Archive for category: Studio

The fourth movement of Paul Hindemith’s Viola Sonata Op. 25 No.1 reads: “Rasendes Zeitmass. Wild. Tonschönheit ist Nebensache.” It closely translates to “Frantic pace. Wild. Beauty of sound is a minor matter.” The indication leaves no doubt about the intense character or the piece. I find the last phrase to be especially meaningful: although Hindemith wants an exuberant interpretation, he does not directly request to play with a harsh or uncared-for sound; he rather places tone quality as a secondary element.

Since Hindemith was a violist, his indication comes from knowledge and experience. I think there is something for us to learn in its “cautionary” nature: beauty of sound might come at the expense of a necessary wild character and relentless tempo. In other words, based on his own experience, Hindemith could probably imagine violists focusing on maintaining a proper sound quality, and, in so doing, hindering other more important aspects of the work.

I wonder how many of our performances would benefit from keeping a similar mindset. Whether we are beginners, intermediate or advanced players, there are instances when the desire to achieve or maintain our best tone might negatively affect other aspects of our music-making. Let’s discuss a few of them.

Tone quality claims a predominant part of our attention from day one. Certainly, we all want to produce beautiful sounds from the moment we first hold a guitar. As beginner students, we are usually told that sound beauty is of foremost importance. Many methods and teachers explicitly ask us to sound beautifully as early as possible. Intuitively, we think that we are doing something wrong if we buzz or sound harsh notes. (Beginners might not know if they are placing their fingers correctly, but they do notice if notes sound badly.) Therefore, from the first lessons, sound quality becomes a guiding element for us. It is how we get a sense of whether we are doing things correctly or not.

This can be counterproductive. For example, beginners commonly seek to press firmly on every note in order to avoid buzzing. This leads them to rely on stronger left-hand muscles instead of gradually developing the other muscles involved in a more correct –albeit less intuitive– technique. A recurrent example is pressing with flat fingers instead of pressing with the fingertips: in doing so, beginners can use stronger muscles and play more accurately, since a flat finger covers a bigger area than a fingertip. Yet this approach only delays the necessary acquisition of the necessary curved-fingers technique. Slurs are another example: trying to get both plucked and slurred notes to sound cleanly, students might fix their fingers stiffly, relying mainly on arm and wrist motions. A proper slurring technique requires the hammering or pulling finger to move freely, yet this is difficult to achieve on day one–at least with enough sound clarity and volume. A faster and more effective training is to start with slower and targeted motions (which inevitably produce either muted or buzzing notes) until the appropriate muscles are developed and the corresponding motor skills have been acquired and can be engaged at one’s will. Yet another example is barring: students might assume that they are doing it correctly only when all the notes sound clearly, hence applying extra pressure, and positioning their untrained hands inefficiently. A more effective approach could be to completely separate the study of barre positions from pieces, and if our students learn a piece that contains them, allow them to play through them without pressing hardly (muting or buzzing the notes in those passages) and encourage them to focus instead on achieving the correct timing and phrasing.

A point to keep in mind is that beginners must manage and learn many different things, but our brains can only control one thing at a time. It is important to insist on proper placement when developing our students’ technique, although inevitably some of the notes will not sound clean. Encourage them to focus on placement and proper motions, pushing sound quality as a secondary concern for the time being.

After our students reach an intermediate level, one of the most difficult things to teach is to “sing.” Artfully connecting notes, making lines lyrical, is an elusive goal for many players. I believe many times this problem is compounded by an overriding attention on sound quality. Singers or string players, by the sustaining nature of their instruments, necessarily focus on how notes tie with each other. It is readily evident if a note is louder or has a different color than the previous one, even when one is solely focusing on the quality of each individual note. Since the guitar produces quickly decaying sounds, oftentimes a note has faded before the next one (belonging to the same line) is played. (And, being a harmonic instrument, other notes might have been played between the two notes that are part of the line.) Therefore guitarists can focus just as much as singers or string players on the ‘purity’ of individual notes, yet easily miss the connection among them. Again, we can only focus on one thing at the time; I believe that taking the attention off of producing always beautiful notes, and encouraging a more horizontal hearing, can help our students achieve that evading goal of lyricism.

Advanced players can sacrifice other musical aspects as well in their pursuit of maintaining their best sound at all moments. A common occurrence is constantly optimizing the angle in which each of our fingers attack the different strings, which is done in order to obtain the best possible sound out of every  note. Since the optimal attack angle of each finger is different, we might unconsciously add tension and/or complexity to our right hand by constantly micro-adjusting for each stroke, depending on which finger acts at a given moment. Chances are that this intricate task affects the phrasing or fluency of our performances. As an experiment, play one of the most complex right-hand pieces in your repertory, and focus on right-hand relaxation, regardless of the sound quality not being optimal or uniform among the fingers. Check if you find it easier to play and, more importantly, if you find that the music flows more naturally as a result. I believe that, given the proper time and attention, this experiment can be quite revealing.

Finally, going back to Hindemith’s indication, let us remember that he does not directly ask to play with a harsh or similar sound, but rather not to make beauty of sound a priority. We should indeed work on achieving and maintaining our best tone quality, but always pondering whether that delays or prevents achieving other desirable goals, such as the acquisition of proper technical skills or the timing, relaxation and flow of our performances.

A lot has been written about the creation, content and significance of Manuel De Falla’s “Ommagio per le Tombeau de Debussy.” For example, I encourage you to read Rey De la Torre’s interview and Benjamin Verdery’s reflections. After having heard this piece numerous times in concerts and lessons, I’d like to add some comments and ideas.

(1) The metronome indication — quarter note equals 60 — might seem a bit fast. But how much of that is simply due to habit? I think that with this widely known work it is easy to become accustomed to slower tempi, before even learning it. And since it is an elegy, there’s no fear in playing extra slowly. I would advice to give the 60-per-quarter tempo an honest try–then you can decide which tempo works for you. Notice that the piece has many x-marked notes, which are to be slightly retained, and they make the work feel a bit slower already. Also, it is interesting that in the manuscript, the 60 seems to have been corrected:

It might have been a 5 instead of a 6 (quarter note equals 50). Therefore, assuming this was a correction that De Falla or Llobet made, 50 seemed slow to them.

(2) A related point: exercise expressive restraint. This is a piece to treat with respect and “selflessness.” Since countless guitarists played and continue to play it, we might want to do something different with it–make it our own. Thus we are easily lured to make it more dramatic: vibrate more here, stay a bit longer there, stretch the rubato here, roll a chord very slowly there, etc. But everything in the work is meticulously instructed; De Falla indicated the dynamic inflection for every gesture and specified articulations almost to a pointillist level (legatos, staccatos, accents, tenutos, and even the explained “x” notes). If there is a piece that we should all articulate and phrase similarly, this is it. Furthermore, remember the reflective, contemplative character of this tombeau, far removed from passionate outbursts (after all, quite an “impressionist” attitude). So adhere to the printed score; there are other pieces where to showcase one’s interpretative imagination. (Plus, isn’t it particularly bad taste to use an elegy, a reflection on someone’s memory, for our own display?)

(3) The “x” articulation marks sometimes happen over staccato basses, as can be seen in the picture above. Many times both melody and basses are articulated in the same way (staccato). Think orchestrally; consider maybe damping the bass notes (think of plucked cellos or timpani) and keeping the melodic “x” notes legato (as violas or violins would do).

(4) Think of the work as an homage to the guitar as well! In fact, De Falla reflected on the influence that the instrument had in Debussy’s music, for example in the Prelude No.9, “Sérénade Interrompue” (whose opening, by the way, might ring a bell). Many of the chords in the Homage, for example, are built upon fourths, echoing the guitar’s tuning. But we might also find a subliminal homage to the guitar in the structure of the piece: significant sections of the music are punctuated around the pitches of the open strings. The work’s opening motive rests on E, and expands a fourth, reaching a tenuto A (m.6). The forte at measure 8 introduces D, which becomes the center of the melody for a few bars. At m.19, another forte reaches a high G, yet another ascending fourth, where the melody revolves for a few bars again. And at measure 30, a molto ritmico section starts, now making B the central pitch and taking us through new material. Since the guitar has another E on the first string, is it coincidence that the piece repeats its opening on measure 49? Or that E is the final note?

(5) Although technically demanding, it would be important to create a campanella effect from measure 37 onwards, holding the downbeats B and C (and D in measure 39) over their “echo” repetitions. Rey de la Torre talks about the importance of this effect in the aforelinked interview. Furthermore, the guitar writing hides their true long values as well, showing them as sixteenth notes. The piano edition does show them as double notes:

These held notes are but a clear outgrowth of the theme. The campanella can bring them out and render true significance to the forte-piano indications. Although demanding, it is possibly to do it effectively with the following fingering:

(6) The quote on measure 63, from Debussy’s “La Soirée Dans Grenade,”  is exquisite; more than just a witticism by De Falla. Placed at the end of the piece, it is particularly effective as a final salute to the French composer. It is a game of cross references: a quote from another habanera (which is what the Homage is), with a Spaniard quoting a French composer writing Spanish music. It is also a perfect snippet to quote Debussy; it involves two parallel chords that belong to a whole-tone collection, both “trademarks” of the French composer. It sounds Debussyian even to those who do not recognize the quote. Finally, it is not isolated within the piece; it reminisces the harmonically remote section in mm. 45-48, where the bass movement G#-C# appeared as Ab-Db.

Such a great piece! I hope some of these comments renew your appreciation of it.

The “Tristan” chord, the first chord of Richard Wagner’s opera “Tristan und Isolde,” is arguably the most famous chord in history. Theorists have dedicated countless pages to it, and still do, after more than 150 years. To many, it is a landmark in the starting of post-tonal music–a pivot to the twentieth century.

The chord’s function–or lack of thereof–is the puzzle. As the first vertical sonority of the piece, it is unprepared; it “resolves” in a strange manner, amidst chromatic surroundings; the slow rhythm dilutes its comprehension, and emphasizes what seem to be appoggiaturas or altered tones. These traits are of course no happy accident; the progression masterly depicts the uncertainty and longing that the opera’s characters go through.

Theorists have analyzed the chord in a variety of ways. Many sought to make sense of it by means of traditional tonal theory, although the chord and its resolution do not constitute any of the standard progressions. It has a half-diminished-seventh structure. Many have sought to explain it as such, which means as second or seventh degree of Eb or F# respectively. Others considered it an augmented French sixth (interpreting the long G# as an appoggiatura to A). Others saw it as a G#-minor triad with an added sixth. Or an altered diminished seventh. And other entities too–including a sonority devoid of any tonal function. As the variety suggests, none of the views irrevocably explain all of the chord’s notes and behavior. And some of them go through great and strenuous lengths to do it.

Here is the opening phrase in guitar notation:

I’d like to use the chord to reflect on some aspects of music analysis. First, the myriad pages and varied interpretations that arose from the passage show that music analysis is, after all, an act of interpretation. Which is to say subjective. The word ‘analysis’ might recall some sort of scientific activity: “we must analyze a work to discover its hidden Truth.” Yet music escapes such truths. A composer might have clear intentions or reasons when writing a work, but, after completed, the work’s analysis will be subject to its performers’ interpretation. In turn, the performances will be subjectively interpreted by the listeners. And all this is good! The more views there are to consider, the richer the experience.

Some Tristan analyses also illustrate the “timelessness” of analysis, since they derive the chord’s meaning from events that happen later in the piece. Some theorists, including Schoenberg in his Harmonielehre, noted that in measures 81 and 82 of the Prelude the same chord resolves on Bb7 (dominant of Eb), and in varying degrees claimed that the original Tristan chord is the same “entity”: a second degree of Eb. This type of instant back-and-forth of our eyes is enlightening, even as music happens in real time. It can transform the same work into a different one upon repeated listenings. (And it is actually necessary sometimes. For example, you can only make rational sense of the fortissimo C# in Beethoven’s last movement of his 8th Symphony if you remember its presence in the 1st movement, and finally see it reveal itself as dominant to an F#-minor iteration of the theme toward the end of the symphony.)

Then there is the issue of appearances. Despite all the conflicting explanations, there seems to be a consensus about the A-minor tonality, or tonal area, of the Tristan Prelude. Some talk of an Am-C tonal complex. But I deem noteworthy that the opening melody, A-F-E, hardly sets our ear on A-minor land. An ascending leap of a sixth at the beginning of a piece would most likely be processed as being the 5^th- and 3^rd-degree scales (think of La Traviata’s “Brindisi”). I would argue that the first three notes–especially the long F–would actually hint to a D-minor tonality. Then the Tristan chord sounds unequivocally remote, as it introduces B, D# and G#, all foreign to D minor. I think that if the opening notes established the A-minor key with more certainty, the chord would have a clearer function, and it would not have deserved as much ink as it did. And, granted, the passage would not have been as memorable. Something like (with optional revoicing):

With this point, I side with analyses grounded on how the music ultimately sounds rather than looks. The fact that we can see something on paper does not mean it sounds as such. We might have all natural notes and not necessarily sound in C major. Also, since we can easily over-analyze, I think we should not lose sight of what we can humanly hear and process. Labeling every row in a serial piece might be doable on paper, but will surely overwhelm us when listening to it and might make us bypass the expressive content of the music.

A last point that can help us as performers: many times the problem, or its solution, lies not in the one particular thing, but in its surroundings–just like the spell of the Tristan chord comes from its placement within a seemingly foreign progression. For instance, when we are building an interpretation of a new piece and we are uncertain of what a passage means, or what to do with it, we should revise what happens before and after, for that is what will give that particular passage its meaning. Or, if we are failing to give a passage the expressiveness or impact that it deserves, it might be because the previous passages fail in the buildup to it. It is worth noticing that this applies to technical difficulties as well. And actually, well, to life, in the broadest sense.

There is a passage in the third movement of Joaquín Rodrigo’s Sonata Giocosa that I have always found interesting:

Joaquín Rodrigo: Sonata Giocosa, mvt. III, mm. 137-144

The passage, like the rest of the work, is tonal. Each beamed group of eighths suggests a chord; the first and last note of each group belong to the chord, and the second note of each group is an appoggiatura to the last. These chords, in turn, form a clear, tonal harmonic progression. Clear as it is on paper, it is however difficult to understand these harmonies when listening to the work. The reason is that the appoggiaturas rarely sound as such. Displaced at a higher register, those notes acquire a prominent role and render the harmony ambiguous. Furthermore, their prominence is usually strengthened by interpretations that accent them and/or let them ring over their resolution notes, which blur their melodic function. Since the piece moves quickly, there is barely enough time to process the appoggiatura-resolution pairs, which are rather processed as some sort of false relations. And thus the work sounds suddenly “atonal” for a few seconds. I would imagine this is particularly the case for first-time, untrained listeners.

We should then downplay the appoggiaturas (they will sound clearly regardless, since they appear by themselves on a high register), and of course damp them toward the last note of each group. I would also consider two alternate voicing options: (1) to move the last note of each group an octave higher (Figure 2) or (2) invert each group, so as to retain the shape and “gesture” of each group but feature the appoggiaturas on the lower octave, where they are less prominent (Figure 3). I encourage you to try these; even if you keep the original version in performances, they might bring you a new insight for the passage.

Figure 2

Figure 3

On a related note, this passage has led me to write an article about the dissonances in Rodrigo’s guitar music. It will be published in the upcoming Soundboard, Vol. 41, No. 3.

“La Catedral,” arguably Agustín Barrios’s most famous work, was not conceived at once. The second and third movements were written in Uruguay in 1921, reflecting the peace of the Cathedral’s interior and the tumult of the town outside. The Prelude, Saudade, was added in La Habana in 1938. (Different versions conflict as to the true genesis of the work, but these seem to be the most accepted facts.)

Saudade is a word of difficult translation, but it is associated with a feeling of longing, of remembrance. What is in the piece–or what was Barrios remembering–that made him add this first movement to the other two, which were inspired by and written in Uruguay?

Agustín Barrios: La Catedral, mvt. I, mm.1-4

It would make sense to think that this Prelude is somehow related to Uruguay. Is it perhaps a milonga? Eduardo Fernández mentioned the idea to me many years ago, and later made a compelling case for it in a thorough analysis of the work, published in the Italian guitar magazine Il Fronimo.

The 3+3+2 subdivision typical of the milonga is embedded in the right hand pattern. Ring finger plays the high notes, and thumb (the strongest finger, carrying an accent) starts the second group of three. Since the campanella effect makes the right hand pattern not to coincide with the arppeggio’s contour, the 3+3+2 subdivision is not evident in most interpretations. Some performers maintain the lowest voices unaccented; others aim to create a dialog between the first and third strings, sort of an echo effect. In fact the thumb notes (the tenor voice in the first four bars) are usually the softest sounding ones. Without labeling any of the interpretations right or wrong, I however encourage you to consider this Saudade as a milonga, and thus place a slight volume or agogic accent on the fourth sixteenth of each measure.