Friday Fuga and the "Phew" Section

Today I have a different viewpoint on the very passage I wrote about yesterday, on the second page. I still hear the "drumbeats" I mentioned before, but now I also hear the melody of the scale rising and falling. It's interesting that during the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh measures of the chords section, both the up and down beats have a melody. Often in music, the downbeat changes and the upbeat stays constant, as in the beginning of the E-Major Partita. In this section, both beats have a melody. If you played only the upbeats, you would get a scale. When you play both beats, you get a scale going up in thirds (for the fourth and fifth measures) and in sixths (for the sixth and seventh measures).

In the following arpeggio section, the "drumbeats" are strong. Then comes a repeat of the first fugue theme.

In the next section, (page 6, in my edition) there is a section common to several Bach movements I can think of. It's the "phew, we can relax now, everything is going to be okay" section. It's not a recapitulation section, where you know everything is okay. It's the "everything will be okay (kn0ck on wood)" section, followed by more drama, before the actually recap. This movement is in G-minor, but this section begins in the relative major key, B-flat major.

The sad part about this movement is that in the end, you don't find out that everything is okay. It's a recap of a theme in G-minor! You find out that everything is just as melancholy as it was to begin with, and that is somewhat reassuring.

In the other instances of the "phew" section, it's not always in the relative major key. In the Chaconne of the D-minor Partita, the "phew" section is in D-major, while the movement is in D-minor. In the Préludio of the E-major partita, the "phew" section is in... key changes too frequently.

One of the many cool things about the Chaconne, which I will play much later but have already been studying for a while (listening to it and casually playing it) is that the last note is just an open D doubled on the G string, but somehow it FEELS major, whereas the movement began in D-minor. Everything IS okay at the end of the Chaconne, in other words.

Apology: I am going to have to number my measures and cite measure numbers, at least, and at best, I hope to be able to link to audio files illustrating my points. I know it may be impossible to know what I'm referring to the way I am currently writing.

Fuga - inspiration

Bach really does give me goosebumps as I play. Sometimes, you could criticize my playing as being all about intonation with no feeling at all. That is how I play scales and études. And sometimes I feel that way when practicing a piece of music, as well. But not so with Bach.

On the second page of the Fuga in my edition, there's a doublestop section in which, for four measures, the chords alternate between one with an open D and something on the A string and a chord on the A and E strings. The open D note rings hauntingly during this section. It's like a drum beat. The resonating string also reminds me of the sound you get blowing over the top of a partially filled glass bottle. That's a very good simile. It's like a drum beat in that it does echo and repeat steadily throughout the passage. The quality of the sound is like someone blowing over the top of a glass bottle.

These four measures of chords lead into an arpeggio section where, again, each tiny phrase returns to a base note that sounds like a drum beat. As I played this section today, I really did feel inspired. I did a crescendo that just felt and sounded right. When I intended to practice the doublestops in isolation, I couldn't stop. I just wanted to keep going.

Unfortunately, I'm not always inspired when I play. Playing a song without inspiration can feel shallow. It's not fun to play dynamics because you know you're supposed to and not because you feel like it. The really frustrating part about it is that someone playing with inspiration, like Itzhak Perlman, sounds good no matter what they do. Perlman plays out of rhythm a lot and his dynamics aren't always what the textbook might say to do. He might do a crescendo at the end of a phrase in which the scale is going down that sounds much better than my carefully calculated diminuendo, for example. But he always sounds perfect. Whereas when I intentionally play dynamics and do ritards, I sometimes just sound boring.

I think that the intentional musicality one applies in practicing is just something you do to simulate being inspired. What Perlman is doing is right, for him. If it's not exactly what one might have written in one's music, that's no slight to Perlman; that's because the notes in one's music were inadequate. You can't capture inspiration in your notes.

But there's nothing like the real thing. When you have goosebumps, whatever you're doing is right. Throw your markings to the wind.

One last note: In order to get inspired, you have to play scales and études first. The warm up may not be inspiring at all. It may even be frustrating. But if you let your daily bad mood keep you from picking up your violin in the first place or let your bad scales discourage you, you won't ever get to the point where you're inspired. I know practicing will make me feel good, though I don't want to practice before I start. I have to trick myself into practicing. Oh, inertia.

Music's Mysteries

This week, I'm playing the second movement of the G-minor Sonata. As I played it today, I marveled at how good it feels to play double stops. Chords are so beautiful. I felt like a mouse pushing a button to give myself an electric shock every time I played a chord in tune. I do believe that one learns to play in tune by conditioning; that once you hear a ringing note, you strive to hit it again and again. Like the mouse pushing the button, I also experience some wonderful nervous sensation when I play the violin. After I practice, I feel more relaxed and calm.

The science of music must be fascinating. Why do people like music the way we do? What makes the laws of music? What determines what sounds in-tune to us and what doesn't? Why do we like certain music that we've loved for centuries? Music is so powerful and so mysterious.

I admit that I know little about Eastern music and musical tastes. They may be very different. Eastern music may even have different scales and definitions of "in-tune," though I don't know that. Humans of different races and who live in different parts of the world are genetically the same, overall. If our musical tastes differ, it's due to something cultural, not biological.

It would be interesting to find out if people introduced from the crib to what I would call out-of-tune music learned to like it and crave it. Do humans have a pre-determined taste for a certain kind of music, or is that taste learned?

I am not sure I want to know the science of how music works to move us. It might be disappointing. I remember being very disappointed when I found at that songs all followed a basic structure of some kind. That, for example, songs in a particular key had to begin and end on a particular chord. It disappointed me, because it meant that the composer hadn't chosen his first or last notes after all. They were prescribed when he or she chose the key for the piece. It took some of the magic out of music. I might feel like a Creationist feels when they learn about evolution. Suddenly something that seemed wonderful and miraculous explained by chance? On the other hand, just as I think evolution is wonderful, not being religious, perhaps I could convince myself to appreciate the science of music, too.

Week of August 23, 2009

A-minor scale

Kreutzer 2

G-minor Sonata: Fuga; Allegro

To begin the second week of the Bach Season, I ordered a book by Joel Lester about the Bach Sonatas and Partitas. I also checked out/ordered various books from the library. Hopefully I'll be able to research each movement as I learn it. Ideally, the Bach Season is more than just a year of steady practicing. It will be a year in which I not only play music but also think and write about it. So why not read and research it, too?

Memorized?

I have a good memory for music. I prefer to practice from memory, so once I've memorized something, I stop using the music. Occasionally, I memorize a mistake.

Could I memorize all the Bach as I learn it? I think that I probably could manage the memorization side of it for shorter movements, but I doubt that my playing could keep up with my memory. It's easier to memorize something by playing it through many times, and I doubt that I'll get to the "playing through" stage for many of the Bach movements, spending, as I will, just one week per movement.

On the flip side, it would be wonderful to have memorized so much great music. T'would be a great addition to one's brain.

Shifts are like pirouettes. Both are movements done in the spur of the moment that have to be just right to turn out well. You can practice them in isolation many times, but doing them as they come in the piece (violin) or combination (ballet) is always a little scary. You have to be confident. You can't do any funny motions in response to your fear. They will only hinder the motion you're afraid of in the first place.

Imitation in music

Today, I buckled down a bit more than I had on my first day back at the violin. I practiced the shifts in my 3-octave C-major scale. I played the Schradieck Number 1 exercise slowly and insisted on hearing the notes ring. I practiced the fast sixteenth notes in the Kreutzer exercise with a metronome, gradually increasing my speed and using different rhythms to make the practice more interesting. As for Bach, I just counted it out loud! The rhythm of the last measure gives me trouble, so I tried to solidify it in my head today.

In violin, a note is out of tune unless proven in tune. When notes don't ring, they are out of tune. I used to think the opposite: that my intonation was fine unless it sounded bad. Once I realized how wonderful perfect intonation sounded, how nice ringing notes sound, I started insisting on it. Trying to, anyway. The Schradieck exercise sounds beautiful when all the notes ring, but if I play it fast and it's not quite in tune, I can tell something is wrong.

My old teacher, Arnold Liver, used to play with me at lessons quite frequently. I think part of the benefit of that was that I could match my intonation to his. If I was out of tune and he was in tune, our notes would clash and it would be obvious to both of us (not just to him!). If we were both in tune, our notes would ring.

Beyond that, playing with him allowed me to pick up his musicality rather than having to attempt it from his instructions. He taught more through music than through words. It's easier to play well with someone who is setting a good example. Then, the memories of that practice linger on. It's easier to copy someone by playing with them, then try to recreate that sound alone than to create a beautiful sound alone, from scratch.

It's funny how much thinking about how you want to sound affects your playing. But it does. And how you think about music depends on the music playing in your head every day and on the music you listen to. I think that listening to recordings of the music one is learning really does improve one's playing.

Week of August 16, 2009

Kreutzer Number 1

C-major Scale

Bach Sonata in G-minor: Adagio; Cantabile.

I picked up my violin again after months of not playing. It was not too far out of tune.

As I played the C-major scale, my hand shook, and it brought back fond memories of violin lessons when my hand would shake on scales, not for lack of practice but out of nerves. I used to have terrible stomach problems the day of a violin lesson and have to relieve myself right before I started. I haven't done anything that made me so nervous since those lessons in my teacher's apartment during middle school - with the exception of the recitals, of course!

Playing violin is like riding a bike. My fingers remembered where to go. Shifts on the scale that I had once mastered were still in tune when I tried them today. Other notes I'd never gotten were still out of tune. Kreutzer Number 1 is very slow, and I have yet to master the bow-saving (multiple measures played on one bow) or the notes (some fast scales thrown in to accompany the slow bow).

As for Bach, it's still pretty much in tune. I learned the Adagio movement in the summer of 2007 and have been practicing it off and on since then. I got the double stops in tune, and they stayed that way, thank goodness. I still need to solidify the rhythm and make it musical and double check that intonation I say is so good, jinxing myself as I say it.

This movement is very lonely. It seems to me that the solo violinist is calling out for someone to listen to her. At least in the first few measures. I can't tell a story with the entire piece the way I once did with the second movement of the Bach Double (section D, the minor section, stood for "drugs," to give you the gist of my story).

Tomorrow, the novelty of playing violin will have worn off. It will be back to the grindstone.

But I'm 25 and playing for fun. It's different than when I was a kid and music was tied up with wanting to be talented and do well for my age. I'm just a gentleman violinist now, playing as part of a balanced life. That's the idea, anyway.

The Bach Season

My favorite book is "the Mozart Season," by Virginia Euwer Wolff, in which Allegra Shapiro participates in a concerto competition with Mozart's 4th Violin Concerto. This year, I want to learn all of the Bach Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin. It will be the Bach Season.

I am inspired by Julie Powell's blog, "the Julie/Julia Project," in which she chronicles her journey through "Mastering the Art of French Cooking."

I will play one movement per week, along with one scale and one Kreutzer exercise. I won't by any means master each movement in a week, but I will appreciate it, and I will be playing the violin the whole time. I can always go back for seconds, right?

There are 42 Kreutzer exercises, 6 Sonatas, and a total of 31 (if I counted right) movements. I'm not going to count the scales. So in less than 52 weeks, I will have played them all.

One problem is that I have already tried this by starting at the beginning. In fact, I spent a whole summer on the first movement of the first sonata. Even so, I think I'll start from the beginning again, because I'll need to get back into playing, and that will be easier with pieces I already know.

It would be neat to upload recordings of my playing onto the blog, but it's not an easy thing to do. Julie Powell had nothing but text on her blog, so maybe I will stick with a simple format, as well.

Here goes.