Sweet Sixteen(ths)

Basketball, organ music, modern American literature -- they're all related. I'm just glad I have a girlfriend to help me keep them straight.

Last night I was reeling after a day of watching basketball. I wanted to do something to take my mind off my bracket, but I didn't know if I wanted to write, listen to music, or practice the organ. I decided to call my girlfriend and tell her about my quandary. "Why don't you record yourself playing the organ," she suggested, "and then write about it?"

I liked her idea, and I decided to start learning a new piece today so I could have fresh material to record. As I was shifting through my organ sheet music, one piece seemed particularly appropriate. Its title, "Sweet Sixteenths," reminded me of the NCAA tournament and its impending Sweet Sixteen round of play.

"Sweet Sixteenths" is a concert rag for organ by William Albright. As I started to practice the piece today, I tried to make sense of the title. The sixteenths in the title refer to sixteenth notes, the fastest notes in a typical rag. The word sweet puzzled me, though.

I think of words like jaunty, bright, and syncopated when I think of ragtime. None of those words are sweet. How could a rag be sweet?

As I pondered that question, I remembered the epigraph from E.L. Doctorow's novel, Ragtime. The quote comes from Scott Joplin's instructions for musicians who play his music:

"Do not play this piece fast. It is never right to play ragtime fast."

All of a sudden, I understood. In poor ragtime performances, sixteenth notes are jerky and unsettling. In the best performances, they are unhurried and sweet. Sweet sixteenths are more than a clever reminder of a basketball tournament. They are the heartbeat of a classic genre of American music. If you'd like to hear them in action, check out this recording of Scott Joplin performing his "Pineapple Rag," and stay tuned to future posts to hear my take on Albright's piece. 

Absence

Holidays, like music, have dramatically different meanings for different people. This year, I'm learning that Valentine's Day has a complicated meaning for a person in a long-distance relationship. I can't capture that meaning in words, so I'll yield the remainder of my time to Janet Baker and her rendition of Hector Berlioz's "Absence" from Les Nuits d'été. Although the song contains soaring moments of beauty and ponderous statements of yearning, my heart is wrenched most by the silences that punctuate the performance. Today, "Absence" is une chanson pour ma Anna, and it gives voice to all the emotions that accompany me when I tell my special someone that je l'aime.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

The best gifts occasionally blur the line between giver and recipient. When I was a sophomore in college, I gave a gift to my father, and I'm still not sure which one of us enjoyed it more. As a music student in Ohio, I constantly looked for reasons to visit Cleveland to see the city's world-class orchestra. When a program of 20th-century music, a performance by Mitsuko Uchida, and a conducting appearance by Pierre Boulez intersected at Severance Hall during my father's birthday weekend, I knew what I needed to do. I bought a pair of tickets, drove for three and a half hours, and listened to the Cleveland Orchestra with my father.

I don't know many people besides my dad who would be pleased to sit through a program containing music by Marc-Andre Dalbavie, Olivier Messiaen, Maurice Ravel, and Bela Bartok. I definitely don't know any other fathers who would endure a three-and-a-half hour car ride to see symphonic music. I definitely feel fortunate to have such a unique dad. For his birthday today, I assembled a Spotify playlist with all the music we heard in Cleveland. I hope it can remind him of the time we spent together, and I hope it introduces some of my readers to some new music. After all, the person who receives a gift doesn't have to be the only one who enjoys it.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Today I'm celebrating another birthday with musical significance to me, my mother's. Throughout my life, my mother has been my number one fan. It never mattered whether I was playing peewee baseball or pipe organ--if I was performing, my mother was watching from the crowd.

After I finished my senior organ recital and stepped offstage, my mother received me with a hug and told me she couldn't have been more proud of me. I hope one day to prove her wrong. For now, I'll commemorate an important memory of my mother with a link to a recording of Ned Rorem's "There Is a Spirit That Delights to Do No Evil" from my senior recital. Happy Birthday, Mom.

Happy Birthday, Frederick!

Three-hundred years ago today, Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, was born. Frederick was obsessed with music, and modern culture owes a debt to his passion. He played the flute skillfully and composed over 100 pieces for the instrument, but he made his greatest mark on the musical world as a patron. In addition to establishing the Berlin Opera, he employed some of the most respected and prolific composers of his era, including Johann Joachim Quantz and Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach.

Frederick also inspired perhaps the greatest keyboard composition in history — "The Musical Offering" by J.S. Bach. Today I'll celebrate Frederick’s life than by remembering the best present he ever received. I’ll defer to Charles Rosen’s passionate advocacy. Read his New York Times article to learn more about the piece, then watch the video below to hear Rosen bring Bach’s masterpiece to life.

Fischer or Fidelity? (Part 2 of 2)

Asking readers to hear the difference between a harpsichord and a piano, as I did in Friday's post, is one thing. Asking them to hear tiny distinctions in musical phrasing is another. I still think my readers will be up to that task, so if you want to test your auditory mettle, read on.

Once again, you'll need to open this playlist in Spotify to hear today's examples. The last two tracks in that playlist are recordings of J.S. Bach's Fugue in F Major from the Well-Tempered Clavier Book I. Close listening reveals the significant differences between the interpretations of the two performers, Edwin Fischer and Bob van Asperen.

The fugue begins with a distinct musical phrase played in only one voice. Musicians call this phrase the subject of the fugue. The following excerpt from the composer's manuscript (courtesy of imslp.org) shows the subject in the score.

Listen to track four, Asperen's performance, first. Hear how the first five notes are all separate from one another. You might almost imagine Asperen's fingers bouncing over the keys as he begins the subject. Listen for a while longer, noticing the distinct articulation of the subject each time it repeats.

Now listen closely to Fischer on the third track. When he plays the subject, he slurs the first two notes together, and he plays the second note louder than the first. This interpretation is also distinctive, but it's not very Baroque.

If you look at the excerpt from the score, you'll see that the first two notes are separated by a bar line. Bach rarely indicated phrasing in his music, but when he did, he wouldn't connect notes across bar lines. Bach's phrasing conventions were closely tied to the physical limitations of his instruments. If Fischer tried to transfer his interpretation to a harpsichord, his playing would sound muddled. By slurring the first two notes, he would hide the downbeat. On the piano, Fischer can and does emphasize the downbeat by accenting the second note of the subject, but he wouldn't be able to make that note sound any louder on a harpsichord. Without a clear downbeat, Bach's already complex texture would become even more dense, and the entire piece would lag.

Textual and musical evidence shows that Asperen is more faithful to Baroque style than Fischer. Nevertheless, Fischer's recording demonstrates lively playing and a creative use of pianistic resources. I'll leave it to you to decide which performance is better. Tell me what you think in the comments, and come back soon for a celebration of an important musical birthday.

The End of the Music

I am sad to write that the organ world lost another one of its leading lights this week. Gerre Hancock, renowned composer, conductor, and performer, died yesterday at the age of 77.

I was never fortunate enough to hear Dr. Hancock in person, but I'm thankful for recordings that allowed me to listen to his work. Spotify users should listen to Praise the Lord, an album of mostly American choral music with the choir of St. Thomas Church Fifth Avenue. I'd also recommend seeking out Christmas Improvisations on the Gothic label. Dr. Hancock's imaginative renditions of Christmas hymns feature prominently in my annual holiday playlists.

Dr. Hancock was an esteemed teacher, and he shared some of his vast knowledge about improvisation in Improvising: How to Master the Art, which is essential reading for any keyboard student. A story from that book stands out in my memory. Dr. Hancock writes about his studies with the legendary pedagogue Nadia Boulanger. In one session, Mlle. Boulanger asks him to improvise a simple song in three sections on a theme she provides. Dr. Hancock launches into an improvisational fantasy, moving capriciously across keys and thematic sections until he finally receives a tap on the shoulder and a question from his teacher: "Why do you keep playing the organ when the piece was finished some time ago?"

Mlle. Boulanger's lesson reminds us that the end of any musical piece is important because it gives the entire work proportion and beauty. We often feel diminished at the end of a musician's life. As I remember Gerre Hancock, I will do my best to be thankful for the harmony and beauty he provided through his life's work.