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By The Weekend Vote
April 18, 2014 10:54
After posting the interview with Ilya Gringolts about the Paganini Caprices this week, I received an e-mail from a longtime V.commie:
I had a typo. Plus some personal advice, "Start practicing the caprices. Just do it."
Sounds like a Nike commercial, sheesh! And anyway, I thought Ilya was letting me off the hook with the whole idea that I probably won't get anywhere anyway with these Caprices anyway. When I had resolved to learn them some years back, I was advised to start with a challenging one, how about No. 4? I worked and worked, but man that was a tall mountain. Are they all like this? My struggle with No. 4 might have reinforced my feeling that the caprices were simply insurmountable and just not worth, well, the heartbreak.
My friend assured me they are not all quite as bad as No. 4, and working on them is indeed worth it. "Since working through these monsters, my chops feel so great. Everything feels easier. Everything," she said. "It is steamed broccoli for your chops."
Hmmm. Streamed broccoli? My chops probably could use some roughage.
So which one should I start (over) with? And also, have you studied the Caprices? And how many of them have you studied? (The numbers in the poll refer to how many caprices you've studied, not to the number of the actual caprice).
By Karen Rile
April 17, 2014 23:01
A few months ago I attended a reading by a friend of mine who was on tour promoting his latest novel. I brought my personal copy of his book to the event for him to sign. Good thing, because it turns out that I needed to follow along the printed text to make out what he was saying. He rushed and stumbled over his own sentences as if they were unfamiliar to him. His enunciation was a disservice to his stylishly crafted prose, and I was dismayed to think that some in the audience might dismiss his writing because of its poor delivery.
Later, over coffee, he admitted that he does not like to do live readings. No surprise there: many of us writers are uncomfortable reading our work aloud. A writer's relationship is with the written and printed word; our relationship with our readers is quiet and indirect. The last thing on our minds when we are writing is that someday we'll be marched onto a stage and forced to perform it in front of an audience.
And yet we must. Interacting with the public is part of the business of being a writer, or any kind of artist. My friend confessed he's dreaded public readings ever since graduate school, when his mentor told him that he was the best writer he'd ever taught—and the worst reader. "I try to go slowly, but I'm so anxious; I hurry for fear of running out of time."
The idea suddenly came to me that maybe he should take a few sessions with an acting coach. I probably wouldn't have thought of it on my own, but my youngest daughter is a theater student, and I recently learned that her acting teacher sometimes coaches writers to help them develop vocal, physical, and emotional techniques for reading their work aloud in public.
My friend didn't think much of this suggestion. In fact, I'm afraid he was insulted. "I've worked very hard at becoming a better reader—and now you're telling me to take acting lessons!"
I asked to describe his practice method.
"Practice? I don't practice," he said. "Why should I?"
"You never read your work aloud except during the actual readings?"
"Never. These are my words. I wrote them. I don't need to practice."
Well, I need to practice. I know that I cannot rely on "trying very hard" during the moments of performance when my adrenalin is high and my head is filled with distraction.
Every time I do a reading of my own work I prepare by rehearsing the passage with a timer running. I note in pencil which words to emphasize and when to take a breath. If I don't practice, then in the pressure of the moment, I'm liable to twist and contort the very passages that I've fussed over for days to get right on paper. If I don't practice, I'll read too quickly; I'll swallow the ends of my sentences. I'll not give the pauses needed for the reader to savor my words. After I practice, I record myself and play it back—always a mortifying experience. My voice is too high. Those awful regional vowels. Then I go back and practice some more. It is a miserable, time-consuming effort. Maybe I'll never get good, but I do get better—enough.
A few weeks before her senior recital, the dean of my violinist-daughter's conservatory asked her to take part in a pilot program in which students would speak from the stage to audience members. My daughter was happy to participate, as she was already planning to speak during her recital. In preparation, she met with faculty to discuss her ideas for her speech, wrote it, memorized it, and then submitted a video run-through, recorded on her laptop computer.
The first ten drafts of the recording mortified her: "I keep saying 'um'. My voice is so high-pitched." Finally, she uploaded a draft, got some feedback from the faculty advisor, and then practiced her talk some more. On the night of the performance, she walked out on stage with confidence—and promptly spotted, in the second row of the audience, a long-time friend who'd flown in for the concert from Nashville without telling her. Without missing a beat, my daughter acknowledged her friend's surprise appearance, and continued with her speech. She was able to be gracious, and to make an extemporaneous adjustment without being thrown off because she was prepared.
This summer, after graduation and before she goes off to her chamber music festival, she's planning several sessions with her sister's acting coach to work on her speaking skills. I credit her college's administration for recognizing how crucial it is for musicians to be skilled at verbal communication, both on- and offstage. Maybe in the future they will consider integrating speech training into the curriculum for instrumentalists. And even if they don't, it's up to the individual artist to take active responsibility for her self-presentation. Even when that means getting out her comfort zone and exploring the techniques of a complementary discipline.
By Laurie Niles
April 17, 2014 11:08
When I spoke with Ilya Gringolts before he was to serve on the jury for the Menuhin Competition, I was very interested in the fact that he had just recorded all the 24 Paganini Caprices last November.
After all, here is someone who won First Prize in the 1998 Paganini Competition, also having received special prizes that year for being the youngest-ever competitor to be placed in the final and the best interpreter of Paganini’s Caprices. What is his take on these wickedly difficult violin works, 16 years later? Certainly his new recording has caused a bit of a stir, as it casts these much-recorded and studied works in new light and does not easily fit the old aural grooves.
So while I was in Austin to write about the Menuhin Competition and Ilya was there serving as a jurist, we sat down over coffee and talked about the Paganini. These days he is Professor of Violin at the Zurich Hochschule, and an International Fellow at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama. We spoke about his history with the Paganini Caprices, the limited value these works have as a teaching tool, and also about the importance of consulting an urtext edition when preparing them for performance.
Photo: Tomasz Trzebiatowski
Laurie What is the first Paganini caprice you ever learned?
Ilya: I think it must have been 13, one of those easy ones, maybe 16, 14, those three, they kind of came in succession; I was 11 at the time. I actually picked those up at the same time as I picked up my first Bach, the first four movements of the D minor Partita.
Laurie: You started with the D minor, wow.
Ilya: My teacher thought they would be a good place to start; I kind of understand. It's straightforward, more straightforward than the others.
Laurie: How long did it take you to learn all the Caprices?
Ilya: It's a project that was on my mind for a long time. I didn't have a time frame; I took it bit-by-bit, very slowly. I would learn two or three Caprices a year, just practice them. I wouldn't even necessarily play them in public, it was just training. The first time I played them live in one concert was not until one week before the recording, and some of them, I just played for the first time right before the recording. Which is not to say that I didn't know them, because as I said, it was always on my mind and I always practiced them in kind of sessions. It's not like I would devote a period of time to just learning the Paganinis, there were always other things, overlap and so yes, it was a long-haul project.
Laurie: So maybe three caprices a year.
Ilya: Something like that. But I wouldn't say that I even thought of it like that; I didn't make any plans. I would take a caprice and practice it and then put it aside and then take another one, that's how it worked, for years. Until I thought, well, finally maybe this is the time.
Laurie: What do they do for a person's playing, to learn these?
Ilya: Not much, actually. There are a lot of things that are more useful.
Ilya: Yes. Any etudes that you could practice: Rode, Dont, you name it; they're more channeled towards improving technical facilities, because they're written for that. Paganini is not written for that.
Laurie: They're not pedagogical.
Ilya: No, not at all. I'm convinced that there is a higher kind of musical agenda there, that (Paganini) is after.
Laurie: Really? Because some people don't think so, they think they're just sort of fluffy technical pieces.
Ilya: Well, I think that's the wrong approach. For me, they are a bit like Schumann character pieces, or Chopin. You don't play Chopin to improve your technique. It's rather when you've already got your technique and everything is in place. Then you play Chopin. Because then you can use your technique for a higher purpose. You don't hone your technical skills on that stuff. They're just too high a level.
Laurie: There are a lot of people who play them who don't really get to that musical level. Like me. I don't even play them. I've tried but given up!
Which was the hardest one to figure out, musically?
Ilya: There are a few that are very challenging in many ways. Interestingly enough, they're all from the first set of 12. There are actually two sets of six -- he composed six, six then 12. The first 12 are so much more demanding and so much more complex than the next 12. It's incredible, it's almost like they're two different composers. If you just analyze it harmonically, they're so imaginative, and so experimental, the first 12 -- with some exceptions, like No. 9, which is rather straightforward. But the rest of them, you have modulations that take you to all sorts of keys within two minutes. It's not very typical for the beginning of the 19th century, actually. We're talking maybe about the beginning of Romanticism -- then it sort of became normal. But this was written in 1816-17, this was before Schumann wrote a single note, or Chopin for that matter, or Liszt. Beethoven was still in his middle period. It's actually pretty amazing. So we're dealing with something pretty new here, breaking new ground.
So I would definitely say No. 4 is a big problem to solve musically, just to sustain the form. Finding a common tempo is very difficult because obviously you have your kind of lyrical part and you have the virtuosic part -- there's no tempo change. It should be about the same tempo. And you see that in many of his caprices; he's quite meticulous in pointing out if there is a tempo difference or not. So in those that he doesn't write anything, you should really try to find a common tempo. (You should treat it) like something you would do in a Beethoven Sonata: you wouldn't play the middle section of a scherzo or a minuet at a different tempo, unless it says so. So it's the same. I think these pieces should be treated with that same kind of German meticulousness, because they're more German than Italian.
Laurie: Oh really? What do you mean?
Ilya: They stand out, in that the whole bel canto part of it is not really present, unless you are talking about kind of a gimmicky interpretation of it, like in No. 23, where you would just kind of parody it. This is not a real "bel canto" -- to me it isn't. And it stands out from his other works as well.
Laurie: He did a lot of opera transcriptions…
Ilya: He did. And everything else -- you take the concerto, for example, that's clearly kind of Rossini, Bellini-infused music -- which makes it, in a way, less original and actually less valuable, in a way, too. I mean it's fun…
Laurie: A little more derivative.
Ilya: Yes. It's not instantly recognizable as Paganini; it doesn't have its own sound world. But the Caprices do. And the whole genre, the small character piece, that's very much a Romantic thing. The Romanticism started in Germany; it started with Goethe and Schiller and all those people. There was no Romantic music in Italy at that time; and there wouldn't be until Verdi.
So that's something that Paganini, as a traveling musician from his early years, would have been exposed to.
Laurie: I didn't know that bit about the first two sets of six being quite different from the last 12, did he compose them over a long period of time?
Ilya: Well, about 3-4 years. But no one really knows, it's sort of speculated, when he wrote them. They were published in 1820, so would be safe to say that it was a few years before that, that he was composing them. He never played them in public.
Ilya: No. They are inscribed, "Alli Artisti," or "For the Artists." So they were dedicated to the artists, and he never performed them himself. Which, again, sets them on a pedestal, in a league of their own.
Laurie: I wonder what he meant.
Ilya: I suppose it means someone who can give them justice, not just technically, but really make -- not make anything out of them because they are the way they are -- but just really do them justice, musically.
Laurie: Just to play them the way they're written is a pretty monumental task.
Ilya: That's right. But I think, again, you treat them without any patronizing, just like you treat a Mozart Sonata. And it starts with selecting an edition. People just don't care what edition they play Paganini from. You just get your International Edition fare, which ..
Laurie: I have Ricordi, I think.
Ilya: That's nice, but you're definitely in the minority. I'm hearing, now at the (Menuhin) competition, so many Paganini caprices that were learned from the wrong edition. There were only about two people who played from an urtext edition. And there is the Henle, which has been out for 20-something years!
Laurie: And just this year, Barenreiter also came out with an urtext of the Caprices.
Ilya: The Henle has been out since the end of the 80s. I was preparing for the Paganini Competition in '98 and I had the Henle; it had been in the market for a while. That's the edition that's been directly copied from the manuscript; you need to look no further. It's right there.
And there are so many differences. There are a lot of performing traditions that have kind of molded themselves into these works and found their way into later editions -- and lots of mistakes, too. Some are first-edition mistakes that were copied throughout. We're talking, really, about wrong notes. Just wrong notes, all over the place. And, of course, the bowings -- stuff like that.
At this point, most people would not play a Mozart Concerto from an International Edition or even Peters -- they would get their hands on the Henle and the Barenreiter. It's not a question of money, it's a question of mindset. But somehow people don't think about it as much when they play the Paganini; they think it's just a circus piece -- just learn my craft and go and perform it -- that's not good enough.
Laurie: So you can tell, when you hear someone performing these, if they're not using the urtext.
Ilya: I know where all those wrong notes are.
For example, there are about five or six wrong notes in Caprice No. 1 alone. Then you go to No. 5, and there is this bowing that people have kind of heard about, but no one is really sure what it is, in the middle section. I think about 99 percent just play it spiccato throughout. The middle section is this perpetual mobile kind of passage, which is written in a bowing which is three notes ricochet, one note up. That's the bowing throughout the middle section. Some people choose not to do it because they think it's difficult, which it is, although I personally find it easier than playing spiccato for two minutes straight -- I find that more taxing. But there are also a good chunk of people who have no idea it even exists. When we were listening to it (at the competition), there was one contestant who played that Caprice with the right bowing -- I was very happy about it, did a great job. But in the jury there were some funny looks, like…
Laurie: …what's she doing with the bowing?
Ilya: Exactly. Someone asked me, 'Is this really the way it is written?' So that awareness is not really there yet. If we have people so high up in the field who -- they've played that before, but they're not aware of the urtext. So there's that kind of wall which has to be broken.
As far as the urtext is concerned, the manuscript is out, it's not like there are three different sources they're combining, I think there's only one source. The question (between using Henle or Barenreiter) might be, how they edit it, the fingerings they provide.
Laurie: You said that you started learning the Paganini at the same time as you started learning the Bach. How do they measure up? Does the Paganini do something for the violin in a similar way that the Bach did something for the violin?
Ilya: Do you mean in a historical sense?
Laurie: I guess in a historical sense; we think of the Bach as having done something for the violin that really hadn't been done before...
Ilya: That's definitely the case with the Paganini. I think that contemporary music as we know it, with all the wonderful sound effects that they're using now, most of it is inspired by Paganini in some way. He used the violin as a kind of an orchestra, to parody all the other things we hear in nature and in life: birds singing, the harmonics, the double harmonics, the pizzicati …all the sort of stuff that had actually been used before him, but not to the same extent, and not for the same purposes. If you look at people like Locatelli, he was even more ground-breaking in purely technical terms, but he wasn't a musician of the same caliber of Paganini, his music never grows to those heights. (Locatelli) never used those effects for a higher purpose, unlike Paganini, who did.
When I perform, I like to combine Paganini Caprices and for example, Caprices by (Salvatore) Sciarrino (1976) or by (Jörg) Widmann. They wrote works for solo violin that are directly inspired by the Caprices, and in Sciarrino's case they are called Caprices, too, and that combines perfectly with the Paganini because you really see the connections, in the same way that you can combine Bach and Ysaye, or Reger and Bach, and you can see the connections very clearly. Or Hindemith and Bach. Actually pretty much everything and Bach!
Laurie: And you've also played the 24 Paganini Caprices alone, as a cycle, all in one concert.
Ilya: You feel like an athlete, preparing for (that kind of) concert. Recording is one thing, you can take your time and -- recording anything is a relaxing experience because you're in control. Or at least, you can make it a relaxing experience; you don't have to, but you can, you're in the driver's seat.
Playing (all 24 Paganini Caprices) in concert is another matter. It's stressful and very taxing for your body and mind. Lots of concentration, and actually, it's very difficult to practice as a run up to a concert. First of all, you have to practice much more than you usually do, just because it's so much material. But secondly, it's a kind of a balance between slow practicing and running things through endlessly, to make sure you've got the stamina for it. But once you play things through, you're kind of done for the day. It's hard to plan.
Laurie: Do you teach the Paganini Caprices?
Ilya: Sometimes, but again, I don't prescribe them to fix technical problems. If I have a student who is already at the level that could allow him or her to play Paganini, and let's say that they're preparing for a competition and they're required to play Paganini, then I'll teach it.
I don't really encourage it, so much.
Laurie: You don't, why not?
Ilya: Well, because if they're at that level, they'll play it anyway, and then I'll teach it. If they're not, they won't help them get to that level. So I'd rather give them something that would help them first to get to that level.
Laurie: What if you want to get to that level? What kinds of things would be prescriptive to get to that level? What do you need to see in place in a student, to feel they are at that level?
Ilya: I think the age of the student is important. If you have a master student that doesn't have that level, frankly it's going to be hard to get there. The muscles are much less responsive at that age. It really requires a kind of a routine from an early age. I would say a bachelor student could still do it, with the right mindset.
To me, there are actually more important issues. You have to be realistic, you have to know what each student is geared to do and what they want to do. Because playing Paganini Caprices is not a given. It's not obligatory; it's not necessary to survive; you don't need it to get a job. So for a lot of people who want to get a good orchestra job, for example, it's better not to even go there. I mean, why? Why the heartbreak?
There are so many great fiddle players that actually struggle with these things. Why? For what?
Laurie: They're just too hard to play! (Said with drama and heartbreak)
Ilya: They are very hard to play, that's exactly what I mean. They're incredibly taxing on every level. I have a great student now that is preparing for a competition, and she plays No. 2, and she does a great job with it. I'm happy to consult her on whatever issues she might have, musical as well as technical. But otherwise, I have more important agendas for my students. For one thing, you have to learn to play Mozart Concerto convincingly. That to me is a hugely difficult task, and it can take a lot of time. And then of course there are also all sorts of other problems to solve. So to me, teaching Paganini is not a priority.
Laurie: How about the other side of "Why the heartbreak?" Obviously, you decided to do it yourself. Why?
Ilya: For one thing, I really love those pieces. It takes a while and yes, it is a bit masochistic. But I find them so special, musically. They're great fun to play, after all.
* * *
To sum up what is available, as far as Paganini 24 Caprices urtext editions are concerned: In addition to the Henle urtext edition of the caprices, Barenreiter just published its own urtext last December. And if you'd really like to get authentic, you can find the composer's manuscript on IMSLP. (Does anyone else find that a little amazing, all those tiny notes, in Paganini's hand?) Here also is a link to the Ricordi edition, which I was only able to find on UK Amazon, but perhaps some European members have more ideas about where to find that?
* * *
Ilya Gringolts plays Caprice 24 live in February 2014, at sala Verdi del Conservatorio di Milano:
Ilya Gringolts plays (part of) Caprice 1:
By Yixi Zhang
April 16, 2014 13:45
Last a few years I've been thinking about when to stop relying on written materials and really learn how to practice. I think might start to get somewhere.
After more than ten years of violin learning (not counting the 20-year gap in between) and worked with a pretty amazing teacher for the past seven years, I slowly realized that the stubborn habit of wanting to learn everything in a systematic and orthodox way through research and books could be one of the chief obstacles in my approach to the violin and music making.
How they did it is more fascinating and I hope someday I’ll know. One thing though I’m certain is that, other than special innate talent in music and years of experience these violinists possess, what separates an exceptional violinist to a competent one is efficiency of learning and how they practice. As Pamela puts it, “the way you play is the way you have practiced”
In absence of such talent and experience, I think I could at least try to learn to listen and observe my playing with surgical precision. For instance, when I play a long line of phrase that I have all the notes but the line still doesn’t seem to work, learn to spot the exact problematic note, or a space between two notes, as the source of the problem and then find a way to fix it.
I’m not saying learning by research and buying books are wrong; these are necessary educational steps and I’ve learned tons by doing so, but these are also the easiest things to do to get sidetracked. Being a good violinist means we need to always push beyond our own comfort zone and learn to do what are hardest things for us to do. For me, less material acquisition and more surgical precision in practice is one of them, and I'm having fun working on it.
By Mendy Smith
April 15, 2014 17:58
About seven years ago I performed this elegie. It was my first public performance as an adult, and one that still breaks my heart to this day.
I had about a month to prepare. After much thought, this was the one I chose, but I had limited it to just the beginning of the piece. I knew I couldn't play it in its entirety, but it was appropriate given the circumstance.
Why the Vieuxtemps? Well, it tells a story of love, life and all its tribulations. The two voices traverse the range of experiences and emotions one would see in a long life filled with both joy and sorrow. Of all the pieces that I considered, this was the one that spoke best of my grandfather's life. This was the one to be played at his funeral.
Now, seven years later, I feel that I can finally (and literally) turn the page to finish playing his elegie.
Once that page is turned, your eyes are immediately turned to what is to come at the end. It is a daunting series of notes for an amatueur, let alone trying to figure out how to go about phrasing something like this.
None the less, this is what I'm setting out to do. It is about time that I finish what I started seven years ago.Tweet
By Robert Niles
April 15, 2014 15:46
In an effort to promote the coverage of classical music, each week Violinist.com brings you links to reviews of notable violin performances from around the world. We'd love to hear about any recent concerts and recitals you've attended, too. Or just tell us what you think about these reviews!
Julian Rachlin performed the Stravinsky on the same program as the London Philharmonic premiered Górecki’s Symphony No. 4
Augustin Hadelich performed the Mendelssohn with the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra
Gil Shaham performed the Korngold with the National Symphony Orchestra
David Russell performed works by Brandenburg at the Faculty & Friends Concert at the University of North Carolina Charlotte
Vadim Repin Shostakovich's Violin Concerto No. 1 with the Novosibirsk Academic Symphony Orchestra, and without a conductor, as Valery Gergiev was stuck in New York
Arabella Steinbacher performed the Dvorak with the Philharmonia Orchestra
Jin Suk Yu performed the Sibelius with the New World Symphony
Bella Hristova performed the Beethoven with the Des Moines Symphony
Kristin Lee performed the Fung with the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra
Michael Ludwig performed the Korngold with the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra
Christian Tetzlaff performed the Dvorak with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra
Renaud Capuçon performed the Schumann with the London Philharmonic
James Ehnes performed Prokofiev's Violin Concerto No. 2 with the Philadelphia Orchestra
Calin Ovidiu Lupanu performed Prokofiev’s Violin Concerto No. 1 with the Charlotte Symphony Orchestra
Isabelle Faust performed the Berg with the Lucerne Festival Orchestra in a tribute to the late conductor Claudio Abbado
Simone Porter performed the Barber with the Albany Symphony
By Karen Allendoerfer
April 15, 2014 08:24
The weather was dark and rather depressing; the Winter that Would Never End was still with us. But it was time for the high school music ensembles to go to the MICCA (Massachusetts Instrumental and Choral Conductors Association) festival. Back when I was a kid in New York State, it was NYSSMA. (What is it with these double-lettered abbreviations?) My daughter, a 9th grader who asked me not to embarrass her, plays the violin in the school orchestra.
Now that I have a vehicle that could technically be called a minivan, I became the official cello chauffeur, driving behind the bus. I've known a few conductors that refer to these as "celli" but I don't think that's right. I think it's just plain old "cellos."
We drive 20 minutes to another local high school, one whose auditorium has been renovated more recently and has better seats than ours. Beforehand the orchestra has a chance to warm up in a back room. I sit with the other chaperones in the very back, behind the last stands of 2nd violins. Although I've been the concertmaster of an orchestra of adult volunteers for a while now, this position back here still feels in some way more familiar, more like where I belong. Childhood memories--all those old NYSSMA festivals--have staying power. If my old German factory violin could talk, it would have even more stories to tell. It was around 150 years old back when I took it to those NYSSMA festivals. Thirty years later, with a few more dings and scratches and closing in on 180 years of age, it's in the hands of my daughter at MICCA.
From the way back here, I'm struck anew by the power of a massed string orchestra, especially in the low register. This high school has 4 bassists and a minivanload of cellos (my high school orchestra, by contrast, went through at least one year of only a single cello player). One of my daughter's good friends plays the bass: she's a petite girl, a little shorter than I am, and uses a 3/4 size bass. In fact, 3 of the 4 bassists are average-height girls. The 4th, a boy, is the only one playing a full-size bass. They go through tuning their low strings to each other, until it's one unified rumbling.
The orchestra is playing a couple of pieces from last week's "spring" concert for the competition. One of these is an arrangement, for string orchestra, of the 4th movement of Dvorak's 8th symphony, a piece I played last fall with the Arlington Philharmonic. My daughter and I had a similar convergence a couple of years ago with Grieg's "Hall of the Mountain King." That time their arrangement avoided most of the 7th position screeching of the original. This arrangement is more ambitious, but it still divides the 1st violins into 1a and 1b sections. Violin 1b doesn't go up as high, I found out at my daughter's lesson. And at one point, I heard her walking around the house singing bom-bom-bom . . . ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-bom . . . you know, that woodwind part that the violins are playing accented duples against. Violin 1b got that too.
This school year my daughter has sat all over the violin sections (well, except for the front of the firsts). She is near the front of the 1b's for this concert. In the fall she was in the back of the 2nds, and for the last concert of the year the firsts are re-unified, and she's in the back of them. As I'm sitting there watching all these kids, I decide again that this policy of rotation of seating between and among sections is a good thing. They've had the same concertmaster and section principals all year, which I think is good and appropriate (and this concertmaster is clearly headed for great things), but everyone else gets a chance to sit different places and with different people for each concert. The orchestra is a cohesive social group, while there is always going to be some unavoidable teenage drama, overall they get along well and reserve the competitive attitude for other schools, not for their friends.
After the warm-up they play in the main auditorium, while a smattering of parents, the band from their high school who is playing next, and a group of adjudicators watch and listen. It was my second hearing of this performance in about a week, and this one was clean and impressive like the first one in concert. It's maybe a little embarrassing, but mostly a matter of pride, to admit that the Belmont high school orchestra is better than the adult orchestra I play in. (Certainly they have a more skilled concertmaster.) What they don't have anymore is that whine of shaky intonation that characterizes many student orchestras at the beginning levels. They started to lose it sometime in middle school and now it's completely gone. Instead their tone is rich and full; the impression of power that I got in rehearsal remains on stage. (Mentioning this to my daughter afterwards, she said, "well, some people fake it, and S--the concertmaster--plays really loud").
After the concert and judging, each groups gets a master class with an orchestra educator from another district. Theirs was an enthusiastic and energetic professor who directs an ensemble for non-majors at a local university. At the end of the session, he stopped and asked them, "don't quit music." He said that in the ensemble he teaches, with its literature majors and engineers, the walk across campus to the music building is sometimes the best part of their week. Nobody told me that in so many words when I was a kid, but I believe it.
The judging results in medals for the different ensembles. All the gold medal winners are entered into a lottery to play in Symphony Hall. As it turns out, the orchestra did win gold, but then did not win the lottery. I was a little relieved, honestly, because my daughter had another commitment the same weekend that would have been hard to get out of--but it would have been a potentially once-in-a-lifetime experience to play in Symphony Hall. The Wind Ensemble did win gold and did play there last Saturday.
Congratulations to all!Tweet
April 14, 2014 15:06
Although I don't deny the value of Sevcik Op. 1 (it is a classic) and his ouvre in general I think this kind of work is misleading on occasion.
Sometimes the path of most resistance can be useful but at other times the ratio of effort to result is just wrong.
The quite understandandable misunderstanding sevcik tends to create is that if one covers every possible pattern that the fingers may make then when we meet them in music we will automatically do them. This is nonsense. There are actually a small number of fundamental patterns that the brain can learn easily from which slight deviations are simple because one has a clear framework , but this is not the same thing at all. the first person to really clarify this as 'modern' violin technique was Robert Gerle in a rather old book now called 'the Art of Practicing.' He demonstrated how learning I think 12 basic patterns lead to complete mastery of the fingerboard. The patterns don't just occur on one string. The spacing remains the same but the fingers are on different strings so one is able to play all manner of double stops using awareness of these patterns.
Gerle's ideas were taken to the next level by Drew Lecher who used to post blogs regularly on this site. In his Manual of Violin Technique, he demonstrated how one could focus on one single pattern (say, bcde on the a string) and do a whole range of fundamental exercises -using only this pattern-IE finger strengthening, velocity, vibrato, shifting, double stops and bowing exercises to name just a few.
By keeping only one pattern in the mind yet covering the whole gamut of technique for a few days or a week or whatever, the pattern is absorbed naturally and will be recognized automatically in pieces. One does of course practice on different strings...
The book also includes some of the most efficient and interesting double stop exercises I have ever seen. the level is completely at the discretion of the individual player. Lecher only provides the framework and the player chooses how far up the fingerboard they wish to go, what key or pattern they wnat to use, what kinds of bowing and so on. This is another reason why the approach is superior to things like Sevcik: you learn to think for yourself.
By Kate Little
April 13, 2014 16:13
These are technique books that I use:
I acquired them at various times in the last 2-1/2 years, and use them for various purposes, but not all at once.
Scales Plus! by William Starr was my very first technique book, purchased along with Suzuki Book 1. I used it for most of the first year learning single and double octave scales in first position, and associated finger patterns. It also has sections on shifting, 3-octave scales, arpeggios and melodic minor scales. Everything is pretty much in 4/4 time with quarter notes. The book is not comprehensive, and does not include all keys. Nor does it include scales with double-stops or varied rhythms. This is a fine book for an adult beginner.
School of Violin Technics by Otakar Ševcik was my second technique book. After about a half year of study, I found PDF of it on the internet and took a page of it in to a lesson and asked if I could do more of this sort of stuff. I use Part 1 – Exercises in the First Position. My Schirmer edition has 42 pages of about 50 measures a page of every possible finger-pattern that you could imagine, except for the fact that there is a Part 2 to this beloved series. After 1-1/2 years of working on exercise 1, page 1, measures 1 – 36 (all on the A-string), I have recently moved on to exercises 2, 3 and 4, which are basically the same thing on the D-, E- and G-strings. Work with these exercises is slow and meticulous, helping me find and coordinate small muscles of the left hand and fingers. This takes considerable time and patience for an adult with an under-utilized (from a violinist’s perspective) left hand, but without this sort of exercise and attention the hand will not develop the skill needed to play well.
Fingerboard Geography by Barbara Barber was designed to supplement Suzuki curriculum, and is targeted at a young audience. It uses big print and a color-coded presentation of finger patterns. This book was my introduction to “frames” for the left hand finger patterns, a helpful concept. The pre-song preparatory exercises can be helpful. None of my teachers assign me anything from this book. I use it independently for supplemental exercises.
Sixty Studies for the Violin by Franz Wohlfahrt addresses a wide range of fingering issues, but in contrast to Ševcik does so in melodic, musical settings. Wohlfahrt exercises can feel more satisfying than the austere Ševcik.
Scale Exercises, in All Major and Minor Keys for Daily Study by Carl Flesch is, like the Ševcik and Wohlfahrt, a product of late-19th/early-20th century violinistic thinking. All three are thorough to the max. If there is a permutation or combination to be done, these guys hand it to you. For the contemporary student used to skimming the surface of everything on the internet, the depth of technique which these volumes ask you to explore can be intimidating. On the other hand, the student up to their challenge will emerge atop the heap.
Melodeous Ddouble-Stops by Josephine Trott is my newest technique book, picked up last month on the advice of a respected (and sometimes respectable) violin-teaching-friend who said his students like it. The book is another oldie but goodie. Working on exercise #1, I am finding the book well recommended and am looking forward to continuing to use it to develop double-stop technique.
In addition to the above, I have various technique volumes by Constantine Dounis which I use to develop finger agility and precision; as well as a number of independent exercises from teachers (or made-up by myself) that address elemental aspects of bowing, intonation, finger speed, rhythm, shifting and double-stops.
I will try to get to a future post discussing how I employ all of this material.
(Here and on Facebook readers have also recommended technical studies and etudes by Edmond Agopian (2 mentions), Vladislav Blazhevich (1 mention), Jakob Don't (4 mentions), Constantine Dounis (1), Federigo Fiorillo (1), Simon Fischer (5 - Sort of Popular), Carl Flesch (10 - Popular) Ivan Galamian (1), Pierre Gavinies (1), Robert Gerle (2), Jan Hrimaly (2), Heinrich Ernst Kayser (3), Fritz Kreisler (1), Rodolphe Kreutzer (3), Drew Lecher (6 - SOP), Jaques Fereol Mazas (3), Niccolo Paganini (1), Enrico Polo (3), Pierre Rode (2), Henry Schradieck (1), Otakar Sevcik (15 - VERY Popular, despite certain drawbacks),Hans Sitt (1), Robert Starer (1), Joseph Szigeti (1), Josephine Trott (5 - SOP), Franz Wohlfahrt (5 - SOP), Eugene-Auguste Ysaye (1), and the Jack Benny theme song (1). Everyone has their favorite. Please feel free to leave a comment describing yours.)
(P.S. As has been noted by readers, many of the technical studies are available for free online. However, if you have a local music seller and you can afford to support the business by purchasing music from them, please do so. They are probably supporting music making in your community.)Tweet
April 13, 2014 09:52
I have always enjoyed listening to orchestral and chamber music. I love the way musicians in chamber groups are able to hold their own when playing their parts as well as communicating (musically) with each other. As a music major, I do not have a choice to play only solo works, only chamber or orchestral music. I have to do it all. The problem for me is that I am not good at performing in an ensemble. I hate playing with other people. It is too distracting. I prefer playing on my own. I feel as though I come alive more when I am playing alone than in a group. My tone sounds different from everyone else's tone. My rhythms do not match. Even my bow feels different, as though it is not a part of me. My instrument feels alien to me and I don't know what to do with it because I am trying to blend with other people. This is not easy for me. I seem to march to the beat of my own drum and when I have to play with other people I seem to loose a big part of my soul as a player. My playing becomes dead and I am not as loud as everyone else. Yet, when I am playing a solo piece, I receive so many compliments from people about my "big" sound and "beautiful, unique tone". It does not matter how hard I try to be as loud and confident as everyone else in orchestra and chamber, I just can't seem to do it. I have read several anecdotes about famous musicians, such as Jacqueline du Pre, and their issues with not measuring up as orchestral or chamber players. This led me to wonder whether if some musicians, no matter how talented they are, are just better as soloists or playing in ensembles. Is that my issue? Does anyone know of famous musicians who were better as soloists or performing in ensembles? I would really like to hear their stories because it will help me with self-esteem issues I am having as a musician. My lack of talent as an ensemble player has caused me to wonder if I should even continue playing.Tweet
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