C#-minor scale
Kreutzer Number 24
Ciaccona
My approach to Ciaccona week began with the "afraid to play it, so just won't practice at all" strategy. Now that the week is half over, I've decided to just enjoy playing the Ciaccona and being able to scratch out the notes, even if they aren't all played the same tempo and without stopping and scratching my head and being annoyed that my old teacher changed the bowings and fingerings, which just makes things more ambiguous.
I was amazed when I learned that there wasn't anything magical about playing the notes to an amazing piece of music, like the Ciaccona or the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto. You don't have to be a perfect violinist to play those pieces and get a kick out of hearing the music you love coming out of your violin. It's a long stretch from playing them well, but there's something cool about it. I think it's better to experience them as an amateur than to say, "Oh, I can't play that," and never try. One can also argue that it's sacrilegious to play such special pieces badly or without putting in enough sweat. To each his own.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
Week of May 30 2010
Kreutzer No. 22
D-minor partita: Sarabande
The Sarabande could be played on an accordion. The chords sound like they are breathing in and out. In the first measure, I can imagine the accordion pressing in one beat one and pulling out on beats two and three, or vice versa. Also, "wake up" quality of rolling of the bow from the G and D strings to the A and E strings on the first chord reminds me of the way accordions get suddenly loud when the player moves the bellows quickly.
The movement also sounds like something that would be played in a church, particularly at the end of the first section. The violinist holds out and open E and plays underneath it, ending on the five chord. It sounds like the happily ever after with God end of an organ piece.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
I love Bach!
This is a corny post if I ever write one. I love playing the Bach Double along with my recording. The iPod makes it even easier to do.
I love how the cellos have an important part in the fugues of the Bach Double. I love that, listening to it, I pay just as much attention to the cellos in the orchestra as I do to the solo violins. That's probably comforting to a solo violinist!
I did some sit-ups to Bach just now. It floored me, but I was already on the floor. Hahahah.
Playing the violin is good for me. But so are many different things. There are so many things I think it would be good to do regularly. I've always had trouble deciding what to do. But I really could play violin regularly if I just picked it up. Once I start, it's great! I think back on days I've spent in a bad mood and imagine that violin would have helped. Or ballet class...Or...
I love how the cellos have an important part in the fugues of the Bach Double. I love that, listening to it, I pay just as much attention to the cellos in the orchestra as I do to the solo violins. That's probably comforting to a solo violinist!
I did some sit-ups to Bach just now. It floored me, but I was already on the floor. Hahahah.
Playing the violin is good for me. But so are many different things. There are so many things I think it would be good to do regularly. I've always had trouble deciding what to do. But I really could play violin regularly if I just picked it up. Once I start, it's great! I think back on days I've spent in a bad mood and imagine that violin would have helped. Or ballet class...Or...
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Friday, April 2, 2010
Why 64 Variations?
What’s So Significant About 64 Variations?
The Ciaccona has 64 variations, and I immediately called that evidence of Bach’s larger, impressive structure for the Ciaccona. What’s so important about the number 64?
Musical phrases usually come in groups of four or eight measures, and they certainly did so in 1720’s German music. The Ciaccona is based on both threes and fours. Each measure of the Ciaccona has three beats, and each has four measures. That’s common for pieces in three (think of your favorite waltz). And though each measure has three beats, each quarter-note beat is evenly divided into eighth notes, sixteenth notes, and thirty-second notes, in all but two variations – not divided into triplets, as it could be.
The fact that beats are evenly divided into halves, quarters, eighths, sixteenths, and thirty-seconds means that those powers of two are particularly relevant numbers. They are more relevant than just any multiple of two, such as 60, or even just any multiple of 16, like 96.
Bach could have just aspired to write a large number of variations and stopped anywhere after fifty. 51. 52. 60. Why 64 variations? To start, it’s an even number. There’s nothing significant about the number of variations being even. Of course, there’s a fifty-percent chance of that. But there is something significant about the number of variations being 64. Having the number of variations be a power of two, in this case, two to the sixth power, would allow the entire piece to be evenly subdivided six times (32, 16, 8, 4, 2, 1). That’s not true for other numbers. Take the number 60. 60 is a multiple of 4. Do I think that would be amazing, too? 60 variations could only be evenly divided twice (30, 15). Sets of 15 variations, or musical units, would be unusual for traditional, European music, because this piece is based on threes and fours, not fives.
Though having 64 variations would allow the piece to be neatly subdivided multiple times, it isn’t. The piece has three sections, each one shorter than the previous, and that don’t have tidy numbers of variations. The first section, in D-minor, is 33 variations long. It’s followed by an 19-variation major section, then by a 12-variation minor section.
Analyzing the larger structure of the Ciaccona is a large task that others have tried to tackle. I think that they mostly end up speculating about why Bach organized it the way he did. Here’s my speculation.
The opening theme recurs more and more frequently throughout the Ciaccona. I may be influenced by Arnold Steinhardt (whose book, Violin Dreams, I just finished) when I say that the opening theme reminds me of the call of death, the call for the end of the partita. The Ciaccona begins by saying, “It’s time to end the partita,” then, its whole life flashes before its eyes, but in the end, the Ciaccona theme keeps coming back more and more frequently until the end of the movement. It’s like in stories where death is a shrouded figure you sometimes see and worry about, then say, “Oh, it’s nothing.” Then the figure comes back. In the middle section, in D major, you think that you’ve escaped the end of the Ciaccona and that it’s going to keep going forever. Then the opening theme comes back, and the last section is the shortest of them all. I think it’s the way childhood seems to last forever, but then life speeds up during middle age, and before you know it, it’s gone.
The Ciaccona has 64 variations, and I immediately called that evidence of Bach’s larger, impressive structure for the Ciaccona. What’s so important about the number 64?
Musical phrases usually come in groups of four or eight measures, and they certainly did so in 1720’s German music. The Ciaccona is based on both threes and fours. Each measure of the Ciaccona has three beats, and each has four measures. That’s common for pieces in three (think of your favorite waltz). And though each measure has three beats, each quarter-note beat is evenly divided into eighth notes, sixteenth notes, and thirty-second notes, in all but two variations – not divided into triplets, as it could be.
The fact that beats are evenly divided into halves, quarters, eighths, sixteenths, and thirty-seconds means that those powers of two are particularly relevant numbers. They are more relevant than just any multiple of two, such as 60, or even just any multiple of 16, like 96.
Bach could have just aspired to write a large number of variations and stopped anywhere after fifty. 51. 52. 60. Why 64 variations? To start, it’s an even number. There’s nothing significant about the number of variations being even. Of course, there’s a fifty-percent chance of that. But there is something significant about the number of variations being 64. Having the number of variations be a power of two, in this case, two to the sixth power, would allow the entire piece to be evenly subdivided six times (32, 16, 8, 4, 2, 1). That’s not true for other numbers. Take the number 60. 60 is a multiple of 4. Do I think that would be amazing, too? 60 variations could only be evenly divided twice (30, 15). Sets of 15 variations, or musical units, would be unusual for traditional, European music, because this piece is based on threes and fours, not fives.
Though having 64 variations would allow the piece to be neatly subdivided multiple times, it isn’t. The piece has three sections, each one shorter than the previous, and that don’t have tidy numbers of variations. The first section, in D-minor, is 33 variations long. It’s followed by an 19-variation major section, then by a 12-variation minor section.
Analyzing the larger structure of the Ciaccona is a large task that others have tried to tackle. I think that they mostly end up speculating about why Bach organized it the way he did. Here’s my speculation.
The opening theme recurs more and more frequently throughout the Ciaccona. I may be influenced by Arnold Steinhardt (whose book, Violin Dreams, I just finished) when I say that the opening theme reminds me of the call of death, the call for the end of the partita. The Ciaccona begins by saying, “It’s time to end the partita,” then, its whole life flashes before its eyes, but in the end, the Ciaccona theme keeps coming back more and more frequently until the end of the movement. It’s like in stories where death is a shrouded figure you sometimes see and worry about, then say, “Oh, it’s nothing.” Then the figure comes back. In the middle section, in D major, you think that you’ve escaped the end of the Ciaccona and that it’s going to keep going forever. Then the opening theme comes back, and the last section is the shortest of them all. I think it’s the way childhood seems to last forever, but then life speeds up during middle age, and before you know it, it’s gone.
Natural Order in the Bach Ciaccona
The Ciaccona from Bach’s D-minor Partita For Solo Violin comprises 64 variations on a four-measure theme. Every variation follows or references one underlying bass line and one rhythmic pattern. To listen to the piece, which lasts about 15 minutes, one might not realize that the number of variations is so round. In places, it feels like the Ciaccona will keep going forever. When the Ciaccona does end (always a letdown!), it sounds as though Bach happened on a conclusion and stopped. But he didn’t stop there by chance. He stopped at the end of the 64th variation on his theme. A strict structure can underlie music that sounds creative and spontaneous.
It’s a surprise to learn that the Ciaconna has exactly 64 variations on a theme. The music feels so free and even rambling in some places, particularly where there are many 32nd notes. There are so many surprises, like the key changes, the transitions to new sections, and the introduction of new themes, which seem spontaneous, rather than conforming. The parts flow together so perfectly that it’s hard to believe that Bach wrote them to fit a mold. The Ciaccona sounds like the model from which a mold might be cast.
Perhaps it is wrong to assume that what is natural and flowing is unstructured. That may be a more modern outlook on things. Form and flow aren’t necessarily opposed. Could the structure help the piece flow?
In the past, people thought that what was natural was orderly. In Elizabethan England, people believed in the Great Chain of Being, in which God ruled men who ruled animals. People who practice Islam have great structure to their lives, praying five times per day. These are two examples that come to mind, but there are many other examples of the way humans lead structured lives.
Whether or not we humans choose to discipline ourselves, nature imposes order on our lives. Our days, weeks, months, and years are precisely patterned. Every day has 24 hours, the time it takes the earth to rotate once around its axis. Every year has 365 and 1/4 days, the time it takes the earth to orbit the sun. Our months correspond roughly to orbit of the moon around the earth. The lengths of our days and nights and the characters of our seasons depend on the movement of the sun and the earth.
Perhaps it’s not so surprising that Bach built his Ciaccona on a large and regular framework. The world is filled with structures, hierarchies, and repeating themes, from the planets in the universe, to our seasons, to our sunrises and sunsets, to our generations. Life is a series of variations on a 24-hour theme, each featuring the same sunrise, sunset, and motions of the planets and stars. Unlike Bach, we can’t plan ahead how many variations we are going to write.
It’s a surprise to learn that the Ciaconna has exactly 64 variations on a theme. The music feels so free and even rambling in some places, particularly where there are many 32nd notes. There are so many surprises, like the key changes, the transitions to new sections, and the introduction of new themes, which seem spontaneous, rather than conforming. The parts flow together so perfectly that it’s hard to believe that Bach wrote them to fit a mold. The Ciaccona sounds like the model from which a mold might be cast.
Perhaps it is wrong to assume that what is natural and flowing is unstructured. That may be a more modern outlook on things. Form and flow aren’t necessarily opposed. Could the structure help the piece flow?
In the past, people thought that what was natural was orderly. In Elizabethan England, people believed in the Great Chain of Being, in which God ruled men who ruled animals. People who practice Islam have great structure to their lives, praying five times per day. These are two examples that come to mind, but there are many other examples of the way humans lead structured lives.
Whether or not we humans choose to discipline ourselves, nature imposes order on our lives. Our days, weeks, months, and years are precisely patterned. Every day has 24 hours, the time it takes the earth to rotate once around its axis. Every year has 365 and 1/4 days, the time it takes the earth to orbit the sun. Our months correspond roughly to orbit of the moon around the earth. The lengths of our days and nights and the characters of our seasons depend on the movement of the sun and the earth.
Perhaps it’s not so surprising that Bach built his Ciaccona on a large and regular framework. The world is filled with structures, hierarchies, and repeating themes, from the planets in the universe, to our seasons, to our sunrises and sunsets, to our generations. Life is a series of variations on a 24-hour theme, each featuring the same sunrise, sunset, and motions of the planets and stars. Unlike Bach, we can’t plan ahead how many variations we are going to write.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Ringing
Listening to Hilary Hahn play the Allemande to the D-minor partita, I'm hearing the way her violin rings more than I ever did before. In an earlier post, I talked about listening for the ringing of my own violin as I played the Allemande. This ringing is amazing. It's like her notes were bell chimes. The ringing of one note does linger in the air as she plays the next. The ringing of the bass notes is like the bass part that Bach didn't include in the "Six Solos For Violin without Bass Accompaniment," as he originally titled them. Sometimes, when I tune into the ringing, I imagine another note that isn't in the music that seems to follow in the bass line.
Arnold Steinhardt, a concert violinist and chamber musician, says he has been pursuing the elusive Ciaccona his whole life. I can imagine why. There's always more to hear in Bach.
Arnold Steinhardt, a concert violinist and chamber musician, says he has been pursuing the elusive Ciaccona his whole life. I can imagine why. There's always more to hear in Bach.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Open Source Interview about Bach's Ciaccona with Arnold Steinhardt
This is a radio program about the wonderful Ciaccona/Chaconne.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Allemande
I can't find my Bach music, so I can't check to see how my edition spells Allemande. I can, however, play the movement I'm working on, because it's committed to my memory.
I've been imagining how the movement would sound on an organ. There are many rising arpeggios where I can imagine the notes building onto each other and the volume rising the way they would if an organist held each note down instead of releasing it to play the next note, the way you have to on a violin.
I'm also trying to listen for the way the ringing of one note mixes with the sound of the next. For example, if I play a note on one string, then play a note on another string, the first string continues to vibrate from that first note while I play the second. What does that sound like? The vibrations aren't as loud as those of an organ, but they exist. Whether I leave my fingers in place on the first string or take them off probably makes some minuscule difference.
The beginning of the Allemande is similar to the beginning of Ciaccona, the D-minor partita's epic movement. I wonder if Bach wrote the Allemanda first, or started with the Ciaccona. The Ciaccona is so important. It could be based on all of the previous movements, but because it's so fantastic, I suspect that Bach had it in mind from the beginning. Bach probably planned the Ciaccona before he started writing the Allemande, the way J.K. Rowling planned the end of the Harry Potter series before she finished the first Harry Potter book.
I like this recording, after the Star Wars introduction. This sounds like not just any violin. Maybe a Baroque violin.
I've been imagining how the movement would sound on an organ. There are many rising arpeggios where I can imagine the notes building onto each other and the volume rising the way they would if an organist held each note down instead of releasing it to play the next note, the way you have to on a violin.
I'm also trying to listen for the way the ringing of one note mixes with the sound of the next. For example, if I play a note on one string, then play a note on another string, the first string continues to vibrate from that first note while I play the second. What does that sound like? The vibrations aren't as loud as those of an organ, but they exist. Whether I leave my fingers in place on the first string or take them off probably makes some minuscule difference.
The beginning of the Allemande is similar to the beginning of Ciaccona, the D-minor partita's epic movement. I wonder if Bach wrote the Allemanda first, or started with the Ciaccona. The Ciaccona is so important. It could be based on all of the previous movements, but because it's so fantastic, I suspect that Bach had it in mind from the beginning. Bach probably planned the Ciaccona before he started writing the Allemande, the way J.K. Rowling planned the end of the Harry Potter series before she finished the first Harry Potter book.
I like this recording, after the Star Wars introduction. This sounds like not just any violin. Maybe a Baroque violin.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Week of 3/21/10
B-flat major scale
Kreutzer 20
D-minor Partita, Allemanda
I think I'm on Kreutzer 20. I sporadically practiced for a while there, and I ended up on Kreutzer 20. Also, I played the last movement of the A-minor Sonata, too.
Kreutzer 20
D-minor Partita, Allemanda
I think I'm on Kreutzer 20. I sporadically practiced for a while there, and I ended up on Kreutzer 20. Also, I played the last movement of the A-minor Sonata, too.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Fresh music
I think playing that piece versus listening to it on a CD is like eating homemade beef stew versus canned stuff. It's better when you make the music yourself. That's not because the playing is better, but because the sound is better! The sound of ringing notes can't get any better than what comes out of your own violin.
Pre-made meals might be good when they're fresh, but when they have to sit out for hours, or they have preservatives added, they lose something. Music preserved on a CD loses something, too. I try to make it fresh.
My violin itself has been really in-tune lately, which helps. Not just "uh, maybe it's in-tune now," but, "oh yeah, those are loud harmonics; it's just right."
I've been playing the Préludio from the E-major partita for fun. I've been playing it, off and on, since seventh grade, and I knew it well enough make a tape of it in twelfth grade, so I know the notes pretty well. It's familiar, and I always enjoy practicing it. It's also hard enough that there's always more to practice!
I've also been playing the Méditation from the opera Thais, by Massenet, a piece I first heard as music for pliés in ballet class. It's so pretty.
I'm not saying that my playing is as good as what's on the CD.
Pre-made meals might be good when they're fresh, but when they have to sit out for hours, or they have preservatives added, they lose something. Music preserved on a CD loses something, too. I try to make it fresh.
My violin itself has been really in-tune lately, which helps. Not just "uh, maybe it's in-tune now," but, "oh yeah, those are loud harmonics; it's just right."
I've been playing the Préludio from the E-major partita for fun. I've been playing it, off and on, since seventh grade, and I knew it well enough make a tape of it in twelfth grade, so I know the notes pretty well. It's familiar, and I always enjoy practicing it. It's also hard enough that there's always more to practice!
I've also been playing the Méditation from the opera Thais, by Massenet, a piece I first heard as music for pliés in ballet class. It's so pretty.
I'm not saying that my playing is as good as what's on the CD.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
First Notes
It's amazing how starting something I've been putting off can cheer me up so much. Just tuning my violin made me happy today. I just played for a few minutes, but it felt good. It reminds me of how I sometimes dread going to work, but once I get there and start "ringing" (what cashiers do), I feel fine. The routine of ringing can even be comforting. By the time I've told twenty customers I'm doing very well, thanks, I'd better be feeling fine! It's the same walking out the door to do an errand I've been avoiding, or getting in the shower. All these things I avoid are okay once I begin them.
Beginnings, débuts, baptisms, tonics.
Awakenings, realizations, openings.
Openings of eyes, stores, doors.
Dreams give way to reality.
Babies are bathed and baptized, agnostic adults simply shower.
Sunrises, springs, seeds.
Coffee. A walk outside. Warming up.
Tightening the bow. Tuning. The A. Schradieck number 1.
Every day is the oldest you've ever been and the youngest you'll ever be.
You'll always look younger on your driver's license.
Beginnings, débuts, baptisms, tonics.
Awakenings, realizations, openings.
Openings of eyes, stores, doors.
Dreams give way to reality.
Babies are bathed and baptized, agnostic adults simply shower.
Sunrises, springs, seeds.
Coffee. A walk outside. Warming up.
Tightening the bow. Tuning. The A. Schradieck number 1.
Every day is the oldest you've ever been and the youngest you'll ever be.
You'll always look younger on your driver's license.
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