Robert Muczynski’s 1984 Time Pieces, written for Mitchell Lurie, starts with a ragtime sounding theme built on large skips in the first movement; the second movement has a moody, Gregorian chant like melody, developed to very un-Gregorian passion. Muczynski’s music draws on jazz rhythms, but also resembles the musical vocabularies of Hindemith and Copland. David Thomas, clarinet; Dianne Frazer, piano, April 13, 2008.
Tag Archive for 'The Music'
Yesterday I gave my first masterclass to a bunch of 8th graders. Ultimately, I’m fishing for new private students. In Columbus, it’s not enough to be the best player in town. There are several other area teachers who canvas and solicit individual schools and who are willing to teach on site. Parents love this, since they don’t have to shuttle the kids to lessons halfway across town. I won’t be doing that, but I’ll give master classes free in all the middle schools to introduce myself and show my abilities. Then, if a student becomes serious about studying privately, they’ve already been introduced to me as a possible choice.
The teacher at this middle school impressed me with her spirit and enthusiasm’s for her job. She follows each student’s development from 6th grade on. She has also turned down offers to teach higher grades because she loves teaching the middle school ages. I learned a lot from talking with her.
I admitted to her I had not done this before. I’ve taught privately for most of my career, and I’ve coached a few woodwind sectionals for the local youth orchestra. But in that case, the material is the music they’re working on, not a group lesson in clarinet technique, and not 22 8th graders. So I was a bit nervous.
I had scribbled some notes about basic clarinet technique: how to hold the instrument, how to breathe, forming an embouchure, etc. The truth is, I work on these basics every time I play. I kept the descriptions as clear and direct as possible, without under-rating their importance.
8th graders are at that in between age, neither children nor young adults, but some of both. Since I don’t have kids, I have little experience with them. Most of my private students have been high school age. I decided to start off very honestly, and told them I had not done this before, and that I would appreciate their indulgence and feedback. I also told them that I myself practice the basics everyday, even though I’ve played clarinet for 30 years. I showed I was willing to meet them at their level, with some valuable advice to offer. It seemed to be a good way to start. Whew!
I tried to make eye contact with most of them as I spoke. There were 22 students in the class, so I scanned the individual faces every few seconds. They knew I was watching.
After a brief warm up and a quick lesson about hand position, I singled out two students with particularly good embouchures, and had them demonstrate for the class. Those two felt honored to be in such a position.
As the class progressed, their attention occasionally slipped and I adjusted accordingly. For the most part, they were attentive. Once or twice, one boy chatted with a friend while I spoke. I gently asked his cooperation in allowing me to speak un-interrupted. His teacher went over and stood behind him. I barely noticed this at the time, but the reason became apparent later.
Near the end of the class, during a question period, he asked an impressive and valid question: Why does his breathing become more labored after playing a few phrases of music in succession? I answered the question with an appropriately complex answer; many factors, including the reed, embouchure and breathing skill, affected the ease of breathing.
After the class, his teacher brought him up to me to continue the discussion privately, which I was happy to do. We had a good talk, and eventually figured out that his mouthpiece had been damaged, and was causing undue resistance, causing his labored breathing. He seemed happy and comfortable talking to me.
In my follow up feedback discussion with his teacher, she gave me encouraging feedback; I had involved and engaged the students, no easy task at this age; I had chosen the right level of language, neither condescending nor babying; and I had adjusted to changes in their attention by shifting to a game or contest to bring them back. I was happy with the success.
But the icing on this gratifying cake was this. She explained to me that the boy who had asked the question had developmental problems, specifically in relating to men. Apparently, he had to be sequestered for belligerent behavior when a male substitute teacher taught the class. Somehow I had engaged him at a level he could trust. We had each overcome a block; he in relating to a man, me in relating to an 8th grader. I can’t imaging a better reward for an hour’s work.
Musicians are as reliant on their equipment as they are their arms and legs. Great equipment is half the battle to playing well. But the search is not so easy.
I’ve been trying out new mouthpieces for months now. Actually, I’ve been searching ever since I started playing clarinet. The perfect mouthpiece is an extension of your body, your musical soul. The more it matches you, the easier it is to make music with it. The less it matches, the more fighting you do just to get past its limitations.
The old mouthpieces from the 40’s and 50’s are still unmatched. Like the Stradivarius violins, there is something mystical about those old mouthpieces. Some say it’s the hard rubber they were made of, and how it’s aged and tempered over the decades of aging.
But the material only accounts for some of the qualities in a good mouthpiece. There are the interactions acoustically between the facing, where the reed vibrates, and the baffle, where the vibrations expand, and the chamber, where the sound is sent into the bore of the instrument.
The facing is the flat table where the reed is held by a ligature, a device to fix the reed in place. (Even the ligature has multiple designs to help with tone and response, but that’s another post) The facing consists mainly of the tip opening, which is the space between the tip of the reed and the mouthpiece. It’s where the vibrations (flapping of the reed) begin. The length of the facing is how far down the flat table the facing begins to curve away from the reed. The length of the facing gives depth to the sound, since the reed is vibrating further down. The shorter the facing, the more flexible it is at the expense of depth, and the longer it is, the less flexible but deeper it sounds.
The baffle is the inside, curved “beak”, where the sound expands into the bore. The swoop of the baffle, how deep or flat it is, affects the speed and expansion of the tone. It also affects response in articulation.
The chamber is the transition from the beak to the round bore of the clarinet. The size and shape of this transition further affects how the sound forms as it enters the instrument.
Each of these areas interacts with another, and so is dependent on the others. One type of baffle may work with one facing, but not another. One chamber may hinder a deep baffle, but not if the facing is very open.
Then there is the interaction between the player and the mouthpiece. Each mouthpiece has a certain character. The craftsman does his best to make each “blank” into the best mouthpiece it can be. The player then chooses between these various “works” and finds the one which best matches his playing.
Reeds are another maddening variable. One mouthpiece may work well with one reed, but may be fussy about reeds in general. So when trying mouthpieces, I have to try many different reeds on them over a period of time to test its consistency. I also need to test mouthpieces in the context of the orchestra to see how the pitch settles and how the response and tone work under pressure.
The process of trying mouthpieces can take years. At some point, a sane person needs to just put away all but one and work with it, get reeds to match it, and give it time to become and extension of the body which plays the music.
When I practice the clarinet, I try to start from a blank page, blowing warm air from my heart, not judging what comes out of my instrument. That’s me flowing out the other end (among other ends) and I best not trash it. At first it’s huffy and airy and fuzzy. But eventually it starts to refine itself, flowing into a satisfying resonance, with the depth of character I seek. And if not, I try to stay emotionally open to let it happen when it will.
I always keep the ideal of the perfect sound in my ear, to guide me and my instrument toward it. I never reach it. That’s the curse of the performer, to struggle toward an unreachable goal. But to shimmy close to that pure ideal even a few times in a career is the musicians blessing. For me to be able to express and make real the elusive perfection of music is my greatest challenge and my greatest gift.
As a working American orchestra, we in the Columbus Symphony have to do what ever is necessary to make a buck. Like anywhere in the world these days, the buck is not a lofty icon, and working for it is often not so lofty either.
Today we started rehearsals for our local production of Engelbert Humperdinck’s 1893 Hansel and Gretel, a mediocre but heartfelt opera based on the Grimm’s Fairy Tale. The idea is to present it as the operatic match for the perennial Nutcracker, which I’ve played at least 400 times in my career. (And which, I might add, is a jewelbox of perfect melodies and lush orchestration)
The composer’s name alone should give a hint as to how marvelously mundane his work is. There are a few resplendent moments in the music itself, interspersed with painfully lumpy, starchy stretches which ache for a good ironing.
As an experienced musician, even I am hard pressed to make sense of it, to flesh it out, rather than flush it, which I’d prefer. But that is in fact what I am paid to do, smooth out the wrinkles in this imitation polyester halloween costume of a regal Victorian comforter.
The orchestration is abominable. To give Humperdinck some credit, the reduced version we are performing sours what little is redeeming in the original, much larger orchestration. Perhaps it was arranged by a middle school band director. (no offence to their noble cause) All instruments seem to be playing all the time, with no relief for either the listener or the performer. Not only does it tax the strongest players to the point of dubious, fatigued technical output, but the balance within the orchestra is hampered. It’s difficult for a violin solo to be heard over a trumpet accompaniment. The problems of balance will be further antagonized by having to match childlike voices with so many instruments playing.
Harmonically I can give it credit for being somewhat appropriate for its period. It’s like a bad Victorian crazy quilt with lots of nice material which is horribly matched. Obviously Wagner’s influence features heavily in Humperdinck’s head, among other popular composers of his time. Some of it sounds like Wagner after a spicy Moroccan dinner, with several bottles of moldy wine. It heaves around from key to key, slobbering over each before stumbling to the next, with a wan smile on its face. It is difficult to tune and pharse elegantly under such duress. What little childish innocence is captured in the melody is ruptured abruptly by heavy footed harmonic density, or an inappropriate dissonance in the name of modernity. Before long, the smell of leaky diapers wafts up to meet the listener.
Don’t get me wrong. I think it will delight those mellow holiday revelers who can snuggle up with their children and smile at their good fortunes. They will bask in the warmth of the story and its one or two memorable scenes. And the music will somehow fit. Without anything to compare it to directly, it will sound appropriate, even fitting, though they will wonder why it’s a bit out of tune and perhaps a bit loud for the singers. But they will go home happy, I believe, that they have shared something artistic with the family, and that they have supported the arts. And they will be right. And I will do my professional best to make their money and time well spent.
