Ailene Mary Nase, a tribute

I had begun asking for piano lessons when I was around three. "You may start once you are in kindergarten," my parents had said. Apparently, after the first day of kindergarten, I asked, "when do I start?" 

The natural choice was to have me begin with Miss Nase. She was, at that time, my mother's teacher. I was obsessed from an early age with watching my mother practice. 

Lessons when I was young were my favorite thing of the week. Reading came quickly and I would play the piano every time I walked past the instrument (which at that time was a Kimball Artist's Console). 

There are so many things which I owe Ailene. But of primary importance, or what I have carried with me into my professional career, are: stage presence, form, analysis, theory, the need for imagination, open-score reading, and an absolute passion and love for music, the making of it, and the need to put that first. 

I studied with this woman for ten years. I think she mostly enjoyed me, except when I was being stubborn and opinionated. (This has been known to happen on occasion). I remember one lesson where I was assigned multiple movements of a Clementi sonata. At that point in my life, I didn't want to play any slow movements. So I ripped the slow movement out of the book and hid it in my piano bench at home, and went back the next week to the lesson, outer (quicker) movements prepared and no slow movement. When she asked me about it, I told her that my book didn't have one. (I remember a stiffled smile - I wasn't fooling anyone).

She instilled in me the importance of knowing theory very well from the beginning. We worked on it from day one, along with ear training. One of the questions that I've never been able to answer is that, at one point after moving back to PA from Oberlin, I inherited five of her old students. ALL of them had either perfect pitch or very highly developed relative pitch. How she developed this continues to be a mystery, but mathetmatically, 80% of a small group is a very high number of musicians to have that level of pitch memory. She herself was an accomplished choral conductor, so the importance of many facets of the "total musician" - strong rhythm, strong reading skills, theory, really good ears, score reading, improvisation - were strengths in her teaching. These are strengths I have to this day, and I can't possibly begin to show how much gratitude I have for her teaching in this way.

I also remember her tirelessly rehearsing us before recitals, about how to walk to the piano, how to bow, how to sit, how to thank the audience. She insisted on Sunday "formal" attire for her recitals, and they were beautiful. After the recital, we were all given a carnation for congratulations, and then had a reception. 

Ailene taught (at one point, but not all at the same time) both of my parents and three of my siblings. She was also completely identifiable and unique - white Mercedes, distinctive perfume, always dressed so beautifully for lessons, beautiful manicured nails (she didn't play a lot in the days when I was studying with her). I can still remember her dog and also her lovely home (decorated like a French parlor). Her "studio" was a finished garage which held a Baldwin piano and a harpsichord, which her father had built for her. She was the one that introduced me to harpsichord playing, and that is another bug which really stuck. 

Her support for the arts and of people's participation in music is another thread which is strong through my core, even today. 

When I received word that she passed away, when I was in Germany, it put me into a more contemplative but also state of incredible gratitude and grace. This woman had given me, and so many other musicians, so much to be thankful for. My concerts in Germany in my mind were offered in dedication for *her* - her life, her passion for music, her looking after me (musically) for a decade. In re-reading her obituary, my affinity for vocal music wasn't something that sprung up at Oberlin. It is, essentially, "mother's milk," for she understand vocal music, line, and counterpoint in genuine way.

She even passed at eighty-eight years, which shows her true dedication to the piano.

PHOTO: Miss Nase, how I remember her ... 

)For more information, please visit http://www.williamsbergeykoffel.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=837:-nase-ailene-mary&catid=34:obituaries&Itemid=65)

An die Musik

The Jesse Kneisel Lieder Competition is a special event at Eastman. Every March, singer-pianist teams audition for an opportunity to compete in the Final Round, which is held this year on May 10th. Judging the preliminary round is a panel of every professor and practitioner of vocal music at the school. This includes the stage directors in the opera department, voice teachers, diction and language teachers, coaches, and accompanying professors. 

(It’s quite a sight to see one very long table as the panel. It’s easily the biggest panel for which I’ve ever played). 

The requirements for the preliminary round are:

one selection of Schubert 
two other selections, which must be originally set and composed in German (so Dvořák’s Gypsy Songs would qualify)

The panel reserves the right to hear 1-3 selections, or parts of any selection offered. As per normal audition protocol, they can ask for anything and stop you at any time.

One of the partners that I had for this audition is a treasure to me. We entered the DMA together: we took classes together, and we have worked together for the past three years. We’ve done two degree recitals together. We also performed at each other’s recent weddings! And most recently, we studied for, braved, and passed the written comprehensives together!

For this audition, we also had a series of wonderful language sessions with some of the collaborative and language professors at Eastman. We’re not taking classes full-time (we’re both just finishing up this semester), and so we had the time to really invest into the rehearsal process in a way that was not distracted by the many demands put onto a doctoral student. I practiced and polished these three pieces with a great deal of care, as did my partner. 

My mindset during the audition was very clear, actually. Instead of being intimidated by the large panel, I realized, "These musicians love music, they want us to be in the best possible shape. They want to advance us!" I focused on having my accompaniment be clear and light, with the motive of the Trout being clear, gleaming, and magical. For the Brahms, Auf dem Kirchhofe, I wanted my wind at the beginning to evoke a blizzard in Vienna's Central Cemetery. 

And … we made it to the finals, with a list of co-competitors that is formidable! We are in wonderful company, and I am excited to take the next two months and work on this material even more. 

Schubert is one my Rosetta Stone composers. I mean this in the original way that we know the Rosetta Stone, meaning a valuable crux of bridging the gap of understanding from one thing to another. Schubert has always proved a style that I could delve into deeply, without feeling stylistically constrained. I’ve always appreciated and loved his Beethovenian drama, with Mozartean form and Italianate melodic gifts. And something who produced over 600 of anything while dealing with terminal illness and a short lifespan is a force to be reckoned with! 

The repertoire of Schubert that I’ve studied has always brought joy. I played the big Sonata in A Minor at Oberlin. I studied and performed the Impromptu in f minor in England with my high school and post-Oberlin teacher, Sandra Carlock. That opportunity brought a performance of Schubert on instruments that were contemporary to the great composer! I played this impromptu on a Fritz … if I can find photos, I will share them for sure … Other opportunities to play the B-flat Major Trio, the Trout Quintet, Arpeggione Sonata, and countless lieder have always been happy. 

Schubert is tricky, too. The articulations are not easy. The texture can be spare, and therefore, treacherously exposed. But the decision-making-minefield of this music is always worth every minute in the practice room. 

I had the opportunity to visit Schubert’s birth and death houses in Vienna in 2012. I did both in the same day, which was poetic in and of itself. To encompass any life in a single day, much less this one … it was really special. Both places had artifacts that you’d expect: preserved papers, instruments, lithographs, portraits, instruments. 

What got me were the glasses. In every likeness that you will see of Schubert, he wears very modest, round glasses. I love them. I love him for wearing them. When I was studying with my first piano teacher, Ailene Nase, she would have all of the great lionized Western composers’ portraits on the wall. Schubert was easy to find, because of the glasses. 

The Death-House in particular had an arresting, quieting feel. It was awe-inspiring to be walking the halls where he composed Die Schöne Müllerin and Die Winterreise. The spirit of a man dying of syphillis, aching to write lieder and read Fennimore Cooper still lingers. 

It is as if his Doppelgänger is still in all of us, asking us to carry on his voice, and his music.

PHOTOS: taken by me at the Geburtshaus and Sterbhaus, summer of 2012, Vienna.