Who's that "Batch" guy?

One of the big surprises for me when I first started teaching was how much students didn't know about music, especially classical music. It was easy to forget how much I had learned since I began studying music, or what I had picked up from being raised in a white, middle class family (though they weren't particularly musical).

It's "Bach." It kind of rhymes with "rock" (abandoning any hope of a German pronunciation). No, he didn't write the "Toccata and Fugue in Dm" to be scary music for a horror film.

I try not to be condescending.

The Beethoven we're talking about is Beethoven the composer, not the dog in the movie.

I try not to roll my eyes or grunt in exasperation.

It's Wagner pronounced with a "v," and "show pan" not "chop in." That's a treble clef, not a trouble clef (at least for most people).

Give them credit; they are curious. Classical music is a mysterious world for many of them and they are intrigued by it.

No, you don't have to be fat to sing opera.

They like Carmen. What's not to like in an opera with great music and a plot filled with sex and violence.

No, Mozart didn't write Eine Kleine Natchmusik to make a ringtone, and no he didn't really laugh like that.

They love Amadeus; I just repeat a few thousand times that Salieri did not really kill Mozart. They like the "Queen of the Night" aria, and a couple of brave souls will valiantly attempt those high notes.

No, I don't want to hear your x-rated version of "Every Good Boy Does Fine." No, the term "F hole" refers to the hole on the violin's body. No, that's not what mf stands for, at least in music.

I refrain from telling them the joke about why Bach had so many kids (no stop on his organ – few would get that one), or the difference between an orchestra and a bull (the bull has the horns in the front and the ass in the back).

Don't get me wrong. Many (maybe even most) students have had some musical education, either formally or informally through their family. A few are even incredibly talented and knowledgeable. I remember walking through the halls of a middle school in East LA and seeing a kid sitting on the floor studying the score to The Magic Flute. My first year at Taft High I had a student pianist who was not only a great sight reader, but could easily transpose while he was sight reading. Still, there are times I shake my head.

No, that's not Beethoven playing the piano on the recording of Moonlight Sonata.

It's not their fault, they just haven't been taught. They like the first movement of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, as well as the last movement of the Ninth (although that can get a little long – anything over three minutes is long). And then there's "Für Elise."

Yes, I would love to hear you play "Für Elise."

For the ten thousandth time I listen to a student attempt the first part of Beethoven's little study – MOLTO rubato, slowing down at the hard parts, wrong notes scattered here and there, "oops, let me start over," . . .

But I am sure that when I first started playing classical guitar my performances were just as flawed. No doubt, my guitar teacher, grimacing on the inside, gave me an encouraging word or two.

So now it is my chance to support students as they begin to explore the world of classical music. Now, and in years to come, this music will offer them comfort, beauty, and joy. I am fortunate to be given this opportunity.

That sounded very good. You've really got a nice feel for the piano. Hey, have you heard this? It's a prelude by Bach. Yeah, it looks like "batch," but it's pronounced "Bach." It kind of rhymes with "rock."

Page Turners: The Unheralded Heros of Music

I've been watching a lot of live music performances over the web recently and for some reason have begun to obsess on page turners.

I worry. Are they going to make the turn in time? Will they accidentally turn more than one page? Will the page stay open or will it start to turn back? Will they distract the pianist from the music? Was that a nod to turn by the pianist or was he just moving to the music?

There is a lot to page turning that most people don't consider. It requires concentration, skill, and grace. People don't always appreciate that.

Yet, at the end of the performance, what happens? The pianist takes her bows, accepts flowers, tries to look pleased and humble at the same time. But what of the page turner? Discreetly they have vanished from the stage. I would say that they are quickly forgotten, but that would imply that the audience was even aware of their presence to begin with. They receive acknowledgement from neither the pianist nor the audience. In the flush of triumph, does the pianist even remember?

I suppose the job of the page turner can be a metaphor for our lives. Most of us quietly live out our existence, dutifully doing our job and fulfilling the expectations of friends and family. Then one day we are not there.

Perhaps we have retired, moved, or taken another job. A few months after leaving, someone asks, "I wonder how so-and-so is doing?" and a year later, "Whatever happened to, what was his name again?" and then, . . . nothing.

Perhaps we have died. Outside of a few close friends and family, our lack of existence may not be noticed. We must be content with a mention in someone's genealogy.

Charles de Gaulle once said, "The graveyards are full of indispensable people." The indispensable superstar pianist will one day fade into a one paragraph entry in the Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, in effect suffering the same fate as the forgotten page turner.

In the end, it is the same for all of us – we do our job then leave, hoping that along the way we have made a difference in someone's life. A few are lucky enough to earn a little applause and take a bow or two.

But we all deserve at least a little recognition. So let us now acknowledge the unheralded heros of music – page turners, the musical everyman. "Bravo!" Without you the performance could not have taken place. Take a bow for a job well done. Take a bow for all of us. "Bravissimo!"

Music, the Antidote to Worry

I'm not sure why Thomas Weelkes' gem "O Care, thou wilt despatch me" (part 1) never crossed my musical path (shame on me!), but when I discovered the madrigal on the Choral Public Domain Library a few weeks ago I was quickly excited, delighted, and intrigued.

The title comprises the first line of the song. The five voices enter one at a time with a slow sigh motive – some rising a half step and returning, others dipping down a semitone before coming back to the original pitch. Out of this melodic material Weelkes weaves a mournful harmony with longing dissonances and despondent minor progressions. The music effectively captures the anguish of someone overwhelmed by worry.

But the next line, "if Music do not match thee," offers hope. My cares will weigh me down unless music is there to ease the burden. The melody begins with an upward movement, the harmony shifts to major, and the shorter rhythmic values picks up the pace. A few measures later the singers even break into a short "fa-la-la."

The optimism is short lived, however, for in the next line, "So deadly dost thou sting me," the mood shifts back to despair and pain (with an extremely painful dissonance of f against f# – do I dare perform that?). The piece ultimately ends on a positive note, including the return of the "fa-la-las," yet I sense that this is not a complete victory – a triumph tempered by the losses incurred in the battle. The "fa-la" refrain is too short and restrained to completely wipe out the memory of the previous pain.

Weelkes' setting of this short poem is direct, yet with wonderful touches of subtlety. It presents several challenges for my high school group. On the mechanical side, the chromaticism, shifting modalities, and dissonant harmonies can create intonation issues. On the interpretation side, it is critical to bring out the most important part at any particular point. It is also a bit of a trick to make the mood switches convincing while not over-playing them.

As wonderful as the music is, the text is equally appealing. Music is the antidote to worry and pain. How many times have I sought refuge there, losing myself in sound, making sense of the world through the logic of harmony and form, and easing my emotional strain by riding the emotions of the music?

For how many people has music been such a balm? It must have been so for Weelkes. What cares disturbed his sleep at night? As we sing "O Care" we share the comforting power of music with him.

Here are the lyrics to both parts of "O Care":

O Care, thou wilt despatch me,
If music do not match thee. Fa la.
So deadly dost thou sting me,
Mirth only help can bring me. Fa la.

Hence, Care, thou art too cruel,
Come, music, sick man’s jewel. Fa la.
His force had well nigh slain me,
But thou must now sustain me. Fa la.

Inexperienced Audiences: A Love Hate Relationship

I recently watched the webcast of Gustavo Dudamel conducting Beethoven's 9th at the Hollywood Bowl. It was an wonderful performance by the conductor, musicians, and singers. Unfortunately, the performance by the audience was less than wonderful, although no less audible.

OK, it's a summer crowd. For many this was their first classical concert. One can overlook the clapping between movements, the whooping, and even the shouting out to Gustavo. But the applause in the middle of the fourth movement – ouch!

What's one to do? Kill the enthusiasm? Pass out cards with the etiquette of concert attendance printed on them? Perhaps ushers with cattle prods to keep the masses in line?

No, classical music lovers are already viewed as snobs in popular culture. We don't need to turn people off to the beauty of great music, we need to turn them on. The only real option is to accept and educate.

For a number of years at Taft High School our concert audiences were, shall I say, "inappropriately vocal" during performances. Eventually, I decided to make a little speech at the beginning of each concert reminding the audience of how hard the musicians work on their music and how important it is to hear every note. Anything distracting from the performance is inconsiderate of their effort. After a few concerts, this began to work, and now our audiences are relatively well behaved.

Of course, a professional concert is not the same as a high school concert. A similar speech just wouldn't cut it at Disney Hall or even the Hollywood Bowl.

We can only hope that many of those overly boisterous Hollywood Bowl audiences members fell in love with classical music that night. Let's hope that some of them will begin to go to other concerts and eventually learn why clapping in the middle of a movement might not be such a good thing. I even hope that a few of the audience members at my high school concerts begin to appreciate the importance of hearing every nuance in every note.