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For the past year and a bit, my pianistic life has largely been focussed on study for the LTCL Diploma. In order to achieve this, I have had to be very self-motivated, single-minded and utterly selfish about practice time, eschewing a social life of coffees with friends, and twin passions shopping and cooking, in order to get the work done. I have tried very hard not to let the piano impinge too much on family life by doing the bulk of my practising while husband is at work and son is at school/asleep (he’s a teenager – he sleeps late when not at school!). The work I did for the ATCL taught me how to practice productively and deeply, and I now find I can learn new music quickly, which leaves plenty of time for working on the nitty gritty of it.

The pieces which form my LTCL programme have become like old friends and in a way I can’t imagine living without them now. I remember a friend saying in the final weeks before we took our earlier Diplomas in December 2011 “I hate all my pieces now!”, but somehow, I have managed to remain in love with each one of them, for different reasons (see my earlier post on keeping repertoire fresh). I think it’s important to be deeply in love with the music you play: I recall an interview with a concert pianist during which I asked, amongst other things, why he chose certain repertoire. The answer was simple enough: “Because I love it.” (By the same token, I never force students to learn pieces they dislike, it’s entirely unproductive.)

While some of my Diploma pieces will be set aside after the exam (the Bach Concerto BWV974, the (very difficult) Rachmaninov Étude-Tableau in E flat Op 33 No. 7), others will be kept going to put into future recital programmes, or simply because I enjoy playing them: I have a very deep attachmment to Mozart’s Rondo K511, having lived with the work for five years now; I love the Takemitsu and have recently purchased the score of his first Rain Tree Sketch; the Liszt Sonetto del Petrarca 104 is just gorgeous, a place to go and wallow in, losing oneself in its extremes of emotion.

Lately, I’ve started to look past the Diploma date, and have begun to tackle new repertoire. In part, this was a deliberate act to prevent the Diploma pieces from going stale. I also need at least three pieces to take on my teacher’s weekend course for advanced pianists at the end of April. I’m also toying with a few other works, and thinking ahead to another concert I may give at the NPL Musical Society later in the year.

Liszt – Sonetto del Petrarca 47 “Blessed is the Day”. I’ve learnt the other two from the triptych, so it seems logical to add the first one. This is perhaps the most gentle and uplifting of the three – and the easiest. (More on Liszt’s ‘Petrarch Sonnets’ here)

Liszt – Legende S.175, No. 2. St. Francis of Paola Walking on the Water. I heard Marc-André Hamelin performed this at a late Prom during the 2011 season and was instantly hooked. I love the rolling “waves” in the left hand arpeggios and the hymn-like melody which rings out above them. This will be a long-term project.

Schubert – Klavierstück D946/3. I learnt this in a fairly organised way about 4 years ago (along with the other two) and then dropped it. Returning to it has been interesting: I was surprised at how much I remembered. It has one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking trios of all of Schubert’s piano music.

Rachmaninov – Serenade in B flat, Op 3: Rachmaninov was, like Liszt, a composer I thought I’d never play, because of the difficulty of his music, and the physical demands it places on the pianist. However, my experience with the Études-Tableaux proved that I can play his music. I found this moody little Serenade by accident while browsing a wonderful album on Spotify of Rachmaninov playing his own music.

Copland – ‘Muted & Sensuous’ from Four Piano Blues. I first came across this in a concert I reviewed by Peter Jablonski, and made a mental note to add it to my “to do” list. I like the colourful harmonies (for all the fellow grapheme synaesthetes out there, this pieces is mostly blue, deep red, dark green, pink and mauve, with occasional sea green).

Messiaen – Regard de l’etoile. I wanted to learn more of the ‘Vingt Regards’, but I didn’t want the challenge of one of the longer/more complex pieces. This is only 2 pages long with repeating sections: that is not to say it is “easy”!

Barber – Excursions. A friend of mine flagged up this suite of four pieces by Samuel Barber. I love the references to American folk music and jazz.

Adams – China Gates. This will be a labour of love and a long-term project, I think. My first serious foray into minimalist music.

Scarlatti – Sonata in B minor, K27. A Grade 8 candidate played this to me last winter, and then I heard Evgeny Sudbin perform it at the Wigmore earlier this year. It’s rather arresting. And I felt like learning some more Baroque keyboard music – but not by Bach!

Listen to the pieces on Spotify here

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Who or what inspired you to take up the piano, and make it your career?

I encountered many pianists of note during my childhood in the Vienna of the early 1920s. Alfred Cortot used to play at my mother’s salons (she was a beautician), and my first memory is of being dandled on the left knee of Wilhelm Backhaus while he played the Hammerklavier. His party piece was to play the whole sonata with an infant on each knee. My elder sister sat on his right knee and kept falling off due to the violence of his sustain pedal technique. She broke a finger near the beginning of the Scherzo and he had to stop. Given such an upbringing it was inevitable that I would become a pianist.

Heinrich Lachenmann, front, with his parents, sister and other Lachenmann relations, Vienna, 1920

Who or what were the most important influences on your playing?

I could cite any number of musicians, but in all humility I believe the greatest influences on my playing have been myself and God.

What have been the greatest challenges of your career so far?

In my 30s and 40s I spent much time attempting to spread the seeds of Western classical music among non-Western cultures. The greatest challenge I set myself was to introduce the piano to Mongolia. It didn’t take, but what can you do?

Which recordings are you most proud of?

To my recollection I haven’t recorded anything since my youth. I’m with Celibidache on that one. I did record some Chopin and Brahms in student days, and had believed them lost until they resurfaced on the Concert Artist label some years ago. I was pleasantly surprised, and thought them worthy of comparison with Rubinstein. Some people suggested they actually were Rubinstein, which I thought rather ungracious.

Do you have a favourite concert venue to perform in?

The Wiener Musikverein, the Wigmore Hall and the much lamented Haçienda in Manchester all rank highly, but you will agree that the greatest performances occur in one’s own mind.

Favourite pieces to perform? Listen to?

The pieces that give me most joy tend to be those that were written for or inspired by me. I can never hear John Cage’s Sonatas and Interludes without feeling a pang of nostalgia for the short period I spent in California in the late 1930s as a piano tuner and repair man. Called out to Cage’s house, I was received by his wife, and immediately set to work tuning his baby grand. Suddenly I felt the man’s presence behind me (he had approached in absolute silence) and jumped up with a start, a shower of nuts and bolts flying out of my top pocket on to the strings of the piano, making a noise both percussive and melodic. He put his hand to his face, and his eyes seemed to say, ‘I wonder…’ It wasn’t until after my return to Europe that I learned of his ‘invention’ of the prepared piano. Initially I felt hurt not to be given the credit I deserved, but now I consider the corpus of work he left to be the greatest personal tribute imaginable.

Who are your favourite musicians?

Glenn Gould was a remarkable man. Like no other pianist his playing made me want to sing out with joy – quite literally! I had the privilege of sitting in on the sessions at the Columbia Records studios when he recorded the Goldberg Variations in 1955. Some people say they can hear me humming along in the background.

What is your most memorable concert experience?

I once gave a recital to a cannibalistic tribe of Melanesia, near the Bismarck Sea. All was going well until the encore. I foolishly elected to play Liszt’s transcription of the Liebestod, and the German music roused anti-colonial emotion in their breasts. I succeeded in escaping, but I believe they ate the piano. I certainly never saw it again.

What do you consider to be the most important ideas and concepts to impart to aspiring musicians?

Be constantly aware of the world around you. It can teach you so much. As a boy I went to hear Messiaen play at the Sainte-Trinité. He was still a young man at this time. As he and I departed the church and were assailed by the bright Sunday morning I exclaimed, ‘Listen to that!’ ‘What?’ he asked. His ears, as yet, were untrained. ‘The birds! Listen to the birds, Ollie!’ (I always called him that.) His face assumed a distant expression and I regret that we lost contact after that. He was catching birds on a higher plane. Another piece of advice: never work with other musicians. It creates problems.

What are you working on at the moment?

Now that I am approaching my centenary I rarely play the piano. Perhaps a Bach prelude before breakfast, or one of the Ligeti etudes. But it gives me an inexpressible pleasure to listen to the great pianists of today – Perahia, Pollini, Sokolov, Clayderman – because it is fun for me to identify the ways in which their playing borrows from mine. A friend sent me Steven Osborne’s recording of Pictures at an Exhibition recently. I cannot imagine this Osborne has never heard me play.

Where would you like to be in 10 years’ time?

Well, I do not expect to be here! But I entertain the thought that my pianism will be remembered when I am no longer alive. When he turned 100 Elliott Carter told me that it was the new 50. I look forward to reaching that milestone and receiving my telegram from the Queen, and as a naturalised British citizen I am of course eligible for honours from Her Majesty, which will all be gratefully accepted.

http://tinyurl.com/lachenmann

Heinrich Lachenmann appears by gracious permission of Gareth Burgess

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PeteCHow long have you been playing the piano?

Started with lessons at school 60-odd years ago, but never did any exams or grades; Kept it up, informally and somewhat chaotically, until after retirement; (I’ve usually had a piano in the house); started lessons again 3 years ago.

What kind of repertoire do you enjoy playing, and listening to?

Mostly romantic standards: learned a few Chopin pieces recently, earlier did some Granados Spanish Dances. Also, Ravel, but I find most of it too hard, Debussy: a bit easier!

How do you make the time to practise? Do you enjoy practising? 

I’m retired, so I practise an hour or so most days when at home. Yes, I enjoy it or I wouldn’t be doing it.

Have you participated in any masterclasses/piano courses/festivals? What have you gained from this experience? 

Masterclasses at Broughton in Furness with Anthony Hewitt, Martin Roscoe and others. I feel I get more from the fact of performing in front of people than from what I learn at the class

If you are taking piano lessons what do you find a) most enjoyable and b) most challenging about your lessons? 

Making discernable progress: e.g. attempted a piece 2 years ago (Ravel: ‘Menuet’ from Tombeau de Couperin) and gave up as it seemed beyond my abilities. Took it up again a month or two ago and realised that it was now quite feasible. I feel I am hampered by having done little work on scales, arpeggios etc – there is no infrastructure to my playing!

Has taking piano lessons as an adult enhanced any other areas of your life? 

Socially, we have a Piano Circle, hosted by my piano teacher. We meet once a month and play our pieces to each other. Most of the other members are more advanced than me, but we all encourage each other and I get some compliments about my playing, which is good for my confidence. I find that the challenge of playing to others means that I have to get a piece up to a presentable standard rather than giving up when the going gets tough. (For example I have played the first two pages of Debussy’s Clair de Lune for years but always gave up when the arpeggios begin). I’m planning to learn it properly when I’ve done my present piece.

In addition, we go to local concerts, for which I might not be motivated without social pressure.

Do you perform? What do you enjoy/dislike about performing?

I play at Piano Circle and at masterclasses. I’m a nervous performer, and tend to play much worse than I do at home in private. I wish I could stop making careless mistakes!

What advice would you give to other adults who are considering taking up the piano or resuming lessons? 

Go for it!

If you could play one piece, what would it be? 

I’ve been trying to learn the Chopin’s Prelude no 17 in A flat. It’s a wonderful piece with those amazing chromatic episodes: trouble is, it’s just a bit too hard for me at present! I gave it a trial outing at Piano Circle a few months ago and made a bit of a mess of it, but doubtless it will come! As we’re thinking about Alan Rusbridger and ‘Play It Again’, perhaps it is my G minor Ballade! 

Peter Cockshott lives in the Lake District. He studied physics at University and went on to a career in industry, working in physics and electronics, retiring from this some 10 years ago. From an early age he has spent his spare time climbing or running in the hills, but now has to fit in piano practice as well.

 

He has piano lessons with Rosemary Hamblett in Ulverston.

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….Perhaps not as evocative as The Piano Shop on the Left Bank, the title of a beautifully written book by T E Carhart, but no less intriguing than the premises described in Carhart’s memoir.

Before me were arrayed forty, perhaps fifty pianos of every make and model, and in various stages of dismantling. On my left, legless grand pianos……lay in a row on their flat side, the undulating curves of their cabinets a series of receding waves. Uprights clustered on the other side of the workshop, pushed up against one another as one would store two dozen chests of drawers in a spacious attic.

Around the edges of the room, behind and around and even under the pianos, in every available corner, lay scattered parts and pieces that had been removed from them.

This piano shop – or rather workshop – is the haunt of my tuner and technician, Rolf Dragstra, who, along with his colleague Klaus, restore and sell pianos of all shapes and sizes. Like the piano shop of the book, the space is crammed with pianos, and piano bits and pieces – a set of ornate Steinway legs, piano candelabra, cloth bags containing felts, rollers, pins and hammers, a model of the action of a modern Yamaha grand, a display of the tools of the tuner’s trade. There are baby uprights ranged around the walls, the sort of pianos I remember from school, and tall, dark drawing room uprights from another era, some with attractive decoration and embellishments. Five grand pianos fill the middle space, including a rather magnificent Blüthner, whose gleaming case is decorated with walnut marquetry panels.

Rolf’s “piano heritage” is solid: his grandparents in Germany owned a music shop, and his father trained at the Blüthner factory. His brother, who still lives in Germany, is also a piano technician and restorer. Formerly head of tuning and technical services at Chappell of Bond Street, Rolf is now working freelance and keeping busy with private and corporate clients. He is always full of interesting stories and anecdotes, and when he came to tune my piano a couple of weeks ago, he showed me some photos on his phone of a rather special Bosendorfer, which was autographed by luminaries of international piano and music, including Leonard Bernstein, Sir Georg Solti, Andras Schiff, and an indecipherable signature which could have belonged to Friedrich Gulda. Recently, Rolf has been looking after the Steinway at St Lawrence Jewry, which used to belong to Sir Thomas Beecham.

I visited Rolf’s workshop ostensibly to try a rather special grand piano. It was being played by another pianist when I arrived (Tessa Uys), but she quickly relinquished it to me and moved onto a little upright next door. We played the slow movement of Bach’s Concerto in D minor after Marcello, laughing as we listened to each other’s interpretation of the ornaments. I think we would have happily played around like this all afternoon, but Tessa had to go home. The workshop is a treasure trove of pianos and piano ephemera, and definitely worth a visit if you are looking for something in particular.

As well as tuning and restoration work, Rolf and Klaus have a concert instrument which they hire out, and they also offering a piano moving service.

For further information, please visit London Pianos or contact Rolf Dragstra on 07712 580078

Le Mer de Pianos, a short film about the oldest piano shop in Paris: