I recently watched an outstanding internet concert by Les Arts Florissants (Arte Live Web). They performed of an assortment of Monteverdi vocal works with exciting dynamic contrast, a great sense of phrasing, and a beautifully expressive interpretation of the text.

A few days later, I decided to show part of the performance to my Vocal Ensemble class. This is the advanced choral group at Taft High School. The students are familiar with music from Monteverdi's time as we have sung several Renaissance and Baroque works. Because of their training and talent, it was not a surprise to me that they loved the concert.

Encouraged by their reaction, I decided to show it to my beginning choir as well. This group is a mixed bag of students, but most have had little musical or vocal training and have not had much exposure to classical music. The one plus was that we have been working on a little three-part Marenzio madrigal in class.

Their strong positive reaction to the performance by Les Arts Florissants was a surprise. They were impressed with the sound of the voices, the music itself, and the visual expressiveness of the singers.

I think the fact that they could see the emotions of the singers as well as hear them was an important factor in their enjoyment of the music. But I also feel that the high quality of the performance contributed greatly to their appreciation.

Strong musicality has a way of transcending age, training, and musical preferences. It speaks directly to us in an almost primal way. Even those with little previous classical music exposure can relate to good music done well.

This experience with my choir reaffirmed my belief that all students can enjoy good music. Once the stereotypes of classical music are dispelled, students are surprisingly open to the music. As arts educators, it is our job to tear down the popular media bias against classical music, give students some basic listening skills, and present them with high quality, engaging performances. In doing so we give our students a lifelong enjoyment of fine music and we create an audience that will continue to support the music we love.

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.

Gustavo Dudamel vs. the Second Coming

Judging from all the recent press, Gustavo Dudamel's coming to Los Angeles as the Music Director for the Los Angeles Philharmonic is a news event equivalent to the second coming – and with greater expectations. If he doesn't conduct the world's greatest concerts, end war in the Middle East, cure AIDS, and out draw the Lakers, his first season will be considered an abject failure.

Overstatement is certainly nothing new in advertising for the arts, and since hyperbole is the expected language in ads and press releases, anything less falls flat. I know this first hand from my work in advertising for the Media City Ballet Company. "Come see a very good mid-level ballet company perform an entertaining and fairly artistic rendition of Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker," becomes, "Don't miss this truly great performance of Tchaikovsky's timeless masterpiece The Nutcracker by the outstanding Media City Ballet Company."

I suppose, "Come hear the LA Phil under the direction of Gustavo Dudamel. Mr Dudamel is a very talented young conductor who should grow and mature nicely while working with the Phil," will never make it into the orchestra's advertising. Admittedly, that version may be a little too understated, but there is something to be said for lowered expectations.

Take Robert Schumann's article in Neue Zietschrift für Musik about Johannes Brahms. In hyperbole worthy of a trailer to a Hollywood blockbuster, Schumann writes:

[In a galaxy far, far away]. . . someone must and would suddenly appear destined to give ideal presentment to the highest expression of the time, who would bring us his mastership, not in process of development, but would spring forth like Minerva, fully armed from the head of Jove. And he is come, a young blood by whose cradle graces and heroes kept watch. He is called Johannes Brahms . . . He [bares] all the outward signs that proclaim to us. "This is one of the elect."

Minerva herself couldn't have lived up to such high expectations and the glowing praise really messed with Brahms' head. It is said to be one of the main reasons why he took so long to complete, and then to publish, his first symphony.

But Brahms survived and most likely Dudamel will as well. In the end, it is about the music and nothing else. If the music is true, it doesn't matter how far the truth is stretched in the press.

The Value of Uncertainty in Music

During summer vacation I will on most mornings sit down at the piano for a few minutes and sight read (rather poorly) through some Bach. The other morning it was the "Fugue # 1 in C Major" from the Well Tempered Clavier. You can see and hear a nice playing of this work by Stephen Malinowski below.

The work starts with a fairly simple, mostly stepwise, subject. It is quickly imitated following the normal rules of a fugue exposition. No great genius here, nothing a good student of counterpoint couldn't pull off (well, OK, a really good student).

At measure 8 things start to become a bit more intriguing. The harmonic direction becomes less clear and there is a slight increase in dissonance. This tension is quickly resolved but then at measure 12 it once again becomes more dissonant and the harmonic destination less certain. What is Bach up to? Where is he taking us? It is only when we reach the resolution in measure 14 (on an A minor chord) that we understand what Bach was doing.

Bach continues in this vein for the rest of the 27 measure piece (as well as in other works in the The Well Tempered Clavier). Sections of increased tension and harmonic precariousness are followed by resolutions. It is like watching a tightrope walker who (purposely) looks like he is about to falter and plunge, only to right himself at the last second to the relief of the seat-edged crowd. It takes a certain amount of trust to experience such feats, but in the end, it is what makes the show memorable.

And so it seems in life. Times of uncertainty can make us look at things in a new light. We question, rethink, examine, and revalue things we have taken for granted.

My wife was recently laid off from Macy's after being with the company for over 20 years. We didn't feel that we were in an immediate financial crisis, but the possibility of falling into one suddenly became real. What would we do if things became truly bad? Would we lose our home? What about funding college for our kids? What could I sell to get some quick cash?

I suddenly began to have a greater appreciation of our townhouse. I put a higher value on my family and friends. I realized that I would always have music and literature, and those things took on a new importance. I became more sympathetic to those who had less. The world looked a little different. My wife has a new job now, but in an odd way, I appreciate the little side trip into uncertainty that has refreshed my outlook on life.

It would be interesting to know what happens in our brains when we become uncertain (both in life and in music). Do we experience a slight bump in epinephrine or adrenaline resulting in increased perception and energy? Is our fight or flight center alerted and put in the ready mode? And what happens at resolution? Do we get a rush of serotonin or dopamine? Are our neurons rewarded for finding a solution to our uncertainty?

Would all this help explain why music is so important to us, especially in times of stress? Do we resolve that stress vicariously through music? When Bach leads us back to harmonic safety, does that feeling of having triumphed over a crisis cross over into other aspects of our lives? Does the feeling of resolution given to us by music allow us to get up the next morning and face life's challenges with renewed hope?

Tell Me a Story

One of my favorite places to go to when I’m in Las Vegas is the Nine Fine Irishmen pub in the New York, New York casino. They serve good Irish food and have a nice variety of Irish beers and whiskeys, but the real reason I go is to hear the music played by the band Sin e Ri-Ra. The group does a wonderful job of presenting a nice mix of traditional Irish tunes and more contemporary Irish songs.

My Irish heritage probably contributes to my love of the Irish songs that speak of the hardships faced by the men and women from that land. But you do not have to have Irish blood to appreciate the tales. You are Irish, at least for the moment, if your ancestors were ever poor, persecuted, forced to emigrate, prejudiced against, or compelled to fight for their freedom; if they ever struggled with their inner demons, celebrated life with family, friends, and a good drink, or held on to faith in the face of a stern reality. At their core, individual cultures are all encompassing.

Musically, the material is fairly simple: primary chords, diatonic melodies, song forms, and chord based textures. To be sure, the band is composed of good musicians, and the fiddle player especially provides some very nice solos, but the real charm of the band lies in their ability to tell a story through music in a sincere and moving way. For the most part this is due to the talents of the singer, Darryl Conlon.

Listening to his Irish brogue, I can easily imagine that I’m sitting in a pub in Ireland while he tells his friends tales of good times and bad. He pauses in the right places to build affect, he gives a knowing grin as he tells an off-colored joke (“Seven Drunken Nights”), and his voice has a bitter sweet edge as he sings of love and despair (“Dirty Old Town”).

He lives the words as he sings them, and what amazes me is that he has sung them hundreds if not thousands of times. I’ve been coming to hear the band for several years now, and though many of the songs are the same, they are always fresh.

I think one can only do that if one loves telling the story as much as the actual story its self. The joy of communicating, the delight in reaching an audience, the pleasure of moving people's hearts: this is where the focus is.

It is not always easy to do that in choral singing. For one thing, everyone must be telling the same story – not simply literally, but interpretively. Where is the wink of an eye; which word should be stressed; what vocal tone best conveys the emotions of a section? Everyone needs to be clear on the musical message.

And the singers must really feel that message. The whole choir must first internalize the text in order to externalize it – pass it on to the audience. Music, when done well, has the unique ability to cut straight to the deepest parts of our heart and brain – vocal music perhaps even more so. Vocal music is a communication that at once embraces language and transcends it. Or one might say it is meaning enhanced language.

In the end, being musical is about loving the music and having the will and skill to communicate it affectively at the most intimate level.

Mozart and Blues

My wife and I were in Las Vegas recently on vacation. One morning, while my wife was at the pool, I began to analyze some Mozart symphonic scores I had brought along. (Hey, doesn’t everybody bring a few Mozart scores along on their vacation to Vegas?) As is usual when I study Mozart, I was soon impressed and humbled at how subtly he manipulates his musical forces for affect and variety.

Those forces were constrained by the style and musical language his time - so everything had to count. For example, the orchestra in Mozart's day was primarily made up of strings and a few winds, a fairly bland color compared to orchestras 100 years later. But Mozart, with subtle doublings and nuanced instrument voicings, gets a remarkably varied sound that adds to the music's expressiveness. One can find similar examples with his use of harmony and rhythm.

The constraints of Mozart's era did not hamper his artistic ability - just the opposite. Mozart understood that within the limitations was a world of subtlety. This is where Mozart's genius flourished.

So what does all this have to do with the blues? What can the restrained emotional style of the classical period have in common with the heart ripping emotions of the blues?

The blues, like the music of Mozart's time, is also a tightly constrained art form. In most songs, the harmony and structure can easily be related to the standard 12 bar blues progression. The texture is predominately homophonic, and melodies are tied closely to the pitches of a blues scale. In addition, a blues band has a relatively limited range of instrumental colors to work with.

Because of all this, everything counts, and like in Mozart, subtlety is essential.

I think this is why I like very few blues groups, but the ones I like I really love. Real emotions are most often a complex blend of conflicting and supporting feelings. Simplistic musical performances cannot convey that. Subtlety is a necessity.

Later during our vacation, my wife and I decided to go to the House of Blues and listen to one of the blues bands performing there. Even though the band was a bit of a pickup band – members of the Michael Grimm band with singer Ronny Rose filling in for Michael, most of their numbers really cooked.

Rose skillfully used every aspect of his voice for the precise emotional affect he wanted: big ballsy full voiced tones, raspy growls, clear as a bell pianissimos – all delivered without any of the clichés one finds in a blinged-out, over ornamented, narcissistic pop music diva. He was subtle, economical, and to the point.

The guitar player, John Wedemeyer, also really impressed me. He made wonderful use of subtle dynamic shading. Some phrases would tail away into nothingness, some notes would pop out of the texture, hints of ghost notes would be followed by aggressive runs. He also coaxed a variety of colors out of his instrument: dark muted tones, artificial harmonic screams, staccato passages, and wailing bends.

This description may not sound like a subtle performance, but his handling of these techniques - the how and when of it - was. Everything was delivered with taste and nuanced musicality.

So, while there would seem to be little connection between the refined elegance of the classical period and the visceral punch of the blues, there is common ground. Where there is constraint, subtlety is critical. The ability of a composer or a performer to create a rich world of subtlety is what gives depth and humanity to the music.