Musical Talent

I have begun writing to a friend of my childhood, who is now a professor of medicine in Wales!  I told him--- after having waited a decent interval--- about my string quartet, and he readily agreed to listen to the piece, and remarked that I was talented. 

I have to admit that I have a bit of talent, which means I really can't take full credit for anything I create; those who labor to perfect a piece of music, like Beethoven did, deserve far, far more praise than someone who tosses off a piece offhand-ly, like Mozart.  But that doesn't sound right; Mozart has written some of my very favorite pieces. 

Here is a complete list of the pieces I have written:

1. Chorale-prelude on 'Jesu Meine Freude'.
2. Fantasia on 'Starlight Serenade'
3. Mystery Waltz
4. A Polka. (Not really, but that's what I called it!)
5. String Quartet in C major. 

All of these are derivative, by which I mean that they're based on an existing piece, except 4, and 5.  It is hard for me to write something completely original; something that's worth listening to, anyway!  So much for talent.  Bach, for instance: imagine creating a piece of music, like a fugue, that's not only wonderful to listen to, but has all the inner structure that fugues are expected to have!!

So, I really don't have much to say on the topic of talent, except that we have to measure how much praise we give someone for creating something by first discounting what can be attributed to pure talent.  This recalls the parable of the talents, and the summary of that parable: From those to whom much is given, much is expected. 

Archie
 

Noticing Things

This is what I wanted to say when I was talking about Kim's Game!  But I got sidetracked.  (Happens every few hours.)

Thinking back to my teaching days (i.e, before 2017), I realize that I missed a lot of good opportunities.  One of the basic tricks (it's not really a trick, but kids pay attention if you call it a trick) is: to notice things. 

One of the major things I taught was techniques of integration.  If you don't know what integration is, it's a little like being a doctor.  You have an integration problem (which is a math problem that has to be solved), which is your patient.  You first have to assess what kind of integration it is, because what you do next depends on that assessment.  It's like a diagnosis, get it?  You need to find out which way to go.  In math (unlike in medicine) if you go the wrong way, nobody gets sick or dies; you just have to back up, and start again in a different direction. 

Classifying your problem--- the diagnosis--- depends on noticing various little things, just as in medical diagnostics.  Once the doctor notices one thing, there are other related things he or she could look for.  It's exactly the same in mathematics!  Is there a radical of a certain sort?  Is there a logarithm?  An exponential?  A fraction?  A simple substitution you could do?

The good students are already hot on the trail of these critters.  At the time I was teaching, I was so annoyed with the typical students, that I thought: oh let them go screw themselves; they should have picked up a lot of this in Grade 10.

But a lot of things could have gone wrong in Grade 10: athletics---even if the kid was hopeless at it; hormones; a marginal high school teacher; a home environment where there was nobody to help with studying; all sorts of problems.  If I had gone just a tiny bit outside my lane, and helped my students with the FOIL rule, for instance,  which is something they learn in 6th or 7th Grade, they might have kissed the ground I walked on!  Well, that's going too far; I walked on some pretty dirty ground.

When I was thinking about this post, I wondered whether the whole concept of noticing things might be a pretty universal performance aid.  Does critical reading require noticing certain things?  Does debugging faulty code in a program involve noticing certain things?  It seem to me that even getting the benefit of a video clip a teacher shows a class requires noticing things.  This is huge. 

Notice things, young people.  No pressure. 

Arch

Harmonica Harmony

When I was a kid, I was given a so- called "mouth organ", which was the term, where I grew up, for the gadgets known in these parts as a harmonica.  These things were everywhere, at one time, but they're getting to be a curiosity.  Bob Dylan played one, so did John Lennon. 

When I learned to play one, it was considered a great achievement---briefly.  After a while, the constant racket of the thing got on my family's nerves, until I went off to boarding school---a humble school, not at all the same thing as the luxury institutions we find around here---and it became the responsibility of the school authorities to moderate my explorations with the harmonica.  Then, along came A Hard Day's Night, that miraculous introduction to the Beatles and their music. 

I lost no time learning to play I should have known better, a lovely soft rock song that featured the harmonica, and my friends and I sang it all the time, for a year.

It's time to get into the meat of this post. 

You can either Blow into a harmonica, or Suck.  Blowing produces a nice chord, in the key of the harmonica; mine was in C, and you'd get a bold, brassy C chord:

C E G C E G ...

and so on, depending on how many octaves your harmonica had.  A typical kid harmonica had three. 

If you sucked in, you also got a chord, but not one of the common (major or minor) chords, but a more sophisticated chord.  Rather than give you its name, I'll give you the notes:

B D F A B D F A ...

When I first learned music theory, I learned a whole lot of major chords, which I and my fellow-students played on a piano. Then I learned a whole lot of minor chords. Then, on certain (root) notes, I learned seventh chords. The most heavily-used one was the dominant seventh, GBDF.  In a pop song in the key of C major, you could do quite well if you just knew C major, F major,  G major, and G major dominant seventh.  In the quest for brevity, pop musicians called that last chord G^7th, but there are many seventh chords on the root of G.  Pop musicians don't need to know those, so they don't; it is The Way, as the Mandaloreans would say.  But if you were Elton John, you'd know all the chords on the root of G. 

The peculiar chord you get by sucking in on a harmonica is also a seventh, but not one of the common ones.  Since you can only either blow into the harmonica, or suck on the thing, there are only two chords, and this sucking chord is actually quite a clever choice, and in fact the only possible choice.  You could play a huge number of tunes with those two chords, and of course that's what we did.

In smaller harmonicas, all the way at the left end, if you blew, you would actually get a low G.  Oddly enough, if you sucked, guess what?  You would also get a G!  So, for complete disclosure, the chord you get if you blew is actually

G C E G C E G C E G C,

and if you sucked, instead, you'd get

G B D F A B D F A B D F A.

You would think that this would give you a horrible discord!  In fact, though, you get one of the most glorious chords of all, called a chord of the ninth.  This chord of the ninth on G,  GBDFA, is an important chord in 19th- century music; in fact you hear it all the time in Strauss waltzes!  In The Beautiful Blue Danube, in the introduction, it is the third chord you hear.  (Not on G, but the key of the piece.  The introduction is in A, if I remember right.)

Now, once that low G is added, we can call this chord of which I speak, the ninth on G, or the dominant ninth of C major.  But even without the G, the chord is the seventh on the chord BDF, which is a diminished chord.  We do not call it a diminished seventh, which is the name of a significantly different chord (OK, I'll tell you what it is, since you might not be able to sleep if I didn't: it's B D F FlatA.  The extra Flat makes it a note not strictly in the key of C major.)  Honestly, I don't know the common name for that chord---BDFA---in popular music.

OK, I  need to take a nap now.

The Passion according to Matthew, by J. S. Bach

This work is one of Bach's greatest creations; and tomorrow is Maundy Thursday, when according to the New Testament record, the Last Supper took place.

Those who are familiar with the story know that a lot was going on that night.  When Bach wrote the great opening chorus of the Passion, this was one thing that he managed to put into it: the sense that a lot is going on.  This was for good reason; by the end of Friday, Jesus was dead, the disciples had gone into hiding, Jesus' mother and the other Mary had fled the city, and few of them knew what was going on.

Musically, a huge amount of planning had taken place.  As I've written before, there are two entire orchestras---modest-sized---spatially separated; two organs, and two choirs; and a third choir consisting only of trebles.  That's what Bach wanted; whether it was performed this way in his lifetime, we don't know.  (We do know that Mendelssohn staged a festival version of the Passion in 1832, which kicked off a Bach revival.)

If you're new to this work, and you get an uncomfortable sense of restlessness and foreboding, that's intentional.

In addition, the text of that first chorus does not present any part of the story; it only invites 'The Daughters of Zion' to come and mourn.  I only know that this group of women---or this woman---is a symbolic representation of the Hebrew Nation.

While the daughters are mourning, the third choir, the Ripieno Trebles, are quietly intoning a chorale: Oh lamb of god unsullied.  Altogether [this opening chorus] is an incredible achievement, that batters the listener for some 8 minutes.  I recommend the performance conducted by Wolfgang Gonnenwein, of around the 1980s.

In certain parts of the world, at certain times, on Good Friday they have a three hour service.  This was the case when I was growing up; it was a 3- hour meditation, but kids were permitted to leave after one hour, provided they kept perfectly quiet in the churchyard.  It appears that this choral St Matthew Passion is in the same tradition, to force the congregation to engage with the horrors of those hours.  It was considered to difficult for one minister to lead the entire meditation (When I was a kid), so they had a tag- team of three clergymen lead it in rotation.

In Bach's tradition, the Passions took the action through the crucifixion, to the point where the body is left in the grave.  And that's what we hear in this work.  The multiple choirs take leave of Jesus, each part in turn.

Bach's Birthday!!

Due to an inconvenient accident of history, we're not sure of Bach's actual birth date; I illegally use this fact as license to celebrate his birthday on the Spring Equinox, or rather, the 21st of March!  The actual Equinox is (very slightly) variable from one year to the next, for reasons that sound highly dubious to me, so I stubbornly and unilaterally decide that it shall be on March the 21st.  (This is one of the few instances where scientists---particularly astronomers---are more a nuisance than a help.)

In some ways, it's rather a blessing that Bach is no longer with us.  When it came to music, he got tunnel vision; this led to many, many serious arguments during his life, so that we could not pretend that he was a nice guy while he was alive.  He also had, like, a million kids (well, about 19 or twenty that survived their childhood, anyway), which would give the sweetest man a poor temper.  (I get this from hearsay, because I have only one kid.)

He was one of the most important---probably the most influential, in my opinion---musicians in Western music.  He wrote some really fantastic pieces, but much of Bach is an acquired taste.  Still, few pieces by Bach would sound truly strange to modern listeners.

I'm going to take this opportunity to point readers toward some of my Bach favorites that I haven't highlighted on this blog; or at least don't remember highlighting on this blog!!

Italian Concerto, movement 2.  This is not an earth-shattering piece; it is charming, and calm and tuneful, characteristics that I appreciate greatly as I sample the waters of septuagenaria.

Brandenburg Concerto 6 in B Flat.  This set of 6 concertos are Bach's crowning contributions to the genre of the concerto grosso.  This post isn't intended to be educational, so I'll explain what concerti grossi (?) are another time, but the 6th Brandenburg is in a class by itself.

Ouverture (or Orchestral Suite) no. 4 in D: Gigue.  Everyone knows Handel's Watermusic Suites; or at least everybody used to, back when I was a kid.  Well, the last two of Bach's orchestral suites give Handel a run for his money.  They're grand, and brassy, and amazingly jolly---you wouldn't expect Bach to have written stuff like this.  (Actually Bach did; it's just not common knowledge.). If you like this piece, and you're not familiar with Handel's Royal Fireworks Music, you ought to try those next.

If you're a choral singer, you just have to listen to 'Cum Santo spirito' from the Mass in B minor, which will knock your socks off.  (Of course, if you don't like loud brassy music, maybe you should stay away from it.  It is the last line of the Creed, and the tradition was to shout it out at top volume.)

I'm filled with gratitude that I know enough about Bach to evangelize like this!  Well, that's Bach for you; he makes us all spread the word about his music!

Arch

Mozart and Beethoven

Two composers who are frequently compared are: Mozart and Beethoven.  These two are sort of a natural pair to select for the exercise because they were both in Austria, about the same time, wrote works that were similar in spirit, and both had strong connections to Haydn, not that that makes much of a difference.

Mozart's music manuscripts are neatly set out, as if he conceived his works in his head, and didn't set them down until they were perfect.  With Beethoven, we can almost see the process of creation.  We only know anything about these two men from second and third hand, so it would be arrogant in the extreme to present a detailed psychological profile of them for comparison.  But it does sound convincing that Mozart was very much aware of how he was perceived, whereas we get the impression that Beethoven wouldn't give a damn.  (That's only true to some degree; there seem to be anecdotes that suggest that Beethoven could be easily embarrassed.)

What does the perfection of Mozart's manuscripts mean, really?  Someone, a contemporary, has said: always Mozart, always the same!  Does this mean that there was something predictable about Mozart's music?  I don't think it means exactly that; but he had such complete control over his idiom, that he didn't need to fiddle with details, but rather larger chunks of music; and he could do that in his head.

Beethoven was more concerned with actually building his idiom anew each time; the stateliness, the majesty of what he wanted needed tinkering at the finest level; he probably adjusted the notes of each chord to get what he wanted.

As I said, I don't want to presume to have an insight into the compositional procedure of anyone, even myself; I had to rework a movement a dozen times before it sounded halfway decent!  Most of all, it is impossible for us to imagine what is going on in Beethoven's head, simply because we've heard the final completed piece.  We've also heard a lot of Beethoven, which he had not heard at the time he was writing.

I would imagine it's the same with writing text.  Some writers would tinker with their dialog until they arrive at the precise tone of a sentence they want.  Others can hear the entire conversation already, and can't write it down fast enough!

I would like to continue with some musical examples, not to make any conclusions, but for the contrasts they may show.  But I can't do that on my phone ...

My Mother

Today is the birthday of my mother!

It may not seem appropriate that this description of my mother should be put here, on the musical blog, rather than over on the all-purpose "I Could Be Wrong" blog, but bear with me!

My mom was the second of four siblings: one boy, the eldest, followed by three girls.  I was told a lot about my mother in her girlhood days, which I quickly forgot.  She didn't seem such an exciting subject back then.  But I do get the impression that she listened.  She absorbed everything she was taught in school.  She absorbed everything she was taught in numerous clubs, in school.  She absorbed and retained everything she was taught by her father, who was a physician and a surgeon.

She was also very much into sports, and was the sports captain of her school.  (They had one sports captain for the entire school, as well as individual captains for each team sport.  Don't ask me why.)

She was accepted by the YWCA for training as an administrative secretary. (Back then, the YWCA was the conduit of a vast amount of support for working women, as well as abandoned women and families, and so the administrative secretary---who essentially ran the YWCA office---needed to have training, unlike the president of each YWCA, who was elected, and often changed from year to year.)  The YWCA decided to send my mom to college, at a time when most women went straight into the workforce (or got married) without bothering with college.

After working for the 'Y' for several years, my mother took up teaching, and then met my dad, and they got married.  My mom continued to teach while I was still on the way, took a brief leave of absence (while she delivered me,) and then resumed teaching.  She taught English, history, geography and civics.  For various reasons, she decided to teach singing as well.  (Most of her students were learning English as a second language, and the singing helped these kids to lose their discomfort in pronouncing English words.)

She continued to teach for twenty years, until she retired.  Even then, she did not stop teaching.  When I was about 13, I started taking music and piano lessons, whereas many kids took piano when they were a lot younger.  Anyway, I was in boarding school, which meant that when I went home for the holidays and reported what was going on with me to my mom, it was more interesting to her, than if I had reported it daily.  When she learned that I was learning simple harmony, she revealed that she too had been taking lessons in advanced harmony from a friend.  Pretty soon she was teaching me advanced harmony, which fact I had to carefully conceal from my music teacher, who would have otherwise gotten mad.  (The last thing a teacher wants to hear is that she's getting upstaged by a competing teacher somewhere else!)

My mom's musical friend, meanwhile, taught music theory at three schools.  When she and her husband decided to take a year-long vacation to Australia, she arranged for Mom to substitute for her as music teacher at those schools, which supplemented our family income nicely!

My mother was very much into music and drama.  My father's job involved being transferred from one location to the other all through our lives.  At every place where we were posted, my mom got involved in the local musical and dramatic scene.  She sang at weddings, and she trained choirs, and directed plays.  My most treasured memories were of my mom practicing choruses from Messiah, or The Creation, or the St. Matthew Passion, and other major choral works.  So my mother was responsible for about a third of my knowledge of music theory, while three other ladies were responsible for all the rest of what I know about music, and a couple of gentlemen as well.

Despite the very public role my mother played in most places where we lived, including as a teacher, she was a very soft-spoken woman.  I realized only recently just how soft-spoken she was.  Even my father was moderately soft-spoken.  (I, in contrast, tend to yell.)

After my father also retired, they both retrained as psychologists and counselors, a move that is difficult for me to understand.  By all accounts, my mother was considered a very capable counselor, though my father gave it up rather quickly.

My parents died several years ago.  We miss them greatly; it is difficult to describe what it is like when your parents are gone, even if the parents concerned are in ill-health, and advanced in years.  You do get accustomed to it after a while, but every once in a while there is something you want to run by them, but of course, they aren't there.  Of course, there are your siblings, who are a good substitute, in a limited way.

Happy birthday, Mom!