Timing

As musicians, we think about timing - so - often. 

How much time does it take to prepare _____________ for a concert? There are all sorts of factors with this, including difficulty, style, how much else is going on “in life” at that time, does it have to be memorized or staged ... 

Then within a project, we must obsess over timing in every aspect. How long does it take to move-tune a harpsichord, for a violinist to make a string crossing, for a continuo group to “figure out” the feel of a piece, for a pianist to time a huge leap across the keyboard? How does a singer time a shift through the passaggio, to a high note, or time the initial plosiveness of a double consonant? 

For a performance, how much time do we take between songs or movements? How much is too much, or not enough, for the audience?

A small shift in a metronome marking (or speed) of something can make an enormous difference for the performers and audience. 

Sometimes, we prepare so much for these minuscule shifts, over analyzing them, even.

And just like that, when something is perfectly timed, by surprise, it is remarkable. 

As if God Himself has orchestrated it. 

“He has made everything beautiful in its time.” (Ecclesiastes 3:11, ESV). 

il diavolo è nei dettagli (the devil is in the details) ...

It seems only appropriate to title this post in Italian, as Italians do indeed use the phrase listed above. 

I’m hard-at-work these days, keeping my main wheel going (tenure-track position at a University), along with addressing different “spokes” of this wheel. I’m preparing the chorus (for my first time) of Opera Southwest’s production of Tancredi (you can purhcase tickets here).

The task ahead of us as a team is to prepare a little-known masterpiece of Rossini for four performances in late October. Within the preparation process, and really the most fun part, is working on details.

For example, there are plenty of dynamic markings in parenthesis in the score.

[f] 

Which usually means that an important, past edition has the markings, but the current editor isn’t sure 100% if the dynamics or instructions are accurate enough. 

I am so proud of the work we are doing together.  

For a fun web-link which refers to the title above, click here.

PHOTO: A bird's-eye view of rehearsal this past Saturday. Photo credit - Ryan Guth

Preparation

I have thought so long that a piano should be, simultaneously, the substition and simulation of an entire orchestra. Organists might trump this in some ways, but pianists have a wide dynamic range through physical interaction with the keyboard. 

Twentieth-century composers became curious about color possibilities when a performer was asked to treat the strings with various things, therefore altering the sounds. John Cage asked performers to put nails, forks, tacks, felt, and various other objects in or on the strings. It would create colors closer to a gamelan, Indian drums, or an entire percussion section rather than a keyboard. 

Three of the pieces which I played recently in Germany called for "prepared piano." The composer will put some sort of key or legend in the music before the actual music begins. He or she will lay out a "map" of which notes to treat with which materials. One of the pieces called for some keys to be taped to the fallboard. Another piece asked for notes to be muted (and-or producing overtones) with some sort of putty. The putty in particular was easy because it was able to be removed quickly and re-used. 

I had not done a lot of music like this before initiating the "Albuquerque meets Darmstadt" project. Now, all of the sudden, I was immersed in the possibilities of color which the composers required. 

PHOTO: The inside of the piano while I was practicing "Pulstastung," a multi-movement work by my friend, UNM colleague, and amazing Darmstadt host, Dr. Karola Obermüller. 

Here is a further explanation from the "Prepared Piano" article on Wikipedia. Here is the link if you are interested - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prepared_piano

Although theoretically any object could be used to prepare a piano, in practical application preparation objects are usually expected to have certain characteristics:

• They are applied directly to the piano strings.
• They must fit in the desired location inside the piano.
• They (usually) should not move from their location during playing.
• They must be reversible (that is, when a properly prepared piano has been "unprepared", it should be impossible for anyone to tell that it had been ever been prepared; no permanent damage is done to the piano).

Additionally, most preparations will change the timbre of the string in such a way that the original pitch of the string will no longer be perceptible, though there are occasional exceptions to this.^[1]

Faît accompli!

Yesterday was a great day.

I got to share music with new friends and colleagues, who, a year ago, I had just met. One year later, we were rehearsing, forming our own “community” as a vocal department of five, and then - of course - properly celebrating afterwards with a Chinese food reception! 

Heartfelt thanks to everyone - my faculty partners, the faculty there to support, the crew of Keller Hall, the audio and video crew, my family for cooking the reception … 

There will be more photos, along with beautiful sound and video forthcoming! 

In the meantime, enjoy photos of the “celebration” afterwards. 

Brahms, the mysterious

My faculty recital is coming up this coming Sunday. The program is:

Britten, Canticle III 

Brahms, Sonata in f minor, Opus 120, no 1

----

Journey, Lori Laitman

Vocalise-Étude, Olivier Messiaen

Spanisches Liederspiel, Opus 74, Robert Schumann

What has been interesting is that: most of this program is "new" to me, meaning the first time performing it in public. The oldest piece on the program is a *very* old one. I've known it literally half my life: I first learned of its existence, and learned it musically, on clarinet as a high school student. In years following, I would learn it and play it many times with different clarinetists and violists (Brahms himself transcribed the piece for viola after the initial performances and publications).

Why is the oldest, most familiar piece (to me) still posing questions? 

Brahms would have still been working with a piano that isn't quite like the modern concert grand. I've had the immense privilege of playing a piano much like his 1867 Streicher. That sound wasn't quite as robust or resonant as what a pianist usually plays when either of the Opus 120 sonatas are programmed. 

The questions I'm still asking (these are in no particular order):

1. How can I still find more colors and be more imaginative with voicing?

2. Are there any places that I can still be using more rubato?

3. Why has he written some passage the way that he has? 

There is one passage in particular that perplexes me. It falls in the middle of the development, and Brahms is really "in the wrong key" - sharp minor v. (!) The rhythmic scancion, syncopation, series of tied notes and sequences, and pianistic difficulty - something was really "up" with him in this section. I'm trying to poke around and see if I can't find a copy of the autograph. What I'm wondering if this gave him as much compositional trouble as it gives interpreters and technicians. 

In the meantime, I will keep wondering, and keep practicing.

The colors of "passage" ...

"There are no secrets to success. It is the result of preparation and hard work, learning from failure.” - Colin Powell

I am happy to report that I have passed my oral comprehensive exams. These happened at Eastman last week - I had a committee of four ‘doctors.' For the most part, it was a conversation about music. It encompassed score-identification (Scriabin solo piece), theoretical discussions, historical backgrounds, and pedagogical possibilities. 

While it was a rite of passage, it also felt like the beginning of a good-bye. This brought about, surprisingly, mixed emotions. The let-down, or the relief, after several months of intense preparation, was also very real. 

Two days after, I left Rochester, for my second journey back Stevens Point, Wisconsin. I'm here now for the final rehearsals and performances of "American Opera Triptych." 

This photo brings so many aspects together of what artists need, to prepare a performance, exam or opera. Everything needs different shapes, dimensions, sizes, and colors - just like the departments of an opera (direction, music, set, costumes, lights) or the facets of a complete artist (technique, sound, vision, communication, teaching, writing). The photo is from my bridal bouquet.