When is the last time you performed something without using the pedal? That’s right, no pedal at all.
As it happens, I did exactly that on Sunday night. I was thinking about that while driving home, trying to remember the last time I’d omitted all pedal. There was one occasion several years ago.
Christ & Saint Stephen’s in midtown Manhattan features a dome above the altar area. A baritone I played for had included “Why do the nations rage” from Messiah on his recital program. The piano reduction, 16th note tremelos, sounded like what you might call a bloody mess! The singer’s girlfriend, a professional cellist, attended the dress rehearsal, for which I shall always be grateful. She suggested that I play 8th notes at first, but even that sounded too muddy for audience consumption. Then she suggested playing quarter note chords, no tremolo at all, without any pedal. Amazingly enough, that worked.
Prior to that experience, the only time I played without pedal was probably in college, when playing Baroque music. At the time, I was a die-hard original sound freak, or preferred to come as close as possible given that I was playing a piano rather than a harpsichord. That certainly meant that the pedal was not to be used at all.
Since college, I have discovered that using the pedal on every note of a continuo bass line (i.e. quarter notes) enhances the sound without blurring it. But it must be used judiciously! Just tap it. The idea is to allow the strings to vibrate without making the sound last longer. You will hear the sound become rounder, closer to cello pizzicato.
Sunday night’s concert venue was a large church with high, valuted ceilings. The reverberation time was at least 4 seconds. We performed Copland’s “The Promise of Living” with a large group of combined choruses. The version on our program featured a piano four-hands accompaniment.
Both of us arrived at the piano, sat down and looked at each other. Whose score would we use? After we solved that question, my fellow pianist said, “Do you want to pedal?” I said, “Go for it!” He was playing the secondo part. The pedal would be easier for him to reach. In addition, he would be playing the part with the harmonic rhythm.
Soon after, we heard how live the acoustics were in the space. The piano was some distance away from the singers. We decided not to use the pedal at all, in order to provide as much clarity as possible.
I’m happy to say it worked! A professional singer, who sang an aria during the program, was sitting in the audience during the Copland. She and I were talking afterwards, when she said she heard clarity, and it sounded as if we had pedaled.
Have you ever performed with no pedal?
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Collaborative pianists need all the same technical skills required of soloists, and some would argue that they need to be able to play mezzo forte and under.
My immediate reaction was, “Wait a minute!” Let’s look more closely.
Collaboration is working with others to do a task and to achieve shared goals. It is a recursive[1] process where two or more people or organizationswork together to realize shared goals, (this is more than the intersection of common goals seen in co-operative ventures, but a deep, collective determination to reach an identical objective[by whom?][original research?]) — for example, an endeavor[2][3] that is creative in nature[4]—by sharing knowledge, learning and building consensus. Most collaboration requires leadership, although the form of leadership can be social within a decentralized and egalitarian group.[5] In particular, teams that work collaboratively can obtain greater resources, recognition and reward when facing competition for finite resources.[6] Collaboration is also present in opposing goals exhibiting the notion of adversarial collaboration, though this is not a common case for using the word.
(Note: color and bolding added by GS for emphasis.)
Breaking it down
This implies much more than the prevailing misconception, by now outdated, concerning collaborative piano playing. Even after more than 50 years of the progress begun by Gerald Moore and further championed by Gwendolyn Koldofsky and others, a significant number of pianists continue to subscribe to the habit of just showing up without practicing.
An additional component of this view seems to be a desire to stay out of the way!
I strongly disagree with this idea. If one’s sole interest is not to be heard, then why show up at all? (Gerald Moore’s humorous book, “Am I too Loud?” was first published in 1962!)
The author of the book quoted above says, “some would argue that they need to be able to play mezzo forte and under.” If one is to interpret this as a recommendation to play mf and under at all times, I have to ask, “Why?”
The music
The piano part/reduction is part of the total fabric of sound. It is crucial to have a point of view about the music which is expressed primarily by the manner in which one plays.
Even when playing for very young musicians, the bass line can be prominent. They need the support. An obligato line above or below the singers’ range should be heard. Introductions, interludes, and postludes are shaping the piece, not interfering. The rhythm should be clear and compelling, providing a foundation for inexperienced musicians. Why are we there? How are we supporting a young musician’s efforts if we may as well not be in the room at all? Do we not have a responsibility to be there?
In other situations, with more experienced singers and instrumentalists (who produce more sound), the solo line is not always the most interesting. Think of Beethoven’s “Spring” sonata (violin/piano), for example:
The violinist clearly has the theme throughout the opening statement. And then, in the 2nd system, 4th bar, the piano has thematic material, marked crescendo, proceeding without pause into a restatement of the same theme. Since the piano part is occupying a higher range at that point, it will be heard.
Note that the violin and piano parts are both marked piano, even though each plays thematic as well as non-thematic music. The equal dynamic markings would imply that both parts are to be heard. Why would the piano part be less important/played at a lower dynamic than the violin?
We have another example in Händel’s “Care selve” from Atalanta:
In this aria, the vocal and piano lines are beautifully interwoven. Listen to the incomparable Montserrat Caballé and her superb pianist, who should have been credited on YouTube! What do you hear? Is the pianist voicing his part? The bass line is always there, the melody is clear when echoing the singer, and the interludes fill the room.
A heads up: prepare to be floored!
Teatro Real de Madrid, 1979
When learning Handel’s “Sweet Bird,” I listened to several recordings so I could learn more about ornamentation. Roberta Peters’ performance with a flutist was stunning. They opted to do only the exposition (one page), then added two more pages of a duet. Their sounds blended perfectly, with the most amazing trills. I was in awe listening to the ensemble’s perfectly matched sound, ornaments rhythmically free (rather than using regular note values, the performers, who were often trilling in 3rds, used slower notes, then faster, then added a turn). I listened to the recording over and over, mesmerized.
Point of view
When I was a scholarship student at the Aspen Music Festival, the Juilliard String Quartet was in residence all summer. Their open rehearsals were attended by singers of all voice types and interests, and students who played a variety of instruments. Why were so many students attending, week in and week out? The quartet talked about the music. During one rehearsal, a disagreement continued for several minutes. The cross-rhythms in Brahms needed clarification among the players.
One instance in which cross-rhythms are found is in 6/8 time, when the notes can be divided into groups of 2 or 3. When there is one more than one part, both groupings can happen simultaneously.
In this memorable rehearsal, each player was staking a claim to the way he wanted to play a section containing cross-rhythms. The violist opted for one rhythmic grouping; the cellist another. When the 2nd violinist chose a larger note grouping, the 1st violinist decided, “I’ll just fit in.”
At that moment (it didn’t take long!), the other three players ganged up on him. “No! You have to make up your mind!”
The rehearsal had just become more… interesting, as the quartet’s cellist Joel Krosnick would say.
The decision was made, and the quartet tried it out. Each player was doing something different! It was wonderful.
What would have happened had everyone opted to “Just fit in?” How compelling can that be?
I submit that staying out of the way is not music, and it certainly is not collaboration. If you have nothing worth saying, why play at all? If you can’t be heard, what’s the point? What contribution does that make? How is that supportive?
Bottom line
In order to collaborate as pianists, we need to ask for the music in advance (and obtain it!), practice well, and have a point of view about the music. In rehearsals, our point of view may change. Collaboration means hearing what the other musicians have to say. An interpretation reached by sharing ideas is what collaboration aims to achieve.
To reiterate the definition provided above, when we collaborate, we:
…work together to realize shared goals [in] … a deep, collective determination to reach an identical objective…
What does “collaboration” mean to you? How did you arrive at your conclusions?
Comments welcome!
Check back for my next post, PianoAnd: Children’s voices
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“Goal-oriented Practice” Are you practicing well? What do you do when you hit a snag? How do you help your students practice?
Do you have a plan for putting difficult pieces together at performance tempo? How do you help your students achieve a steady tempo without slowing down in difficult passages?
This book will help you take a step back, save practice time, learn more music, and perform with confidence. Whether teaching, playing solo, or collaborating with other musicians, you will find many useful suggestions here.
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What did you find here? What would you like to see? Comments welcome!
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Short answer: Because if sight-reading is all you ever do, then that’s the best you will ever play.
Today, while learning a Mozart piano reduction (violin concerto), I had to stop myself from switching between fingers on a single key several times.
We have two options: sight-reading and improving. (One is more fun than the other!) The pic above accurately represents the way I feel when I have to write fingerings in my music.
The problem, for me, stems from three sources:
1. Sight-reading (both music I need to learn and music that’s put in front of me in work situations); 2. Organ playing; and 3. Playing for chorus/opera/dance/musical rehearsals.
To elaborate:
1. Sight-reading is a great skill to have! Without it, there would be far fewer work opportunities. The problem is that when one relies only on sight-reading, fingerings are random and so is the resulting sound. The playing will be slower and have considerably less finesse. In addition, when sight-reading is the only game in town, the music benefits from very little thought.
2. Organs and pianos both have keyboards, but they are completely different mechanically. To sustain a pitch on the organ, the key must be depressed. On piano, the damper pedal is available. Organists are trained to play a key with one finger, then switch to another while still depressing the same key. That’s how they navigate around the keyboard while playing legato. Playing the piano in that manner, however, is not helpful except in cases where the fingering cannot be solved in other ways.
3. When playing piano reductions (chorus, opera, and concertos where the pianist acts as the orchestra), pianistic fingering is not possible. There are too many notes included in a piano reduction to fit under the hand. (Reductions are not “pianistic.”) So “bad” fingering often results. The object is to get to the next location on the keyboard however you can, ahead of time.
So, what is “good” fingering?
Good fingering is pianistic (comfortable);
Good fingering enhances the flow of the music;
Good fingering makes use of different parts of the hand for intended results.
The thumb is heavy;
The pinkie gets a bright sound;
The 3rd finger can imitate French horn;
The 4th finger is guaranteed to be softer; and
2 and 5 are great for flute solos.
Try playing Mozart. Unintended accents will be immediately disruptive. Making good fingering decisions is the shortest route to playing appropriately.
Schumann, Verdi, and Prokofiev sound distinct from each other when played by good orchestras. Why not play them with different sounds on the piano, too?
Why spend valuable practice time eliminating accents produced by the thumb when you could find a better fingering? Practicing for hours attempting to produce an accented downbeat with the 4th finger is similarly a waste of time.
What do you think? Is fingering important to you? How many practice sessions do you spend playing the same music before writing in fingerings?
Free of musical jargon, it will save you time. By identifying practice goals, you will soon be able to learn music more accurately, resulting in confident playing.
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On a recent Tuesday, The Hartt School had a makeup lesson day for voice students. The goal was to help everyone get what they needed after encountering two snow days earlier in the semester.
My colleagues and I were asked to be available during our regular Tuesday schedules. The voice teachers had different students at “our” times, but it all worked out. We juggled.
As it turned out, the other pianists and I saw each other in our “office” more than usual. We have no office, so we talk, look at music, make phone calls, have lunch, etc., in the hallway.
Sometime during the afternoon, Matthew, one of my colleagues, took a seat on a bench near me. He asked, “What are you doing on May 27th?” His question surprised me, because I live in MA, not CT.
I said, “Nothing,” without looking at my schedule. School would be over for the summer, so I was pretty sure. Then I inquired into why he was asking.
“I need a sub for a children’s choir dress rehearsal.”“I live in MA, you know.” He gets it. His sister just graduated from UMass. He has been here many times, and knows it involves time to commute.
“How much is your transportation?”So I told him.
“I’ll send you the music ahead of time, and pay your transportation plus the rehearsal fee.”
Of course I said “Yes!”
And that, my friends, is the way to hire a sub!
Thanks so much, Matt! I’m happy to help, and look forward to meeting a new conductor!
In choosing music for Sunday, I decided on two Bach Preludes and excerpts from a Fugue (keeping the postlude short). The service had been scheduled to be outdoors, which meant I would be playing a digital piano.
All three works are pieces I have not played before. So note-learning commenced immediately.
After reading through everything, I went back to look for clues about the construction and articulation of each piece.
In one Prelude, especially, a seemingly insignificant detail turned out to be crucial to most interpretive decisions throughout the piece.
There are two compositional elements that must be clearly differentiated:
quarter-note chords; and
thematic material.
At first, I honored the length of the quarter notes. That plan worked for 7 measures! Time to find another plan.
Now look at bar 8. How can the quarter note “G” be held while continuing with the thematic upper part (B-flat and A-flat, etc.)? Even if I were able to stretch from G to B-flat, the tone quality would suffer on the 16th notes. (My left hand is unable to play E-flat and G at the same time, too.)
Using pedal to sustain the “G” is out of the question. The next two 16th notes would be blurred.
So I tried playing an 8th-note “G”! And it worked. But consistency in articulation is so important when voicing Bach’s music. Establishing longer quarter notes over 7 bars and then playing a single 8th note instead just wouldn’t make it. So I jumped from one quarter-note section to the next, checking them all out in the shorter version against the opposite hand.
Bach’s intentions are best expressed in the clarity between his compositional ideas. I hear the piece as if orchestrated, with a group of instruments playing the quarters and strings (in their appropriate range) playing the thematic portions.
Seeing quarter notes notated in opposition to the eighths and sixteenths of the thematic portions makes the difference in parts visually clear. I don’t see the notation as an error. Imagine all the ink on the page if 8th notes and 8th-note rests were used instead.
This afternoon (Thursday), the plans for the outdoor service were changed. We will be having an indoor service, and I will be playing an acoustic piano.
Friday update: I tried something new today with the quarter note in question. If the moving part is played with an appropriate break to accommodate the ascending interval from D-flat to B-flat, it is possible to make the “G” sound a little longer. I like the way that sounds, so now I’ve added a breath in the moving part.
Immediately after the breath, the piece continues in tempo.
This piece is still evolving for me. I have decided to postpone playing it until I feel comfortable.
What do you think? Please share your thoughts in the Comment Section below!
* When I was a staff accompanist at Smith College, one of the voice
teachers often referred to Bach as "Johnny Rivers."
The following poem was sent to me this morning by Elaine Broad Ginsberg (Lainee), conductor of the Hampshire College Chorus.
THE ACCOMPANIST
I've always worried about you-the man or woman
at the piano bench,
night after night receiving only such applause
as the singer allows: a warm hand please,
for my accompanist. At concerts,
as I watch your fingers on the keys,
and how swiftly, how excellently
you turn sheet music pages,
track the singer's notes, cover the singer's flaws,
I worry about whole lifetimes,
most lifetimes
lived in the shadows of reflected fame;
but then the singer's voice dies
and there are just your last piano notes,
not resentful at all,
carrying us to the end, into those heartfelt cheers
that spring up in little patches from a thrilled audience
like sudden wildflowers bobbing in a rain
of steady clapping. And I'm on my feet, also,
clapping and cheering for the singer, yes,
but, I think, partially likewise for you
half-turned toward us, balanced on your black bench,
modest, utterly well-rehearsed,
still playing the part you've made yours.
Dick Allen
Originally published in North Dakota Quarterly,
Vol. 74, No. 3, 2007
Thank you, Mr. Allen! Thanks, Lainee!
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My choir sang so well last Sunday! We rehearse only on Sunday mornings, with seven people singing last week.
The anthem was “My Lord, What a Morning.” This particular arrangement included tempo changes, ritards, fermati, and some long phrases.
During the rehearsal, the 3 sopranos were having a discussion on the side. When I asked if they had a question (so we could proceed as a group), one soprano said, “We were deciding where each of us could breathe to do this phrase.” YES! I intend to encourage that sort of discussion in the future.
The ritards and tempo changes required that everyone look at me to stay together. I ensured that everyone knew exactly where they needed to look up, repeating exactly the same thing 3 times during the rehearsal. After that, I demonstrated how to hold a choir folder up so as not to be singing to the carpet. One soprano said, “My glasses don’t do that!”
For the first time since I became Director of Music in late January, everybody looked up! We were always together. Tempo changes were no problem, nor were ritards and fermati. The dynamics were wonderful. Everyone listened to each other, resulting in good balance. And the balance adjustments we rehearsed to accommodate the range and voicing of various parts of the piece were there when the time came to sing the piece.
Fourteen eyeballs. What every conductor loves to see.
Members of the congregation approached me after the service to say how much they had enjoyed the anthem.
I’m happy! This unpaid, dedicated choir has improved so much!
Please share your thoughts in the comment section below.
When is it acceptable to listen to a recording before learning a piece?
Most of the time, I am strongly against this as a learning method. For purposes of interpretation, copying someone else’s recording will always sound like a copy. It will never sound like you.
One scenario
I heard of two pianists who played a 4-hands recital 2 or 3 years ago. The program included a set of 3 GershwinPreludes, but neither performer was familiar with the style. “So we listened to Leonard Bernstein‘s recording and we just did what he did.”
I don’t think I’m the only person who finds this unacceptable!
Why now?
Last week, I listened to a recording before playing a note in order to learn a score as quickly as possible.
So why is that OK this time?
The score is an operetta. I will be playing rehearsals but not the performance (which is with orchestra). So this is not about my artistic integrity; it’s about learning notes, tempi, and orchestration.
This score is not well-known (Haddon Hall by Sydney Grundy and Arthur Sullivan (not Gilbert and Sullivan)), and is printed in 19th century English style. In other words, what Americans are accustomed to seeing as a quarter rest looks like a backwards 8th-note rest instead. The notes are smaller and everything looks a lot less clear. All the lines, note heads, stems, etc. look about as substantial as if they had been written with a pencil. The repeat signs are very dim, with no double bars drawing attention to them.
I had a week to learn this, having intentionally taken some time off. My plan is to play about 1/2 by what I’ve heard and 1/2 by sight. Listening to the recording will save needing to look so closely at the music for accidentals, hopefully.
The first rehearsal, a run-through, is tonight! I’ll let you know how it goes.
This is fun!
Best part so far: the second-hand contribution of Mr. Syntax. He seems merely to be quoted, rather than appearing as a character himself.
Under what circumstances do you consider it acceptable to listen to a recording before learning a piece? Please share your thoughts in the comment section below!
Once again, professional tennis illustrates
a relevant point for musicians.
Two of the 2011 Australian Open men’s quarterfinals showed us what type of behavior is expected from professionals and what is unacceptable.
The effects of not showing up
The first example comes from the Roger Federer vs. Stanislas Wawrinka quarterfinal match.
Rod Laver Arena seats over 14,000 people, and appeared to be filled to capacity. The commentators spoke of the difficulty of obtaining tickets to major events and of their expense.
But Wawrinka wasn’t “there.” He didn’t “show up” for work!
Smashed racquet ~ Screen shot ~ Wawrinka v. Federer ~ Australian Open 2011 men's quarterfinals
He may have felt intimidated by playing against Federer. Certainly he could have been fatigued from two previous wins, one of which was a long match. And this match, played in the daytime, meant dealing with different climate conditions. According to the commentators, the balls travel faster in warmer temps.
In the bad behavior department, Wawrinka smashed a racquet, resulting in a code violation for racquet abuse; and he lobbed a ball straight up into the air, earning him one of “those looks” from Federer.
The same two players won Olympic gold in Beijing as doubles partners! What happened?
Commentators spoke at length about what this could mean for Wawrinka’s future.
Next match
Rafael Nadal’s match against David Ferrer was anything but what most spectators, and Nadal himself, had hoped for. Nadal injured a hamstring in the first set, which adversely affected his playing for the rest of the match.
Nadal devastated by injury ~ Screen shot ~ Nadal v. Ferrer ~ Australian Open 2011 men's quarterfinals
Watching Nadal’s obvious disappointment during the changeovers was so sad. He cried, looking completely dejected. His dream of holding four majors in a row had suddenly disappeared. I didn’t want match point to come.
Rafa’s always professional demeanor
The example Nadal set by finishing the match was something aspiring professionals should take note of. He was in pain, but never considered withdrawing.* It was obvious, with Ferrer playing his best game and slamming away relentlessly, that Nadal had little or no chance of winning. But he was there. He played the best he could under the circumstances.
Part of me started feeling angry that Ferrer was playing so aggressively, knowing that Nadal was injured. A few Tweeters felt the same way. But the commentators said that’s exactly what he should have done, and that they had expected the same of Wawrinka the day before.
Of course the Australian Open is a competition, not a chamber music concert.
To Ferrer’s credit, in his post-match interview he said, “This is one big victory for me, but it’s not like a victory really. He [Nadal] was playing with injury… and I had luck. But I played my game.”
Nadal was given an incredible standing ovation as he left the court. And Ferrer celebrated on court only briefly.
What does this say for us?
BE THERE
Participate fully, even when:
not everyone is at the same level
conditions are less than ideal (cold room, sight lines obscured, etc.)
the piano is sub-par
feeling tired
you disagree w/someone’s interpretation
you have a problem w/someone’s personality
Merely showing up is never acceptable.
Others in the group need our best effort.
The audience has paid to hear us, some having made quite an effort to get to the concert.
Do you watch sports? Do you draw parallels with being a musician? What have you discovered? Please share your thoughts in the comment section below!
*I do not advocate playing a musical instrument in pain. However, we would most likely not be injured to this degree during a concert. Our injuries, as I understand them, are usually cumulative.
What I do advocate is finishing the concert with full participation. Whining helps no one.
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