The Sounds of Silence

One morning recently, when an early start was less than welcome, Petroc Trelawney’s cheerful invitation on R3 Breakfast to suggest music to be played as a wake-up call prompted me grumpily to think of recommending John Cage’s 1952 work, 4’33”. The piece is completely silent. It is ironical to think that a composer’s best known work consists, musically, of – nothing.

Or does it? If you attend a performance of the piece without knowing what to expect, the event is quite a shock. Enforced listening with a background of silence makes you aware of the sounds inside and outside a venue, and can lead to lively discussion, as well as being an experience outside the usual music comfort zone. Perhaps 4’33” is puzzling for some, perhaps humorous for others, but it is unforgettable. Performing the piece can be quite a challenge, too – stillness is not easy. A pianist is permitted to close and open the piano lid between movements, but this can be a distraction. A performance for full orchestra is here, with Tommy Pearson and Tom Service talking about it afterwards.

 Prepared pianos were another speciality of Cage -

 Cage was truly a 2oth century Renaissance Man – a musician, an artist, a writer, a thinker. His work with choreographer Merce Cunningham had a far-reaching influence on modern dance. But perhaps his greatest legacy was to challenge us to listen, and to appreciate sound for its own sake.

He is not the first musician, of course, to consider the effect of silence. Mozart wrote: ‘The music is not in the notes but in the silence between the notes’. Hmm …  Rather less obscurely, the use of silence in rests within notated music is very important: for proportion, balance, clarity, structure, articulation and to clear the musical airspace before a significant entry.

Leopold Stokowski speaks of a different kind of silence: ‘A painter paints his pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence. We provide the music, and you provide the silence.’ A completely silent backdrop against which a performance is ideally heard is rare – unless a miracle of music-making occurs of such extraordinary magic that the audience collectively is hushed, hardly even daring to breathe, let alone cough. And the best silence of all is when an audience respectfully delays its applause after a quiet ending.

2012 is the  centenary of his John Cage’s birth; perhaps it can best be celebrated by listening, and by – celebrating!

“What is the purpose of writing music? One is, of course, not dealing with purposes but dealing with sounds. Or the answer must take the form of a paradox: a purposeful purposeless or a purposeless play. This play, however, is an affirmation of life–not an attempt to bring order out of chaos nor to suggest improvements in creation, but simply a way of waking up to the very life we’re living, which is so excellent once one gets one’s mind and one’s desires out of its way and lets it act of its own accord.”
― John Cage, Silence: Lectures and Writings

E is for Estampes – Debussy

A Javanese gamelan, a Spanish habanera and French children’s songs rub shoulders in Debussy’s Estampes, three pieces for piano completed in 1903.

At the Exposition Universelle in Paris in 1889, Debussy had witnessed a Javanese gamelan orchestra, with its metallic percussion instruments and rhythmically hypnotic music. The pentatonic flavour of Pagodes, the first of the Estampes, may not be strictly Javanese, but the impression of differently pitched metallic percussion instruments is well conveyed. At the opening, low 5ths colour the bass, a syncopated, off-beat chordal pulse is introduced in the middle register, and a melodic, decorative figure oscillates around the black keys above, délicatement et presques sans nuances. The main theme is in octaves, again pentatonic, but the music ventures at times away from the black keys to add a few pungent harmonies and unexpected raised 4ths. Gradually the rhythmic complexity grows, with triplets and later demisemiquavers used to adorn the slower moving themes; a ‘back and forth’ pattern over two notes brings to mind the gamelan players, seated at their instruments, striking metallophones with small hammers.

It is an evocative piece, in B major with its five sharps conveniently located on the piano providing the pentatonic haze; a performance has to have at times the resonance of a gong, at times the brilliance of a glockenspiel, and always the burnish of polished metal. Exotic and oriental, the title Pagodes tells us that were are in the East, without being too geographically specific; the music takes us there instantly. Here is Richter:

 

And then – to Spain in the second of the Estampes, La soirée dans Grenade. Debussy’s first-hand experience of Spain was negligible at that time, but he immediately conjures up the country by using the persuasive Habenera dance rhythm to open the piece – softly and subtly. It insinuates itself into our consciousness with its quiet insistence on a repeated C sharp in different registers; around it circles a languid, Moorish arabesque, with nasal augmented 2nds, and a nagging semitone pulling against the tonal centre, occasionally interrupted by muttering semiquavers and a whole-tone based passage. Debussy writes Commencer lentement dans un rythme nonchalamment gracieux at the beginning, but later Très rythmé in a brightly lit A major as the dance comes out of the shadows, ff, with the click of castanets and the stamping of feet.

Tempo rubato, expressif, for six bars of whole-tone colour, before the C sharp is used to turn the tonal direction of the dance, this time to the radiance of F sharp major, avec plus d’abandon, with a swooping, curvaceous melodic line. Back to material heard previously, before the ubiquitous Spanish guitar makes a brief appearance, Léger et lointain, quickly strummed; a final reminder of the Moorish melody, the muttering semiquavers and the Habanera rhythm bring the piece to an end. Intoxicating.

Here is Richter:

The third and final Estampe is closer to home for Debussy; the rain-soaked gardens of Jardins sous la pluie theoretically could be anywhere, but he incorporates two French folk tunes: the lullaby Do, do, l’enfant do and Nous n’irons plus au bois. Net et vif, the rain drums relentlessly, the wind howls chromatically, a mysterious lull and the folk melodies offer moments of respite. The sun breaks through, éclatant, once the tonality has shifted from minor to major, en animant jusqu’a la fin.

Here is Gieseking:

A casual look at Estampes might lead to the conclusion that the pieces are a random selection, but the distinctive musical features of each one create sound pictures of three locations; three ‘Prints’, as the title suggests.

YouTube has many videos of Javanese and Balinese gamelans, and recordings of the French songs. Recordings of La soirée dans Grenade include one by Ricardo Viñes, Debussy’s friend. Very enlightening, too, are the wonderful videos of Maria Callas singing Bizet’s Habanera from his opera Carmen. (The version sung by The Muppets, however, is best avoided.)

D is for Danseuses de Delphes – Preludes, Book 1, No 1

375-330 BC, or thereabouts, and a supporting column is built near Apollo’s Temple at Delphi in Greece, with three sculpted dancers frozen in time at its summit. Wearing short tunics, barefoot, an arm raised in gesture or perhaps holding crotales, they were rediscovered amongst the toppled ruins in 1894 during excavations by a French team of archeologists. Delphi is situated on Mount Parnassus – home of the Muses, the eponymous pianistic destination of Clementi’s Gradus ad Parnassum, and Debussy’s Dr Gradus ad Parnassum; he chose to bring those Danseuses de Delphes to life as the first of his Préludes in 1910, having seen a reproduction of the sculpture at the Louvre in Paris.

No neatly stylized Minuet or Passepied here; these Delphic dancers are slower but still gracefully fluid in their movements, Lent et grave the tempo, doux et soutenu the sound. As in so much of Debussy’s music, there are inner and outer layers to be conveyed: a legato, close-stepped melody tucked away within a progression of mezzo staccato chords, sometimes rising above while the chords are enfolded within, sometimes doubled at the octave while the chords appear offbeat above. The dance pauses twice while falling pianissimo chords pass by, elongating the phrases, then moves on inexorably in precise dotted rhythms towards the climax of the piece with its clashing major seconds – only a modest forte though, in a soundscape which asks the pianist to calibrate fine gradations at every level from f through mf, mp, p, piu p, pp, and piu pp, coming to rest serenely on an F major chord, ppp.

Towards the end, there are two backward glances at the opening theme, and perhaps the quiet ‘ting’ of crotales, before the concluding chords. Here is Cortot:

B is for Bergamasque; C is for Clair de Lune

17,217,253. That is the number of views which YouTube’s top-ranking video of Debussy’s Clair de Lune had when I started research for this post a few days ago. The views now number 17,259,512 – over 42,000 more. Successive generations of pianists have fallen under the piece’s spell since its publication in 1905. My grandmother and my mother learnt it. I learnt it. Now my pupils clamour to learn it, influenced by Twilight. Its appeal is so popular that it can even be studied via YouTube in various tutorials which currently have thousands of views.

It comes from Debussy’s Suite Bergamasque, a collection of four pieces, of which three have Suite-like titles; a Prélude, and two dance movements: Menuet and Passepied. The titles are entangled with the poetry of Paul Verlaine, whose collection Fêtes galantes contains a Clair de lune – set as a song by Debussy –  which uses the word bergamasque. The piano piece was originally named Promenade Sentimentale after a Verlaine poem, and the Passepied was originally a Pavane: again, a Verlaine title.

Clair de Lune is in D flat major, with a key signature of five flats; a luscious choice – think of the big, sweeping melody in Khatchaturian’s Adagio of Spartacus and Phrygia, and Liszt’s Un Sospiro. It is in compound triple time with an occasional duplet, and it needs a persuasive rubato, a flowing, even accompaniment of semiquavers in the middle section, and a warm tone which is sometimes veiled, leading to exploration of pedalling and sound quality; all sorts of teaching points there and many others too, but one of the piece’s greatest benefits is that pupils really want to play it, so motivation is usually assured. Here is Paul Crossley:

The Prélude opens the Suite with a grand flourish and a broad theme at a sensible speed; a good start to a recital’s first or second half. The middle section gives scope for exploration of more distant keys and modulations, but it is all comfortably tonal and accessible, with no real surprises. Here is Gieseking:

The Menuet is quite sprightly with a beguiling modality and some delightfully unexpected twists and turns; deft fingerwork is demanded for its quasi-baroque ornamented melody. The thirds need some practice, too. A real charmer, which soon abandons its well-behaved intentions for a more full-blooded expansiveness. Gieseking again:

The final movement, a Passepied, opens with a lightly buoyant staccato LH  accompaniment reminiscent of pizzicato cellos, and again a modally flavoured melody, giving the piece an attractive sepia tint. 3-against-4 is often called for, and the middle section forgets momentarily that it is supposed to be a dance as it lingers over some rather enjoyable harmonic colours. Gieseking:

Pianists and audiences will find much that is engaging in the Suite Bergamasque beyond its well known star attraction piece. Below is the poem which perhaps inspired it.

Clair de luneVotre âme est un paysage choisi Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques.Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur L’amour vainqueur et la vie opportune, Ils n’ont pas l’air de croire à leur bonheur Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune, Au calme clair de lune triste et beau, Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres Et sangloter d’extase les jets d’eau, Les grands jets d’eau sveltes parmi les marbres. From Fêtes galantes (1869)

MoonlightYour soul is like a landscape fantasy, Where masks and Bergamasks, in charming wise, Strum lutes and dance, just a bit sad to be Hidden beneath their fanciful disguise.Singing in minor mode of life’s largesse And all-victorious love, they yet seem quite Reluctant to believe their happiness, And their song mingles with the pale moonlight, The calm, pale moonlight, whose sad beauty, beaming, Sets the birds softly dreaming in the trees, And makes the marbled fountains, gushing, streaming– Slender jet-fountains–sob their ecstasies.

Copyright notice: Excerpted from One Hundred and One Poems by Paul Verlaine translated by Norman R. Shapiro, published by the University of Chicago Press. ©1999 by the University of Chicago. All rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of U.S. copyright law, and it may be archived and redistributed in electronic form, provided that this entire notice, including copyright information, is carried and provided that the University of Chicago Press is notified and no fee is charged for access. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the consent of both the author and the University of Chicago Press

A is for Arabesque

What do you think of when you read the word: Arabesque? To an artist, it consists of “surface decorations based on rhythmic linear patterns of scrolling and interlacing foliage, tendrils”* found in Islamic art and in European decorative art from the Renaissance onwards.

To a dancer, it’s a ballet position with leg stretched behind, and the arm held to the front, creating the longest line of which a human body is possible. 

To a classical musician, it’s a piece which usually has a decorated melodic line, which seems neatly to combine the other two ideas. Debussy wrote two Arabesques, and they are a good starting point for a survey of some of his music, as they are early works -roughly 1888 – and the first Arabesque is often encountered early in a pianist’s repertoire at about Grade 8.

As well as being a very charming piece, it is useful for teaching 3-against-2, with RH triplets against  LH quavers. Isolating the rhythms as a tapping exercise first, then trying a RH C major scale in triplets aginst a LH one in quavers, are useful practice methods; in the piece itself a careful RH fingering, trying to avoid bumpy position changes, will be essential, as in Liszt’s much earlier Sposalizio which it resembles.  The LH has to glide smoothly through the arpeggios, too.

The middle section needs careful counting, with longer note values in the middle of the bar sometimes incorrectly shortened by less rhythmic players. There are good opportunities for rubato, and pedalling needs attention to avoid blurring, yet, sometimes, to give a wash of colour.

The second Arabesque is less often heard, but it is a delightful companion piece, requiring nimble fingers and clarity of attack in the RH triplet-based motives that feature throughout. Try a change of fingers in the triplet -eg 243 instead of 232 -to avoid what Ronald Smith used to call ‘the law of inertia’.

In both pieces, quiet dynamics are often called for; Debussy’s music requires a finely graded palette of soft sounds. A French dictionary will be useful for the less common musical terms. Innocuous and pleasant pieces – a good introduction to the composer. And, thinking of his later development, completely misleading.

Below is a piano roll of Debussy himself playing his second Arabesque. The group photograph shows Debussy playing to Chausson in 1893.

*John Fleming and Hugh Honour, Dictionary of the Decorative Arts 1977

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The French Connection

Chopin in 2010, Liszt in 2011 – now that we’re in 2012, it is Debussy’s turn for the spotlight as we celebrate 150 years since his birth in 1862. It’s quite a logical succession -Debussy studied with a pupil of Chopin, and met Liszt in Rome; they are all connected.

As well as Debussy’s music, I’ll be looking at other French composers and their works – expect a Gallic twist in my Notes from a Pianist this year.

To set the scene, here is Debussy’s L’après-midi d’une Faune for orchestra – Stokowski conducts the LSO. Bonne année!

Journey’s End – and the Last Word from Liszt in 2011

 

So we come to New Year’s Eve, the final day of 2011 and of the Liszt bicentenary. I set out on this online Année de Pèlerinage through Liszt’s music nearly a year ago, and it has been a fantastic experience. Thank you to all who have travelled with me in this blog, and warm greetings to all who have discovered Liszt’s music in concerts, broadcasts and recordings. And if his music is not for you – so be it! (But don’t give up…)

For further exploration of Liszt’s contribution to the Concert Etude genre, the Two Concert Etudes Waldesrauschen and Gnomenreigen, the Three Concert Etudes Il Lamento, La Leggierezza and Un Sospiro, and the Etude Ab Irato are well worth a look.

And for Liszt’s writings about music and about his travels in Switzerland and Italy, ‘An Artist’s Journey’, translated and annotated by Charles Suttoni, published by the University of Chicago Press, is invaluable and absorbing.

Finally, some words from the man himself; an excerpt from a letter written in Budapest on January 2nd, 1877 to his cousin Eduard Liszt in Vienna. Liszt’s correspondence was huge, and his letters (many of them online ) are a great read. Like many of us, at this time of year his thoughts are part sacred, part secular, part professional – and part financial…

Dearest, Most Honoured Cousin,

I always remain faithful to you in heartiest agreement with your
thoughts and feelings. Every year brings us nearer to the fulfilment of our hope in Jesus Christ the Saviour!
“He that endureth to the end shall be saved!”
I am now quite recovered from my little attack. If there were
nothing worse in this world than sprained legs and physical
suffering, one could be quite satisfied. Moreover I belong to the
very favoured and happy ones, even as regards physical suffering.

There is nothing particular going on here which I need mention.
Four times weekly I have a class for pianists and pianistes,
native and foreign. Half a dozen of these distinguish themselves
and will be able to grow into capable public artists.
Unfortunately there are far too many concerts and concert-
players. As Dingelstedt quite truly said, “The theater is a
necessary evil, the concert a superfluous one.” I am trying to
impress this sentence on my disciples of the Hungarian Academy of
Music…
Heartiest greetings to your family, and au revoir in Schottenhof
[Eduard Liszt's home in Vienna] in the middle of March, on the
occasion of the “Beethoven-Monument Concerts.”

Your

F. Liszt

The Christmas week has beggared me. Be so good as to send me very quickly 500 gulden, for I have hardly 60 left.