There are now two Gabriella Montero podcasts available; you can also subscribe to them through Itunes (where I found them).
She says in the first that no one before her had ever made a totally improvised piano recording. Keith Jarrett might take exception to that. Perhaps she meant no classical pianist ever did this before.
Her improvisations are more crossover than classical though. Her improvised music is what I call "polyidiomatic," in that she draws on an eclectic assortment of styles. She's not an idiomatic improviser, such as Robert Levin, who can keep to a composer-specific language. Levin, though, improvises embellishments and cadenzas, not (at least in his recordings) entire pieces. This is not a criticism, just an observation. I think polyidiomatic improvisation is the way of the future, although historically "correct" improvisation has its role as well.
In her first podcast, she talks about making her Bach and Beyond album, in which the producer supplied "easy versions" of famous Bach themes on which she then improvised, and the general practice of basing an improvisation on a composed piece (or tune)--something she does in her concerts.
She speaks about feeling an emotion she's "given to portray . . . my mind works in a way that nothing happens in my mind when I improvise. It doesn't go through my head, it goes through a different place." That is a great description of what many improvisers experience.
Anyway, the podcasts are well worth a listen.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
With kids like this, there's some sort of future for classical music
The eminent pianist, scholar, and author Charles Rosen was on the DePauw campus this past weekend to give a lecture and recital. Nearly 80, he plays beautifully and more important interestingly, and once warmed up continues to have amazing technical facility.
The lecture was, to me, fascinating, and to some others difficult to follow, if nevertheless impressive. Rosen speaks without notes, and goes off on plenty of tangents. He often sat down at the piano and illustrated passages from the keyboard literature, symphonies, and operas. I wasn't sure how many of the students, including a few local high-school students and some visiting campus for our annual piano competition for high-school students would sustain interest during the more esoteric portions of the lecture.
At the following evening's recital, a young friend (16 0r 17) came up to me before the recital and told me how exciting and inspiring the talk was. And he doesn't play piano (much, anyway), he sings. "Ah," I warned him, "you are talking like a music major."
I've seen this guy grow up. Seeing him become enthralled with classical music over the last year or so has been a joy. When it grabs you, it grabs you.
The lecture was, to me, fascinating, and to some others difficult to follow, if nevertheless impressive. Rosen speaks without notes, and goes off on plenty of tangents. He often sat down at the piano and illustrated passages from the keyboard literature, symphonies, and operas. I wasn't sure how many of the students, including a few local high-school students and some visiting campus for our annual piano competition for high-school students would sustain interest during the more esoteric portions of the lecture.
At the following evening's recital, a young friend (16 0r 17) came up to me before the recital and told me how exciting and inspiring the talk was. And he doesn't play piano (much, anyway), he sings. "Ah," I warned him, "you are talking like a music major."
I've seen this guy grow up. Seeing him become enthralled with classical music over the last year or so has been a joy. When it grabs you, it grabs you.
Eric Barnhill improvises on Chopin and Mozart
Eric Barnhill has recently posted two interesting sets on his "Daily Improvisation" piano blog. Chopin, with improvised interludes, and also Mozart's extremely simple published cadenza for Piano Concerto No. 23, K 488, and two of his own.
As Eric explains quite well, it is very unlikely that Mozart himself would have performed something as elementary as the published cadenza. It was probably meant as something for amateurs of little skills to play. It's a great example of the fact that many early published cadenzas were meant to supply amatuer muscians with something to play, not to limit what an accomplished artist might do.
As Eric explains quite well, it is very unlikely that Mozart himself would have performed something as elementary as the published cadenza. It was probably meant as something for amateurs of little skills to play. It's a great example of the fact that many early published cadenzas were meant to supply amatuer muscians with something to play, not to limit what an accomplished artist might do.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
There are sound clips
Gottagopractice commented on the previous post that she'd like to actually hear something. Well, the whole "Just Musicking" concert was recorded. As soon as I get permission from the students, I'll post links to the MP3 files. Meanwhile, I'm trying to demonstrate respect for intellectual property rights for the students.
And this reminds me that after my website meltdown of some time ago, I never got the recordings of my own improvisations reposted. Oops. I gave myself my own permission some time ago!
And this reminds me that after my website meltdown of some time ago, I never got the recordings of my own improvisations reposted. Oops. I gave myself my own permission some time ago!
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Just Musicking, No Score
Ah, spring break. After eight weeks of classes in this spring semester, my DePauw students--and I--are exhausted.
In the midst of exhausting outselves, though, we've done some interesting things. The members of my "Improvised Chamber Music" class put on a performance Tuesday evening. They chose 9:30 PM as a starting time, as a way to attract more students. 7:30 PM is the standard School of Music evening concert time. Great for adults, but, as my students explained, a bit before younger people start waking up and hitting their evening energy. (This helps explain why students the students in my 9:00 AM class often look as if their brains are still in bed.)
We called the concert "Just Musicking, No Score." It was all free improvisation. The 10 students determined in advance which subgroups would be playing, and in what order. They had decided that two of the pieces would be done to poems; that two would be based on prompts from the audience; and that the opening piece would start with one person on the stage, who would be joined be the others, one-by-one, who would then exit one-by-one; and that the final piece would be an open jam.
Why "Just Musicking"? The word musicking was coined by Christoper Small, and the concept is the focus of his book of the same name. Small emphasizes the act of making and responding to music. Like Richard Tarusikin (Text and Act), and Lydia Goehr (The Imaginary Museum of Musical Works), Small helps us understand that many classical musicians have become obsessed with the text (score) of "works," to the point that we forget that it is the human music making, the interraction between musicians, and between musicians and audience. Small proposes making "music" into a verb. "To music is to take part, in any capacity, in a musical performance, whether by performing, by listening, by rehearsing or practicing, by providing material for performance (what is called composition), or by dancing."
The idea of musical "works," totally composed, finalized, fixed-for-all-time, and unchanging, is, Goehr explains, not only unique to Western art music but also a fairly recent development, having come into full force only in the nineteenth century.
In my Improvised Chamber Music class, I coach the students in making music with each other. With just an hour a week together (plus time they spend on their own outside of class), we don't focus on improvisation based on chord progressions. Instead, the following principles are encouraged:
In the midst of exhausting outselves, though, we've done some interesting things. The members of my "Improvised Chamber Music" class put on a performance Tuesday evening. They chose 9:30 PM as a starting time, as a way to attract more students. 7:30 PM is the standard School of Music evening concert time. Great for adults, but, as my students explained, a bit before younger people start waking up and hitting their evening energy. (This helps explain why students the students in my 9:00 AM class often look as if their brains are still in bed.)
We called the concert "Just Musicking, No Score." It was all free improvisation. The 10 students determined in advance which subgroups would be playing, and in what order. They had decided that two of the pieces would be done to poems; that two would be based on prompts from the audience; and that the opening piece would start with one person on the stage, who would be joined be the others, one-by-one, who would then exit one-by-one; and that the final piece would be an open jam.
Why "Just Musicking"? The word musicking was coined by Christoper Small, and the concept is the focus of his book of the same name. Small emphasizes the act of making and responding to music. Like Richard Tarusikin (Text and Act), and Lydia Goehr (The Imaginary Museum of Musical Works), Small helps us understand that many classical musicians have become obsessed with the text (score) of "works," to the point that we forget that it is the human music making, the interraction between musicians, and between musicians and audience. Small proposes making "music" into a verb. "To music is to take part, in any capacity, in a musical performance, whether by performing, by listening, by rehearsing or practicing, by providing material for performance (what is called composition), or by dancing."
The idea of musical "works," totally composed, finalized, fixed-for-all-time, and unchanging, is, Goehr explains, not only unique to Western art music but also a fairly recent development, having come into full force only in the nineteenth century.
In my Improvised Chamber Music class, I coach the students in making music with each other. With just an hour a week together (plus time they spend on their own outside of class), we don't focus on improvisation based on chord progressions. Instead, the following principles are encouraged:
- There are no "wrong" notes. (Sometimes there are surprises.)
- Say "yes" to your own instincts and intuitions, and to the ideas introduced by others.
- Listen and respond to what others are doing.
- Express yourself.
- Be emotionally honest.
- Be aware of the following roles: soloing, accompanying, being in dialogue.
- Listen for the end.
- Less can be more.
- Focus on developing a musical idea (repetition and development) as well as introducing new ideas (contrast).
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
My other improv blog
My book-writing process is in a phase where I'm working out complicated thoughts in a way that doesn't lend itself well to blogging. I am teaching a course this semester at DePauw called Improvisation in Western Art Music.
The course has its own blog. And this week I have started writing a daily synopsis of what we do and discuss. The course is a cross between a series of improvisation workshops and a music-history class. I'm a big believer in learning about improvisational practices by improvising. It is a challenge to manage/facilitate; I think it's working pretty well, and it seems that the students do as well (at least most of them!).
The synopses are not just descriptions of what we did. They also include my own reflections on what we've covered in the readings.
The course has its own blog. And this week I have started writing a daily synopsis of what we do and discuss. The course is a cross between a series of improvisation workshops and a music-history class. I'm a big believer in learning about improvisational practices by improvising. It is a challenge to manage/facilitate; I think it's working pretty well, and it seems that the students do as well (at least most of them!).
The synopses are not just descriptions of what we did. They also include my own reflections on what we've covered in the readings.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Improv on NPR
The list of streaming NPR clips related to improvisation is growing (click here then scroll down a bit). Someone over there is obviously quite taken with Gabriela Montero; at least five pieces on her in the last year. Great interviews and performance recordings of others, including Robert Abramson, Paul Horn, Keith Jarrett, Robert Levin, and Rolf Lislevand. I'm keeping the list pretty much confined to people related in one way or another to classical music; Horn and Jarrett defy categorization enough that they are included.
I have nothing against jazz and other forms of improvisational music. The point of my work, though, is to point out what classical musicians can and are doing with improvisation.
I have nothing against jazz and other forms of improvisational music. The point of my work, though, is to point out what classical musicians can and are doing with improvisation.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Eric Barnhill and David Dolan
I've recently met Eric Barnhill (in person, at the ISIM conference) and David Dolan (via email), each a wonderful classically-trained pianist using improvisation in different ways. What is similar about them both is that they improvise in a common-practice musical language.
Eric, who has a blog of improvisations (such a great idea and one I may appropriate for myself), described his style to me as a mix of Brahms and Schubert; he's also a teacher of Dalcroze Eurythmics and has developed his own form of music therapy.
David heads the Centere for Classical Improvisation and Creative Performance at the Guildhall School in London, and teaches from time to time at Juilliard as well. His site has clips of him performing in the styles of Mozart and Chopin. What I find especially exciting about David's work is his emphasis on the relationship between improvisation (of notes) and interpretation of composed music.
It's that relationship that I found myself writing about more and more as I worked on the preliminary ideas for my book last spring. Good, alive classical music performance has many improvised aspects to it. Improvising music (including adding embellishments and ornamentation) and interpreting music in a flexible, improvisatory way, are both expressions of a performers musical creativity. To me, they are aspects of the same human drive.
Eric, who has a blog of improvisations (such a great idea and one I may appropriate for myself), described his style to me as a mix of Brahms and Schubert; he's also a teacher of Dalcroze Eurythmics and has developed his own form of music therapy.
David heads the Centere for Classical Improvisation and Creative Performance at the Guildhall School in London, and teaches from time to time at Juilliard as well. His site has clips of him performing in the styles of Mozart and Chopin. What I find especially exciting about David's work is his emphasis on the relationship between improvisation (of notes) and interpretation of composed music.
It's that relationship that I found myself writing about more and more as I worked on the preliminary ideas for my book last spring. Good, alive classical music performance has many improvised aspects to it. Improvising music (including adding embellishments and ornamentation) and interpreting music in a flexible, improvisatory way, are both expressions of a performers musical creativity. To me, they are aspects of the same human drive.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Saying Yes
All I can say is that teaching improvisation classes to DePauw School of Music freshmen is the absolutely best job in the world. I've been having such an amazing time this semester that the amount of experiences to recount is so overwhelming that I haven't known where to begin.
Today's class ended up centering on "saying yes" to one's own ideas and the ideas of those one is improvising with. I say "ended up" because I'm finding my young friends so open and flexible (and I suppose I have enough experience to draw on) that the best plan for teaching has been to have no plan and follow my instincts of the moment.
Commenting on the improvisation one group did early in this morning's session, I found myself talking about the concept of "saying yes" which I've heard features prominently in the Second City approach to comedy improvisation. We've explored many techniques and structures for improvising. Today we moved (back) into small-group improvisations with no talking first, and a commitment only to saying "yes" to one's own ideas and the ideas introduced by the other players. The kids took themselves places I didn't think they could go.
When people go from playing carefully to really connecting with their creativity and doing amazing things, truly connecting with each other, and genuinely expressing themselves, it is magic. It's a privilege to witness. And how I got to be the one who helps them open these doors for themselves I'll never understand. At the moment, I just feel overwhelmingly grateful.
Today's class ended up centering on "saying yes" to one's own ideas and the ideas of those one is improvising with. I say "ended up" because I'm finding my young friends so open and flexible (and I suppose I have enough experience to draw on) that the best plan for teaching has been to have no plan and follow my instincts of the moment.
Commenting on the improvisation one group did early in this morning's session, I found myself talking about the concept of "saying yes" which I've heard features prominently in the Second City approach to comedy improvisation. We've explored many techniques and structures for improvising. Today we moved (back) into small-group improvisations with no talking first, and a commitment only to saying "yes" to one's own ideas and the ideas introduced by the other players. The kids took themselves places I didn't think they could go.
When people go from playing carefully to really connecting with their creativity and doing amazing things, truly connecting with each other, and genuinely expressing themselves, it is magic. It's a privilege to witness. And how I got to be the one who helps them open these doors for themselves I'll never understand. At the moment, I just feel overwhelmingly grateful.
Friday, October 06, 2006
And in cello class this week
Everyone has learned to play a one-octave dominant seenth arpeggio through the circle of fifths. well, some more than others, but each of my students is on his or her way to getting this down. In Tuesday's cello class, I taught them a one-octave blues scale, and to play a pizzicato "Bo Diddily" blues bass line, as David Darling taught it to me.
We all had a good time with it. It did sound like a bunch of white, middle-class, classical cellists trying to play the blues for the first time: we may be using the notes of the blues, but we weren't playing the blues.
Maybe I should be meaner to them. Then they could really play the cello blues.
We all had a good time with it. It did sound like a bunch of white, middle-class, classical cellists trying to play the blues for the first time: we may be using the notes of the blues, but we weren't playing the blues.
Maybe I should be meaner to them. Then they could really play the cello blues.
In improv class this week
It's so hard to remember everything!
In today (Friday)'s improv class, the fourth session with this new seminar rotation (13 students), we did the following:
One of the students shared that when he sang, he didn't actually hear the drums but he felt them in his body. How perfect. For that's what we are working to acheive: feeling the support. Being physically and spiritually connected with one another.
I wish I had the time to write after each class what we did; it fades from my memory all too quickly. Yesterday we sang one quality tones and melodies, from our seats in the circle, again with drumming as a background support. And we had another discussion of why these students are musicians. For some, making music is their "bliss," as Joseph Campbell would have put it. The thing they love most and feel most alive and themselves doing. Others have had profound experiences of music making a difference in the lives of others and see it as a way of making a difference in the world. One spoke of the opportunity to make a difference in the lives of young people as a music teacher (he's planning to be a music education major, and what a great motivation to have as a music ed major).
Monday and Tuesday (we didn't have class Wednesday) we did improvised and also some African-inspired drumming, learning parts of a piece named "Jansa."
What's turning out differently this year, contrasted with years before, is that I'm feeling myself guided and able to lead us to very deep conversations, conversations about what music means to us, why we are musicians, and the difference we can make in the world with music.
The time off I had for my sabbatical was important. I wrestled with, and wrote about in my blog, about my inner conflicts about encouraging or even allowing many kids to be music majors, when "classical music" seems to be in so much trouble. I arrived at the conclusion, eventually, that we need a new definition of success, and new sense of mission. And that for me, success is making a difference in the world making music.
And I've realized more clearly than ever that being a musician is a calling. A gift from which one might try to run away, but one that is there regardless. You don't decide to be a musician, you discover or realize you are a musician. The classical music profession has always been a rough one. But that doens't mean there aren't a lot of young people who, like it or not themselves, are musicians, and who need and deserve training and education.
It is a great opportunity and privilege to not only introduce them to approaches inspired by Music for People, but to facilitate them discussing and remembering why they are musicians and why they are undergoing the rigors of their training. One needs a strong sense of purpose to survive music school. One needs a strong sense of purpose to remain a musician, and even to survive teaching in a music school.
It's a true vocation. Musicians and other artists are always needed, perhaps now more than ever. And it is through our creativity that we will not just survive but thrive, and find ways to make a living while making a difference creating music.
I'm so glad that by teaching this course I'm getting to take it.
In today (Friday)'s improv class, the fourth session with this new seminar rotation (13 students), we did the following:
- free drumming
- individual students took turns leading the drum circle, making eye contact with each member of the circle, showing the beat in their bodies, shouting, "look at ME!,"and practicing cutting off the group (by shouting, "one, two, three, four, STOP!" and making a cutoff gesture) and restarting the group with a call of, "one, two, everybody play!"--all this modeled on Arthur Hull)
- had groups of people take turns dancing--this was especially for those who seemd shy in the first exercise
- while the group softly drummed, we all inhaled and sighed, than sang one-quality tones (a Music for People term)
- then I got up in the centered and modeled the next activity: while moving my body to the beat, I sang a one-quality tone, let another follow, and sang a melody
- then each student did the same
One of the students shared that when he sang, he didn't actually hear the drums but he felt them in his body. How perfect. For that's what we are working to acheive: feeling the support. Being physically and spiritually connected with one another.
I wish I had the time to write after each class what we did; it fades from my memory all too quickly. Yesterday we sang one quality tones and melodies, from our seats in the circle, again with drumming as a background support. And we had another discussion of why these students are musicians. For some, making music is their "bliss," as Joseph Campbell would have put it. The thing they love most and feel most alive and themselves doing. Others have had profound experiences of music making a difference in the lives of others and see it as a way of making a difference in the world. One spoke of the opportunity to make a difference in the lives of young people as a music teacher (he's planning to be a music education major, and what a great motivation to have as a music ed major).
Monday and Tuesday (we didn't have class Wednesday) we did improvised and also some African-inspired drumming, learning parts of a piece named "Jansa."
What's turning out differently this year, contrasted with years before, is that I'm feeling myself guided and able to lead us to very deep conversations, conversations about what music means to us, why we are musicians, and the difference we can make in the world with music.
The time off I had for my sabbatical was important. I wrestled with, and wrote about in my blog, about my inner conflicts about encouraging or even allowing many kids to be music majors, when "classical music" seems to be in so much trouble. I arrived at the conclusion, eventually, that we need a new definition of success, and new sense of mission. And that for me, success is making a difference in the world making music.
And I've realized more clearly than ever that being a musician is a calling. A gift from which one might try to run away, but one that is there regardless. You don't decide to be a musician, you discover or realize you are a musician. The classical music profession has always been a rough one. But that doens't mean there aren't a lot of young people who, like it or not themselves, are musicians, and who need and deserve training and education.
It is a great opportunity and privilege to not only introduce them to approaches inspired by Music for People, but to facilitate them discussing and remembering why they are musicians and why they are undergoing the rigors of their training. One needs a strong sense of purpose to survive music school. One needs a strong sense of purpose to remain a musician, and even to survive teaching in a music school.
It's a true vocation. Musicians and other artists are always needed, perhaps now more than ever. And it is through our creativity that we will not just survive but thrive, and find ways to make a living while making a difference creating music.
I'm so glad that by teaching this course I'm getting to take it.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Final session with this rotation
Today we had our final session with this rotation. Great students; I wish I could be with them longer.
We started by sharing the societal/world issue that most concerns each of us. The students were very open; one was, I think, crying at one point. Then we made music. I don't have time to describe the pieces now; I'll just mention we ended with a blues that took a while for everyone to get the hang of. But it seemed especially appropriate that, focused on what causes us emotional pain, we ended up doing the blues together--it's the great authentic American form for expressing pain.
The main purpose of the post is to provide a place for members of the class to post their observations and reflections.
We started by sharing the societal/world issue that most concerns each of us. The students were very open; one was, I think, crying at one point. Then we made music. I don't have time to describe the pieces now; I'll just mention we ended with a blues that took a while for everyone to get the hang of. But it seemed especially appropriate that, focused on what causes us emotional pain, we ended up doing the blues together--it's the great authentic American form for expressing pain.
The main purpose of the post is to provide a place for members of the class to post their observations and reflections.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Reading from Matthew Fox
This class I'm teaching is DePauw's School of Music seminar for first-year students (I described part of yesterday's session in my previous post). Our 52 first-years (formerly known as freshmen) are divided into four sections, and they rotate among five different faculty for units on creativity, music software, writing about music, the effect of recording technology on classical music, and Dalcroze Eurythmics.
The section I'm teaching has been game for all the improvised and African-inspired drumming and improvising with their voices and other instruments. But they've been more held back than the last group. Rather than go deep, they've been going a bit silly.
Now I have a lot of room for silliness; fun and play are important. But getting giggly can be a way of avoiding dealing with something else. So I've been a bit frustrated and looking within myself to see if it's something to do with where I've been coming from. It's true that classes have their own personalities. And it's also true that leaders and facilitators and conductors set a tone and can change it.
Today's Thursday. Sunday evening I learned that my brother-in-law had a serious stroke and was in critical condition. He's just 44, and I've literally been worried sick. Feeling nauseous at times, having anxiety attacks, and great difficulty sleeping. I made a decision at the start of the week not to tell the students about this. Why should they be worried or distracted by my problem? The professional thing to do is to keep this private, I decided.
And one of the students had a seriously ill aunt and would be going home in a few days. Again, I didn't mention it in class or ask her if she wanted to share it. Let's focus on the improv techniques. Be professional. Get her mind and mind off of our worries.
Is it any wonder then that in this workshop experience, which is so much about being emotionally authentic and spontaneous, found itself veering away from deeply expressed emotion? That it has felt like the group was avoiding something?
That's what we were doing.
This is just becoming clear to me now, as I write. But last night I was wrestling with what to do. Often in Music for People we emphasize not talking. Because we want to keep people in their experience, in that creative place, and not going into their "left brain" to analyze what they are doing or try to deduce what they should be doing.
So talking didn't seem like the answer. Talking, I knew, was not the answer. I found myself drawn to one of the most important books on creativity I've read, Matthew Fox's Creativity: Where the Divine and the Human Meet. In all his work, Fox talks and writes about the central role of creating.
In the shower, it came to me. Talk with them. Talk about where we want to go. And I had the good sense to know not talk at them but to facilitate a discussion. To get us talking together about the importance of music and creativity and why improvisation is such an extraordinary opportunity for each of us.
I thought we'd just drum for a while first, but it was clear that like me, no one was in the mood to play. The sick aunt of my student had died, and the student had left for the funeral. That came up. And I shared the news about my brother-in-law and a bit about the difficult time I've been having.
This created, finally, some emotional honesty and reality. Maybe if one's teaching physics or music theory it works to be coolly professional. But to lead people in discovering their innate ability to express themselves honestly and openly, I've got to be fully open and human and present myself.
I asked them to speak about why they are in music school. It was a remarkable time of sharing. For each of them, being was a musician was something about themselves that they came to realize that they innately are. You don't decide to become a musician so much as to choose to accept the fact that you are a musician. That you love it more than anything. That it's what you go to when your are sad. That it's what you do best. Each of the students had different understandings, but they was this common element of discernment rather than of calculation. (It was so much like a group of LGBT people telling coming out stories that my head was spinning.)
I talked a bit about music as an activity as opposed to music as a product. How we are all music makers. I was struck suddenly by the artificiality of recordings, of how they are a substitute for real human interaction.
Then I asked the students to talk about the importance of music and art in the larger culture. At your high school commencements, I said, someone probably told you that you are leaders of tomorrow, that your generation can change the world. How do you see yourself using music to do that? Again, fascinating comments. This was harder for them to articulate. They are just 18 or so and naturally more focused on themselves than transforming the world. But throughout this there were times in which I was struck by how wonderful each of them is and what strong gifts and insights and dreams they have.
In the course of our conversation, I read them two passages from Matthew Fox, first what follows below and later the Prometheus story and Fox's reflections on it.
The section I'm teaching has been game for all the improvised and African-inspired drumming and improvising with their voices and other instruments. But they've been more held back than the last group. Rather than go deep, they've been going a bit silly.
Now I have a lot of room for silliness; fun and play are important. But getting giggly can be a way of avoiding dealing with something else. So I've been a bit frustrated and looking within myself to see if it's something to do with where I've been coming from. It's true that classes have their own personalities. And it's also true that leaders and facilitators and conductors set a tone and can change it.
Today's Thursday. Sunday evening I learned that my brother-in-law had a serious stroke and was in critical condition. He's just 44, and I've literally been worried sick. Feeling nauseous at times, having anxiety attacks, and great difficulty sleeping. I made a decision at the start of the week not to tell the students about this. Why should they be worried or distracted by my problem? The professional thing to do is to keep this private, I decided.
And one of the students had a seriously ill aunt and would be going home in a few days. Again, I didn't mention it in class or ask her if she wanted to share it. Let's focus on the improv techniques. Be professional. Get her mind and mind off of our worries.
Is it any wonder then that in this workshop experience, which is so much about being emotionally authentic and spontaneous, found itself veering away from deeply expressed emotion? That it has felt like the group was avoiding something?
That's what we were doing.
This is just becoming clear to me now, as I write. But last night I was wrestling with what to do. Often in Music for People we emphasize not talking. Because we want to keep people in their experience, in that creative place, and not going into their "left brain" to analyze what they are doing or try to deduce what they should be doing.
So talking didn't seem like the answer. Talking, I knew, was not the answer. I found myself drawn to one of the most important books on creativity I've read, Matthew Fox's Creativity: Where the Divine and the Human Meet. In all his work, Fox talks and writes about the central role of creating.
We are creators at our very core. Only creating can make us happy, for in creating we tap into the deepest powers of self and universe and the Divine Self. We become co-creators, that is, we create with the other forces of society, universe, and the Godself when we commit to creativity. (28)As I reread passages of this book, I realized that what was missing in my work with the class was a sense of this central role and deep power of creativity. That we are not just playing games, but exploring this extraordinary force and learning how to access and use it. Fox also writes:
Prometheus stole the fire of the gods and gave it as a gift to the humans who so needed fire to create civilization. When he did this, Zeus was outraged and condemned Prometheus to be lashed to a rock where a vulture would feed each morning on his liver. But his liver grew back again each night. Psychologist Rollo May interprets the Prometheus story to mean that the artist becomes utterly "beat" after a day's work and is exhausted at night. But during the day, his energy (the liver) grows back again for his work the next day.I got up this morning still asking myself what new musical activity I wanted or should do with the class. The answer was nothing. I didn't want to make music. Oh crap, I said to myself. What am I going to do? Am I just so overtired and worried that I'm out of touch with my creativity? Is it that this class just isn't going deep and I'm getting bored with them
I would go further in examining the archetype of the liver. The liver cleanses and recycles. The artist, too, cleanses and recycles the toxins in a culture. Artists turn pain into insight and struggle into triumph and darkness into remembering and grief into rejoicing. Artists add awe to awe and beauty to beauty and wonder to wonder. When the liver is healthy, the person is healthy. The artist is to the community or body politic what the liver is to the human body: a cleanser and recycler of waste and toxins. (88-89)
In the shower, it came to me. Talk with them. Talk about where we want to go. And I had the good sense to know not talk at them but to facilitate a discussion. To get us talking together about the importance of music and creativity and why improvisation is such an extraordinary opportunity for each of us.
I thought we'd just drum for a while first, but it was clear that like me, no one was in the mood to play. The sick aunt of my student had died, and the student had left for the funeral. That came up. And I shared the news about my brother-in-law and a bit about the difficult time I've been having.
This created, finally, some emotional honesty and reality. Maybe if one's teaching physics or music theory it works to be coolly professional. But to lead people in discovering their innate ability to express themselves honestly and openly, I've got to be fully open and human and present myself.
I asked them to speak about why they are in music school. It was a remarkable time of sharing. For each of them, being was a musician was something about themselves that they came to realize that they innately are. You don't decide to become a musician so much as to choose to accept the fact that you are a musician. That you love it more than anything. That it's what you go to when your are sad. That it's what you do best. Each of the students had different understandings, but they was this common element of discernment rather than of calculation. (It was so much like a group of LGBT people telling coming out stories that my head was spinning.)
I talked a bit about music as an activity as opposed to music as a product. How we are all music makers. I was struck suddenly by the artificiality of recordings, of how they are a substitute for real human interaction.
Then I asked the students to talk about the importance of music and art in the larger culture. At your high school commencements, I said, someone probably told you that you are leaders of tomorrow, that your generation can change the world. How do you see yourself using music to do that? Again, fascinating comments. This was harder for them to articulate. They are just 18 or so and naturally more focused on themselves than transforming the world. But throughout this there were times in which I was struck by how wonderful each of them is and what strong gifts and insights and dreams they have.
In the course of our conversation, I read them two passages from Matthew Fox, first what follows below and later the Prometheus story and Fox's reflections on it.
No one can consider twentieth-century history and not see the demonic in human creativity that was birthed in that era: the first and second world wars with their wiping out of civilian populations on an unprecedented scale; the making of the first atomic weapon ("now we know evil," spoke Oppenheimer, that father of the project); the amassing of nuclear weapons and delivery systems; the invention of gas ovens to more efficiently exterminate an entire race of humans; the genocide in Cambodia under Pol Pot; in Rwanda; in Stalin's Russia; the gradual warming of the planet as we dump more and more carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, oblivious of its consequences for other species and other generations; the fouling of our rivers, oceans, fisheries, ozone protection, forests, and soil; and terrorism in the name of fundamentalist religion. All these took creativity. They all took imagination. They were misuses of our imaginations. Can we learn the lesson of that? Can we come to grips with our Divine/demonic power in this century?It was, for me, a powerful conversation. I was inspired by the students. And at the end, when made music together. Sensing and feeling and touching each other. And it was in the place we had all been wanting to go.
We must. We have no other choice. Whether our species is sustainable or not depends on our wrestling creativity back from the brink of its demonic potential. To move our Divine powers of creativity from serving the demonic to serving the Divine is to move from art for art's sake ad art for advertising's sake and art for power's sake to art for compassion's sake. Art for the sake of planetary health and well-being. Art for building bridges' sake. This constitutes an aesthetic revolution, which is a nonviolent revolution. (10-11)
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Dancing with the metronome
One of the activities consistently taught in the Music for People musicianship and leadership programs is doing rhythmic improvisations to a metronome. The metronome, which we so often relate to as an instrument of torture, can become a friendly accompanist and partner.
In this morning's first-year seminar class, we started out with a relaxed group jam session. Then I placed a metronome on the floor, in the center of the circle, and did a vocal percussion improv to it while dancing a bit. Then each of the students did a vocal percussion improv to the metronome. They were a bit restrained and few of them really got into it. So I went back to the middle of the circle, picked up the metromome, held it to my ear, cradled it, etc., while doing a sort of rap about loving and dancing with the metronome. Then each student took a turn holding and dancing with the metronome and the difference was amazing. Getting the body involved is so powerful!
I'm emphasizing more and more with the students the three main focuses of improvisation I've observed: part of a performance idiom, as a mode of exploring the languages of music and the techniques of one's instrument, and as a mode for self-expression and emotional release. How can you take these approaches I'm passing on and use them in the rest of your musical life?
You can actually have fun with a metronome. A lot of them got that today. I got it all over again.
OK, time to go dance again!
In this morning's first-year seminar class, we started out with a relaxed group jam session. Then I placed a metronome on the floor, in the center of the circle, and did a vocal percussion improv to it while dancing a bit. Then each of the students did a vocal percussion improv to the metronome. They were a bit restrained and few of them really got into it. So I went back to the middle of the circle, picked up the metromome, held it to my ear, cradled it, etc., while doing a sort of rap about loving and dancing with the metronome. Then each student took a turn holding and dancing with the metronome and the difference was amazing. Getting the body involved is so powerful!
I'm emphasizing more and more with the students the three main focuses of improvisation I've observed: part of a performance idiom, as a mode of exploring the languages of music and the techniques of one's instrument, and as a mode for self-expression and emotional release. How can you take these approaches I'm passing on and use them in the rest of your musical life?
You can actually have fun with a metronome. A lot of them got that today. I got it all over again.
OK, time to go dance again!
Improv in Cello Class 9/26/06
In our cello studio class at DePauw yesterday, we started out working on shifting. In particular, using the ear to control the left hand by playing scales and arpeggios with just one finger. The game, so to speak, is to slide/siren/glissando between the notes, stopping the movement of the hand when the desired pitch is reached.
Then it was improv time; our first group cello improv session of the semester. Using pizzicato open strings, the six of us created our own individual ostinato patterns, listening to compliment each other. Then we took turns playing an arco (bowed) solo over this background. First, just jamming on one note. Then sirening, bending pitches. The idea was to have fun, to be creative, with the newly-introduced skill of playing with one finger. These solos were more creative, more free, than those on just one note.
Then came the improv work. After this pretty free, loosely structured activity, I taught the students how to do a one-octave dominant seventh arpeggio, and to use a standard fingering for it. Then we went through the circle of fifths, doing this arpeggio with the same, consistent fingering. Some got a bit confused or lost at times; but this is part of learning a new vocabulary.
And then, poor things, I made them work on orchestra music!
Then it was improv time; our first group cello improv session of the semester. Using pizzicato open strings, the six of us created our own individual ostinato patterns, listening to compliment each other. Then we took turns playing an arco (bowed) solo over this background. First, just jamming on one note. Then sirening, bending pitches. The idea was to have fun, to be creative, with the newly-introduced skill of playing with one finger. These solos were more creative, more free, than those on just one note.
Then came the improv work. After this pretty free, loosely structured activity, I taught the students how to do a one-octave dominant seventh arpeggio, and to use a standard fingering for it. Then we went through the circle of fifths, doing this arpeggio with the same, consistent fingering. Some got a bit confused or lost at times; but this is part of learning a new vocabulary.
And then, poor things, I made them work on orchestra music!
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Seeds of Decline and Resurgence
Greg Sandow closes Episode 9 "Improvised Delights" (the most recent one as I write) of his online book-in-progress, The Future of Classical Music, with the following:
In other words, few classical composers write their music in a way that allows for embellishment or other forms of improvisation and co-creation when it comes to the notes themselves. Back in the 1970s (which seems to have been the heyday of this genre) aleatoric music did allow for considerable latitude and creativity on the part of the performers. And that's the main reason I always enjoyed playing it.
But aleatoric music was also relentlessly atonal, often lacked any sense of definite, sustained pulse, and so didn't "catch on," so to speak, with audiences or performers in any widespread sense.
As started to explore in my posts last spring, there is much more to this phenomenon than evolving practice. Underlying it are fundamental notions of the roles of performers and composer, of the nature of a musical "work," of intellectual ownership of a piece of music, and the point of concerts and recordings (are they more about the performer or "the music"?).
The "seeds of classical music's decline," as Greg puts it, include not only the loss of a culture in which performers were allowed to embellish/alter the written text of a musical work, but just as importantly the loss of the performer/composer.
I'll explore this more in another post. But to put it briefly, my hypothesis is this: as art-music composition moved into atonal realms, successful performers stopped composing. As universities and colleges expanded in the 20th century, they became the new patrons of composers, who no longer needed to write music that appealed to audiences. It became impossible to survive in academia as a composer if one wrote in a tonal style, or even to receive respect from the musical intelligentsia. And pretty soon there was no one to teach performers to compose in an accessible style, performers would be embarrassed to compose in an accessible style, and the art of writing genuinely accessible music, and having it written by performers who regularly connect with audiences, was essentially lost.
That's all quite over-simplified, of course, and there are certainly exceptions, but I think in the broad outline it's a pretty accurate observation.
All the concerns about being "faithful to the composer" and feeling guilty if one departs from the exact details of a written score can vanish when the performer is the composer. And when the composer leaves room for the performer's creativity, rather than viewing performers as Straviskian "executants."
And so at least some of the seeds of classical music's resurgence will be encouraging new music that is accessible, that purposely invites and encourages the creativity of performers, and in encouraging performers to compose and composers to perform.
One of the things I've been thinking about lately is that part of the lack of creativity in much current classical music performance results from the fact that our current cultural understanding of classical music doesn't allow for the sorts of embellishments and improvisations that were culturally accepted two hundred years ago. And this isn't true just in the performance of music by dead white guys from Vienna. Almost all contemporary classical, or art, music is written with a cultural understanding of "play the score exactly as written."So am I urging us to return to some 18th century (or early 19th century) paradise? Hardly. There were many problems then. Performances, by our standards, were very likely bad. Again by our standards, they were barely rehearsed. Writers of the time complain about singers and instrumentalists who introduced too many ornaments, making the music unrecognizable. (Note Brahms's caution: Singers should only change the music if their changes didn't hurt it.) Singers carried around "baggage arias," as they were called (because their music was, as Stendhal says, "carried around permanently, as it were, like a change of underwear"), which they'd introduce into every opera they sang. 18th century orchestras seem to have improvised, with, sometimes, all the violinists individually--and, you'd think, cacaphonically--adding their own embellishments of the written violin line.
But let me say it again. The spirit of those long-lost days is something we ought to recapture. At the very least, we ought to know that we've lost it. And by losing it--by evolving the concept of classical music, in which improvisation was all but illegal--we may have sown the seeds for classical music's current decline.
In other words, few classical composers write their music in a way that allows for embellishment or other forms of improvisation and co-creation when it comes to the notes themselves. Back in the 1970s (which seems to have been the heyday of this genre) aleatoric music did allow for considerable latitude and creativity on the part of the performers. And that's the main reason I always enjoyed playing it.
But aleatoric music was also relentlessly atonal, often lacked any sense of definite, sustained pulse, and so didn't "catch on," so to speak, with audiences or performers in any widespread sense.
As started to explore in my posts last spring, there is much more to this phenomenon than evolving practice. Underlying it are fundamental notions of the roles of performers and composer, of the nature of a musical "work," of intellectual ownership of a piece of music, and the point of concerts and recordings (are they more about the performer or "the music"?).
The "seeds of classical music's decline," as Greg puts it, include not only the loss of a culture in which performers were allowed to embellish/alter the written text of a musical work, but just as importantly the loss of the performer/composer.
I'll explore this more in another post. But to put it briefly, my hypothesis is this: as art-music composition moved into atonal realms, successful performers stopped composing. As universities and colleges expanded in the 20th century, they became the new patrons of composers, who no longer needed to write music that appealed to audiences. It became impossible to survive in academia as a composer if one wrote in a tonal style, or even to receive respect from the musical intelligentsia. And pretty soon there was no one to teach performers to compose in an accessible style, performers would be embarrassed to compose in an accessible style, and the art of writing genuinely accessible music, and having it written by performers who regularly connect with audiences, was essentially lost.
That's all quite over-simplified, of course, and there are certainly exceptions, but I think in the broad outline it's a pretty accurate observation.
All the concerns about being "faithful to the composer" and feeling guilty if one departs from the exact details of a written score can vanish when the performer is the composer. And when the composer leaves room for the performer's creativity, rather than viewing performers as Straviskian "executants."
And so at least some of the seeds of classical music's resurgence will be encouraging new music that is accessible, that purposely invites and encourages the creativity of performers, and in encouraging performers to compose and composers to perform.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Using improv in teaching
Now the new school year has started, and I'm using improvisation in my teaching. I'm teaching cello, of course, and also one section of the DePauw School of Music's first-year seminar for music majors. It's an unusual class, in that the students rotate among five faculty members over the course of the semester. We have four sections of the class, with 12-13 students in each. Each class has a "main" teacher, with whom they spend the first two and last four weeks of the semester. In between, they have two-week sessions with other faculty. The topics include writing about music, the impact of recording technology on music, Dalcroze Eurythmics, music technology training, and (with me) improvisation and a bit of African drumming/singing.
My main section, the one in which the students and I have six weeks together, is subtitled "Creativity, Non-Western Music, and the Furutre of Classical Music." It's been greatly influenced by Greg Sandow's course at Julliard, "Breaking Barriers: Performing Classical Music in an Age of Pop," as well as my prior work with improvisation and my much more limited experience with some forms of African music.
Today was the third session of the class. The first two were spent on organizational issues, discussing readings, and problem-solving as the students learned to use the interface for our class blog.
Finally today we got to making music together: no computers allowed (all the students at my university are required to have a laptop, and we had been deep into them the first two sessions). We used Remo djembe-style drums today. Twelve students and me, sitting in a circle. We started with improvisational drumming and did some call-and response drum exercises and rhythm games.
What came to be the lesson of the day was to notice how when some of the students would have a solo, their awareness would shrink into themselves and they'd no longer be feeling or playing with the pulse of the group. So it became a great window for discussing the importance of feeling a collective pulse when making music with other people.
My gosh. Imagine being a college freshman, third day of school, first time playing a djembe, and all of a sudden you have to lead a four-best call and response, or play a four-beat solo. No matter how fun and safe an atmosphere I create, it's a wonder more of the kids didn't freak out.
So we created a game in which we made sure to feel the pulse in our bodies, and went around the circle, each person playing just the four beats (thump, thump, thump, thump). The object simply to feel the pulse together and keep it going. And then we started to vary the rhythm just a touch, the focus still on feeling the pulse.
It's an example of using improvisation, in this case with hand drums, to work on a fundamental musical skill--feeling a musical pulse in your own body, and feeling a collective musical pulse while making music with others.
----------------
Later this morning, a cello lesson. I decided to start this student on a piece that has in it a passage based on an e minor/minor arpeggio (i.e., a minor triad with a minor seventh above the root). I taught her just the arpeggio (e, g, b, and d) through several octaves. Then I played an accompaniment pattern on my cello while she improvised using the arpeggio. We switched roles, and I then asked her to improvise using the same notes but with repeated notes (which are used in the piece). We had a good time with it. And it was a good way, I think, to get ready to play that passage and to incorporate some fun and creativity into it.
My main section, the one in which the students and I have six weeks together, is subtitled "Creativity, Non-Western Music, and the Furutre of Classical Music." It's been greatly influenced by Greg Sandow's course at Julliard, "Breaking Barriers: Performing Classical Music in an Age of Pop," as well as my prior work with improvisation and my much more limited experience with some forms of African music.
Today was the third session of the class. The first two were spent on organizational issues, discussing readings, and problem-solving as the students learned to use the interface for our class blog.
Finally today we got to making music together: no computers allowed (all the students at my university are required to have a laptop, and we had been deep into them the first two sessions). We used Remo djembe-style drums today. Twelve students and me, sitting in a circle. We started with improvisational drumming and did some call-and response drum exercises and rhythm games.
What came to be the lesson of the day was to notice how when some of the students would have a solo, their awareness would shrink into themselves and they'd no longer be feeling or playing with the pulse of the group. So it became a great window for discussing the importance of feeling a collective pulse when making music with other people.
My gosh. Imagine being a college freshman, third day of school, first time playing a djembe, and all of a sudden you have to lead a four-best call and response, or play a four-beat solo. No matter how fun and safe an atmosphere I create, it's a wonder more of the kids didn't freak out.
So we created a game in which we made sure to feel the pulse in our bodies, and went around the circle, each person playing just the four beats (thump, thump, thump, thump). The object simply to feel the pulse together and keep it going. And then we started to vary the rhythm just a touch, the focus still on feeling the pulse.
It's an example of using improvisation, in this case with hand drums, to work on a fundamental musical skill--feeling a musical pulse in your own body, and feeling a collective musical pulse while making music with others.
----------------
Later this morning, a cello lesson. I decided to start this student on a piece that has in it a passage based on an e minor/minor arpeggio (i.e., a minor triad with a minor seventh above the root). I taught her just the arpeggio (e, g, b, and d) through several octaves. Then I played an accompaniment pattern on my cello while she improvised using the arpeggio. We switched roles, and I then asked her to improvise using the same notes but with repeated notes (which are used in the piece). We had a good time with it. And it was a good way, I think, to get ready to play that passage and to incorporate some fun and creativity into it.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Gearing up to teach and write again
If anyone is still checking this blog, since it's been so inactive, I'm back and I anticipate I'll be writing more frequently. It has been very helpful to take some (unplanned) time from writing about improvisation. It's given me time to think about the book itself, and how it wants to be structured. While in my original writing each entry was meant as a draft of a chapter or part of a chapter, or even more vaguely as what I've been taught to understand as "prewriting," the freer, blogging-about-thing-to-do-with-improvisation- aspect is taking over as well.
And, meanwhile, I've had some improvisation experiences. Two recitals on which different pianists and I played an assortment of classical pieces and ended with pretty much free improvisations, and I've given two improvisation workshops: one at a camp for teenage string students, and another for grown-up string teachers. Over the next week or two, I will get descriptions of these experiences posted.
Starting two weeks from Wednesday (i.e., August 23) I'll be teaching in DePauw's first-year seminar for incoming School of Music students. It's a team-taught course in which the students spend not quite half the semester with one teacher, their academic advisor, and the other half rotating amongst four other teachers, having short units on a variety of topics.
My short units will combine improvisation, especially improvised hand drumming, with some work on African music, including learning a couple of African songs and transcribed drum rhythms.
For this, especially the improvised drumming, I'll draw heavily on the work of Arthur Hull. Arthur's website is www.drumcirlce.com; it's well worth exploring, especially for those interested in improvisation inspired less by Western music and culture than by African, and those who are drawn, as I am, to improvisation as a mode for personal and interpersonal development. I'll write about my experiences teaching these units, and my longer, creativity-focused work with my own class later in the semester, here, as much as is appropriate.
And, meanwhile, I've had some improvisation experiences. Two recitals on which different pianists and I played an assortment of classical pieces and ended with pretty much free improvisations, and I've given two improvisation workshops: one at a camp for teenage string students, and another for grown-up string teachers. Over the next week or two, I will get descriptions of these experiences posted.
Starting two weeks from Wednesday (i.e., August 23) I'll be teaching in DePauw's first-year seminar for incoming School of Music students. It's a team-taught course in which the students spend not quite half the semester with one teacher, their academic advisor, and the other half rotating amongst four other teachers, having short units on a variety of topics.
My short units will combine improvisation, especially improvised hand drumming, with some work on African music, including learning a couple of African songs and transcribed drum rhythms.
For this, especially the improvised drumming, I'll draw heavily on the work of Arthur Hull. Arthur's website is www.drumcirlce.com; it's well worth exploring, especially for those interested in improvisation inspired less by Western music and culture than by African, and those who are drawn, as I am, to improvisation as a mode for personal and interpersonal development. I'll write about my experiences teaching these units, and my longer, creativity-focused work with my own class later in the semester, here, as much as is appropriate.
Friday, July 14, 2006
More on Apap
The Giles Apap videos have triggered a good bit of controversey, including this thread in the ICS Cello Chat forum. (The thread will probably disappear in a month or two.)
Greg Sandow likes it:
"The spirit matters more than the letter, and Apap's spirit is exactly right." Of course, there's a question of degree. Some people just hate having cadenzas in another style stuck in the middle of a "Classical" piece. It's interesting that the "should he or shouldn't he" debate can never end. But the "I like or don't like" exchange can be just as interesting. And is something that evolves more than is ever settled.
Greg Sandow likes it:
The cadenza must be about eight minutes long, and involves gypsy music, whistling, tapping on the violin, music for the orchestra as well as the soloist, and a lot of joy.The joy is one reason the whole thing works. It's excessive; that's easy to say. It goes on too long. It's self-indulgent. All of these will be common reactions. It has nothing to do with Mozart. This last thought kept going through my head, even though, moment by moment, I loved everything Apap does. (It's all a kind of silly shtick, too. I forgot that objection.)
But this thought--that the video has nothing to do with Mozart--turned out to be completely, utterly, shockingly wrong. Because when the cadenza finally ends, and Mozart's music comes back, Mozart's ending sounds astonishingly right, as if Mozart wrote it expressly to follow everything Apap has just played. I've elsewhere written (in a recent Wall Street Journal review--or maybe it hasn't appeared yet) that these concerti are essentially entertainment, and that they just about require the soloist to improvise embellishments. I didn't quite imagine the embellishments in the style(s) of Apap's cadenza, but that turns out not to be a problem. The spirit matters more than the letter, and Apap's spirit is exactly right.
"The spirit matters more than the letter, and Apap's spirit is exactly right." Of course, there's a question of degree. Some people just hate having cadenzas in another style stuck in the middle of a "Classical" piece. It's interesting that the "should he or shouldn't he" debate can never end. But the "I like or don't like" exchange can be just as interesting. And is something that evolves more than is ever settled.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Gilles Apap, and the Creative Process
Ah! Gilles Apap.
An email from a friend just introduced me to this classically-trained violinist who improvises in virtually every musical style. My friend is a classical concert pianist who loves jazz and Piazzolla, and is generally adventerous. He loves this cadenza to the third movement of the Mozart 3rd violin concerto.
It brings up an interesting issue. Apap throws in everything but the kitchen sink, reminding me of the story of the first performance of the Beethoven violin concerto. If memory serves me correctly, the violinist played his own pieces beteen movements, including one in which he played holding his violin upside down. (No wonder Beethoven started connecting movements.)
Apap would be the polar opposite of Robert Levin, the pianist and musiciologist who improvises his own cadenzas, but in the style of Mozart or Beethoven.
You could get into an argument over whether one "should" or "shouldn't" take either approach. But that would be to misunderstand the creative process. Our creative imaginations don't come up with what they are supposed to.
As a listener, one is attracted, or not, to one style or the other, or both. That preference reflects tastes and values. Long and well-reasoned arguments can be made to explain and/or justify one's choice.
For the creative musician, though, it's more a matter of what one loves, what music is being formed in some non-conscious part of the brain and demanding to be heard.
Party on, Gilles! As in this clip:
An email from a friend just introduced me to this classically-trained violinist who improvises in virtually every musical style. My friend is a classical concert pianist who loves jazz and Piazzolla, and is generally adventerous. He loves this cadenza to the third movement of the Mozart 3rd violin concerto.
It brings up an interesting issue. Apap throws in everything but the kitchen sink, reminding me of the story of the first performance of the Beethoven violin concerto. If memory serves me correctly, the violinist played his own pieces beteen movements, including one in which he played holding his violin upside down. (No wonder Beethoven started connecting movements.)
Apap would be the polar opposite of Robert Levin, the pianist and musiciologist who improvises his own cadenzas, but in the style of Mozart or Beethoven.
You could get into an argument over whether one "should" or "shouldn't" take either approach. But that would be to misunderstand the creative process. Our creative imaginations don't come up with what they are supposed to.
As a listener, one is attracted, or not, to one style or the other, or both. That preference reflects tastes and values. Long and well-reasoned arguments can be made to explain and/or justify one's choice.
For the creative musician, though, it's more a matter of what one loves, what music is being formed in some non-conscious part of the brain and demanding to be heard.
Party on, Gilles! As in this clip:
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