnold Schoenberg. In his book “Silence,” Cage says that Schoenberg had sought to make available all vertical combinations of notes (where previously, rules of tonal harmony reigned) and that he (Cage) believed that in the future composers would have at their disposal all musical tones and all “noises.”

(As a side note, I think that the gradual expansion of “battery” percussion through the 19th century helped prepare the way for Cage’s hope.)

When Cage really wanted to compose using “noise” he was very specific in going about it. As was seen in the clip in the previous post, Cage meticulously wrote out the instructions for reproducing his event pieces. So, why is 4’33” different?

In his film “The Alchemist,” Bruno Monsaingeon has a conversation with Glenn Gould about the reception of 20th century music in modern audiences (in the 1970s) and Gould makes an interesting point about Cage’s music:

“I think what John Cage would want us to know is not his music, it is his belief; that there is one perceiver which also has a reflexive angle and that is the doer as well, and the listener and the maker are intermingled.”

So what does that mean?

There is an almost religious hierarchy in classical music. There is the composer that is analogous to god, a performer that is analogous to a high priest, and an audience (that needs to analogy). This dynamic can be pernicious—it removes the composer from the audience and their only interaction is through the medium (almost in both senses of the word) of the performer.

Music only exists as an action, not as an object, and so its essence is dependent upon its reception—if a tree falls and no one is around to hear, does it make a sound? So what Cage accomplishes in 4’33” is the unification of both sides of the musical experience—that of composer and audience—and brings them together, eliminating the need of a performer.

But he does more than this.

The content of the piece of music is entirely wrapped up in the perception of it—not only does the work not exist as an object, but the audience is composing the work as they perceive it! Thus, as Glenn Gould noted: listener and maker and intermingled (and quite nearly unified).

Cage, then, is making two statements. One artistic and one philosophical.

Discussing the Definitions of Music

2009-07-13T18:14:00.000-07:00

If this is to be a blog about the various aspects of music, it might be beneficial to discuss just what music is. Defining music, it should be understood (and perhaps, even, go without saying), is wrought with not only philosophical difficulties (those of defining its aesthetics and hermeneutics) but also practical problems (those of actual practices)—this is, of course, bypassing the question of taste (or, opinion) entirely. Thus, be forewarned, what ensues can only be considered intellectual meanderings on a few of the more interesting definitions of music.

There are three definitions of music which will be considered. The first is the work of my musicology professor, the late Irving Godt; the second a general definition of whose attribution I am unaware; the last is a definition by Carl Rakhonen, an ethnomusicologist.

When I was an undergraduate music history major, all of the students of Music History I were required to know this definition. Irving Godt, it might be worth noting, was part of the “old school” of musicologists, who—while not confined to “traditional music” entirely—tend to be conservative in their estimation of contemporary art. His definition and discussion can be found here.

The second: Music is the organization of sound and silence.

Carl Rakhonen is the Music Librarian at Indiana University of Pennsylvania. He is one of the most interesting ethnomusicologists and music librarians I have had the pleasure to meet; though, granted he is the only one I have met—I imagine that his personality traits are prerequisites to his job description. His definition of music is simple and to the point:

Music is an accoustical phenomenon that is whatever a particular people say that it is.

To discuss:

Both the second and third fit readily into contemporary thought, while the first can seem highly exclusive. While the second and third best reflect contemporary thought, it is the first that is most readily accepted by the majority of both learned musicians and the lay public. That this first, seemingly exclusive, definition of music is the most widely accepted can be seen in the resistance of the majority of audience members to musical aesthetics which lie outside of the first definition.

How many times have you been to a concert and heard something like this?

The first definition is problematic due to the amount of grey area created by an evolving aesthetic—it excludes to a degree not clearly defined; thus, since we cannot define, in an objective way, the parameters set out by this definition, we cannot successfully decide that which is and that which is not "music" (at least not in any universally agreeable way). Discussion of music in the terms laid out by this definition would be preoccupied with the degree to which a particular piece of music adheres to the aesthetic principles therein. In short, it would lead to “hair splitting” and would offer little objectivity, though it appears at first glance to be highly elucidated.

The second definition is less problematic except, perhaps, on a purely philosophical level. To explain: If sound is the opposite of silence and it can be demonstrated that the opposite of sound (i.e. silence) does not exist, what is there to differentiate between music and any other noise?

Followed to its logical conclusion, this approach to musical thought resulted in Cage's "event" pieces (the execution of instructs to produce noise in a controlled way, as in the clip above) and his application of chance procedure, wherein he applied parameters to systematically remove the composer from the equation of musical creation (as counter intuitive as that might sound; chance procedure will have to be discussed in another post).

Cage gives example that even in an anechoic chamber, where no artificial sound is produced, the subject within those conditions would still hear (1) the sound of their own nervous system functioning and (2) the sound of their own circulatory system. Thus the question is raised, if sound is always a part of existence can it then be regarded as an artistic medium or simply as a condition of life?

The composer is simply superimposing sounds which are selected and executed in duration, timbre and morphology against sounds of similar characteristics which are not selected. Where, then, does the actual music lie? Since sound always fills a controlled musical objective (i.e. a piece of music), does that which is not controlled bear any less "musical" ends?

So, is it music? This question need not be asked on the grounds of personal hermeneutics. In this context, though, it becomes a potentially devastating question. If this question is asked of music of the 20th and 21st century, then it can equally be asked of the music of the 18th and 19th century. The only differences that might be notable are the intent of the composers and the process of selecting sounds. But this, too, becomes subjective and illusive. As the only differences between composers of the past and composers of the 20th and 21st centuries are the precess and the materials (this, too, will be saved for a later discussion).

Perhaps the only definition that is not philosophically dangerous and allows for all of the grey areas of an evolving aesthetic is that of Carl Rakhonen. John cage would have agreed with Carl Rakhonen, Irving Godt did not (they often debated their definitions of music). The trick is getting more people to understand music in terms of the Rakhonen definition.

The New Blog

2009-07-08T09:34:00.000-07:00

Since I've finished my master's degree, relocated to a new city and am planning to record and publish I thought I would start a blog to keep people up to date--if, of course, people are interested in being kept up to date!

I'll also write entries geared towards the nuts and bolts of piano, music, practicing and so forth. Essentially an informal forum to publish articles on the various aspects of music that interest me at a given time--as the muse moves me, if you will.

So, this blog will be maintained in conjunction with my website (www.jameswiman.com) and my twitter account (www.twitter.com/jamesWiman).

Hope you all enjoy! Feedback, comments and questions are always welcomed.

J.