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Some years ago, when I was preparing for one of my performance diplomas, I received some mentoring from a concert pianist acquaintance. On placing my copy of Liszt’s Sonnetto del Petrarca no. 123 on the music desk of the piano, he commented that there was “an awful lot of writing on it” and that it might be better if I worked from a clean score. I replied that I found the notes, annotations and personal doodles helpful; he then told me an anecdote about A Very Famous Pianist who would work from a photocopy or second copy of the score and put the original away in a drawer. It was only when I was working towards my Fellowship diploma, for which Schubert’s Sonata D959 was the main work in the programme, that I recalled this anecdote and I invested in several copies of the Henle edition of the sonata – one was my “working score”, the other a clean score (I also had a Barenreiter edition of the score because I found the introductory notes useful). As you can see from the photo, the working score of the Schubert is really quite messy – and I suspect my concert pianist acquaintance would be appalled by the number of annotations scrawled upon it.

Original working score
Newer score

I recently revisited the Liszt Sonetto and was genuinely horrified by the mess I’d made of the score – so many annotations, directions to myself (such as “Head up!” to remind me not to dip my head into the keyboard to give the impression of profound emotion!) and sundry other scribblings, many of which I now found illegible or incomprehensible. I wanted to play the piece but the annotations were simply too distracting. And because it’s an inexpensive score, to rub out all the markings would make a mess of the paper….  A clean score would mark a clean start.

At the most practical level, annotations can help us find our way around the music. Fingerings in particular need to be marked up and are invaluable when returning to a previously-learnt piece, enabling one to (re-)negotiate tricky passages. But a clean score of a previously-learnt work can be very liberating – as I found when I returned to the Schubert sonata with a view to reviving it. With a brand-new score, I noticed new details in the music, so much so that at times I felt I was learning a different piece – and then the anecdote about the concert pianist who put his clean scores in a drawer really made sense to me. If you have spent weeks and months – years even – with the same score, the same familiar pages, now dog-eared and friable from so much use, you stop seeing all the notes and personal markings. A clean score is a useful wake-up and a chance to refresh the music.

Students may be reluctant to write on their scores, perhaps seeing the text as something inviolable. As a teacher, I encourage students to mark up their scores: the act of writing a note is an important part of the learning process, and besides, notes made in pencil can be rubbed out when no longer needed. Also, some editorial markings in scores, especially in exam pieces, can be confusing – fingerings may need to be changed or a bar or section might require some additional clarification. Because teaching is about respect (or at least it should be), I never write on a student’s score without their permission (though I have witnessed other less respectful teachers scrawling bossy notes across a student’s score without asking first).

Annotations and the other writings on our scores are also incredibly personal and significant and represent our own special relationship with the text, and a specific time in our musical development. Our notes and markings may be intimate and private, and, almost diary-like, chronicle an evolving relationship with the music.

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(Header image: part of Glenn Gould’s Goldberg variations score)

music.

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Who or what inspired you to take up singing and pursue a career in music?

I always loved to sing; in fact, I can’t imagine a life without being allowed to sing.

Singing makes me feel free, and what is a life without freedom? I suppose there are many ways of expressing oneself, but for me, the most natural is to sing. I like the fact that my body is my instrument, and that I can use it to communicate with an audience. It’s such a direct transfer of emotion from my heart to other hearts. I never thought there would be another path for me. That’s my path.

Who or what have been the most important influences on your musical life and career?

My music teacher in high school, Tim Bruneau, had a big impact on the way I listen to and think about music. He taught the chamber choir at the girls’ school I attended in Los Angeles, and we rehearsed every day. He always shared the latest recordings with us. We listened to incredible singers (mostly women) every day: Jessye Norman, Kiri Te Kanawa, Frederica von Stade, Cecilia Bartoli, Barbara Bonney… He taught us to listen for colour and tone, for style, to study how the singers used their breath – those were very formative years. I know my love for lieder and art song began then. In terms of career, the best advice I ever received was from my friend Frederic Alden, who is a businessman. He told me to “look at what everyone else is doing and do something different.”

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

Producing my brand-new album ‘The Wild Song’ on my own has been particularly challenging. Several people told me to give the recording to a label and let them produce it, but I had invested so much of myself in its creation that I thought it would be better to produce the album myself. I wanted to make a very beautiful object, and I knew that record labels didn’t do that anymore. I’m thrilled the album has been so well received.

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Which performance/recordings are you most proud of?

I’m very proud of ‘The Wild Song’. I set out to make a recording that was very different from anything I had ever heard. I wanted to mix classical art song with spoken poetry and electronic music. Although I feared that an album like ‘The Wild Song’, which is rather non-traditional, would be rejected by the classical community, I have been delighted by the classical community’s embrace of it. To me, that means our community is evolving, which I think is very necessary in our intensely connected and computerised world. The biggest musical challenge in the project was ensuring the transitions between the different genres felt organic, and I think Mychael Danna’s electronic interludes work very effectively as bridges between Britten’s songs and W B Yeats’ poems.

Which particular works do you think you play best?

I have been a champion of women composers for a very long time, far before it was fashionable. Historically, there are so many who have not been given the attention they rightly deserve. I particularly love to sing Mel Bonis’ mélodies and Barbara Strozzi’s vocal music. However, Clara Schumann composed my favourite lieder, and I would say my favourite song of all is Liebst du um Schönheit. I love Rückert’s poem about loving for love’s sake. When it comes down to it, the only thing that truly matters, is love.

How do you make your repertoire choices from season to season?

I love words. My repertoire choices are always made based on the poetry. If I can’t relate to the words or the poem, I can’t sing the song. Music always has to come from the heart, so I have to be able to relate to the poetry.

Do you have a favourite concert venue to perform in and why?

My dream is to perform ‘The Wild Song’ at the Disney Hall in Los Angeles. Somehow it would be going full circle— taking a dream I created in Europe back home with me.

Who are your favourite musicians?

My favourite living singers are Barbara Bonney and Thomas Hampson. I absolutely adore Barbara Bonney’s voice, both for its purity and force, and I find it very sad that she is not performing anymore. What fascinates me with Thomas Hampson is that he is able to create a very strong connection with the audience from the moment he sings the first note of a recital. I’ve never seen anyone else do that. It usually takes other singers an entire song or two. He is truly a master recitalist. As for singers ‘of old,’ I am a huge fan of Rita Streich. I don’t think there has ever been a more fabulous Zerbinetta. As for pianists of the “new generation,” I love listening to Víkingur Ólafsson. I’m also a big fan of Igor Levit.

What is your most memorable concert experience?

I once gave a recital in the Royal Chapel in the Château de Versailles. It was such a glorious place to sing. Not only were acoustics incredible but the chapel itself is so incredibly beautiful. I very much like to sing in places with centuries of history; I like the idea of being part of that history.

As a musician, what is your definition of success?

Success is being able to do the next project that is blossoming in my imagination.

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

I think the main thing is to never give up. That’s obviously challenging on a hard day, or during a hard year, but it’s really important. My yogi friends often use a hashtag that says #practiceandalliscoming. We musicians should use the same hashtag. Practice. Don’t give up. Trust your instinct.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

I think we all carry perfect happiness inside ourselves all of the time. The challenge is being able to tap into it. Unfortunately, I believe most people never learn to tap into their true selves and never experience this. My yoga practice has taught me that peace and happiness are always available to us. I have a deep sense of contentment.

The Wild Song is available now

Review of The Wild Song

American by birth and Parisian by inclination, Marci Meth has been celebrated for her performances “imbued with charm and elegance” (Classica magazine). Nominated for the most promising recording by a young classical singer at the Orphées d’Or in Paris in 2009, her performances have been lauded by audiences at the Château de Versailles, St. Martin-in-the-Fields, St. James Piccadilly, as well as at venues in Paris, Stockholm, Brussels, Tokyo and Osaka. 

The creation of The Wild Song has occupied Marci for the past three years and has included the creation of a new record label, Modern Poetics. The Wild Song brings together Marci’s interests in poetry, music and film and is her vision of what the 19th century song recital looks and sounds like in the 21st century. 

Marci Meth earned her Postgraduate Diploma at the Royal College of Music in London and was awarded the Century Fund Prize for Early Music. She has studied singing with Ryland Davies, Jennifer Smith, Christine Barbaux and Marie-Claude Solanet. She received her Bachelor’s degree in Art History from Stanford University. 

marcimeth.com

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Who or what inspired you to take up composing, and pursue a career in music?

At the age of 5, having heard classical music on the radio and piano lessons at my mother’s school, I asked my parents if I could have piano lessons. After piano lessons started I decided I wanted to be a concert pianist and a few years later I began writing pieces for myself.

Who or what were the most significant influences on your musical life and career as a composer?

Contemporary dance. People, songs, dance and the landscapes of my native Jamaica. The music of Bela Bartok. Later also the music of J S Bach, Birtwistle, Stravinsky, Messiaen, Schoenberg, Robert Cohan.

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

Two things: issues of race and gender in as much as they have defined me in the minds of others.

Not having had what is considered a thorough and proper university education as a composer.

What are the special challenges/pleasures of working on a commissioned piece?

Deadlines; they are as energising as they are terrifying.

What are the special challenges/pleasures of working with particular musicians, singers, ensembles and orchestras?

Finding out and knowing about the special strengths of particular soloists or groups. I found that working with, for instance, Mary Plazas whilst writing my opera was a big influence in how that role was shaped. Ditto writing my first violin concerto for my violinist husband, Thomas Bowes.

Of which works are you most proud?

‘Snow White’ as it was my first piece for that size of orchestra. Far from being intimidated I felt instantly at home.

My three String Quartets I can now look back on with great pride. I managed three quite substantial pieces I feel, and that they are all very different from each other pleases me especially now that they have been recorded.

The Opera ‘Letters of a Love Betrayed’ because it so clearly moved people when they saw and heard it.

I was also proud of ‘Arise, Athena!’ which I wrote for the last night of the BBC Proms.

How would you characterise your compositional language?

I have a language which ranges from things clearly derived from my Jamaican childhood and heritage through to the sort of sounds people more often associate with modernism. There always seems to be a sliding scale of the proportions of these two extremities. This has been a problem for some people – even me – at times. But I’m now quite relaxed about this. I write to be me.

Who are your favourite musicians/composers?

There are those I’ve admired from afar; composers Schoenberg, Berg, Bartok, Stravinsky, Shostakovich, Messiaen, JS Bach; pianists Martha Agerich, Sviatoslav Richter, conductors Kleiber and Furtwangler amongst others.

And then those who I’ve actually had the pleasure of hearing or getting to know or working with – Jeremy Huw Williams, Mary Plazas, Thomas Bowes, Joseph Swensen, Joanna MacGregor, Peter Ash, Harrison Birtwistle to name a few.

As a musician, what is your definition of success?

Sensing an audience has been moved or thrilled or for whom one senses time has stood still during a performance. All three at once is good.

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

Be serious about what you are doing. Be persistent, dedicated, disciplined and passionate. Be yourself – that’s the tricky bit.

What is your most treasured possession?

My home.

What do you enjoy doing most?

Composing, playing. Relaxing with my hubby and friends.

 

London’s premiere youth orchestra, the London Schools Symphony Orchestra, will mark Eleanor Alberga’s 70th birthday with a performance of her musical adaptation of Roald Dahl’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs at London’s Barbican Hall on 23 September. More information

With her 2015 Last Night of the Proms opener ARISE ATHENA! Eleanor Alberga cemented a reputation as a composer of international stature.  Performed by the BBC Symphony Orchestra, BBC Chorus and conducted by Marin Alsop, the work was heard and seen by millions.

Her music is not easy to pigeon-hole.  The musical language of her opera LETTERS OF A LOVE BETRAYED (2009), premiered at the Royal Opera House’s Linbury stage, has drawn comparisons with Berg’s Wozzeck and Debussy’s Pelleas, while her lighter works draw more obviously on her Jamaican heritage and time as a singer with the Jamaican Folk Singers and as a member of an African Dance company.  But the emotional range of her language, her structural clarity and a fabulously assured technique as an orchestrator have always drawn high praise.

Born in Kingston, Jamaica, Alberga decided at the age of five to be a concert pianist, though five years later she was already composing works for the piano.

Read more

eleanoralberga.com

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What does it mean to be “a pianist”?

Pianists do not devote their lives to their instrument simply because they like music….there has to be a genuine love simply of the mechanics and difficulties of playing, a physical need for the contact with the keyboard….inexplicable and almost fetishistic….

– Charles Rosen

The members of my piano Meetup group, my students, the people who play street pianos – they are all “pianists” to me.

Yet in the research for this article, I discovered that many people believe the title “pianist” assumes a certain level of capability and should only be conferred upon a select few – professional concert pianists or those who have achieved an extremely high level of musical attainment.

“Oh I’m not a proper pianist!” is a common refrain from the amateur pianists I meet regularly, some of whom are very advanced players. But what is a “proper” pianist? Is it someone who can perform complex repertoire from memory, with confidence, poise and flair, who has undergone a rigorous professional training, who has 50-plus concertos “in the fingers”….? Or is it simply a person who self-identifies with playing the piano?

Google isn’t much help either. Type in “Being a pianist” and the search throws up any number of “How to be a better pianist” sites,  “top 10 worst things about being a pianist” or “15 steps to become an amazing piano player” (if only it were that easy!).

hand-of-a-pianist-rodin
Hand of a Pianist by Auguste Rodin

A confession: although I have played the piano for nearly two-thirds of my life, it wasn’t until I had secured my first professional qualification (a performance diploma, taken in my late 40s), that I felt I could justifiably describe myself as “a pianist”, rather than someone who “plays the piano”. When I started to give public concerts, sometimes for real money, I stopped feeling like I was playing at being a pianist, a fraudulent concert pianist.

Being a pianist implies an intensity of connection, commitment, passion and focus. For those who play professionally, it can be all-embracing, sometimes overwhelmingly so, for one must live and breathe the instrument and its literature. Work shapes every hour of the day, the cadence by which one sets one’s life, always feeding the artistic temperament, the pressure to achieve matched only by the pressure to sustain, and always the uncomfortable knowledge that one is only as good as one’s last performance. In addition, the competitive nature of the profession coupled with its job insecurity leads many professional pianists to pursue, by necessity, what is fashionably called a “portfolio career” which may include teaching and lecturing, running summer schools, arts administration or even roles outside the music industry. “Being a pianist” can feel distinctly unglamorous, restrictive, sometimes lonely, often badly paid….

“I play the piano” suggests a more casual relationship with the instrument, something one does occasionally, at weekends, on Sundays….Yet many of the amateur pianists I  encounter display a passionate commitment to the instrument which borders on obsession, regardless of the level at which they play. These people are not dreaming of the stage at Wigmore or Carnegie Hall; no, they play and practise for a personal challenge and fulfillment, a sense of one’s own accomplishment, to be better than one was yesterday while working towards tomorrow, and the next day, and the next…..It’s addictive, constant and consistent, sometimes therapeutic, often frustrating, but always, always compelling….It’s founded on love, of the instrument and its literature, and it is this love which drives these people to practise, to take lessons, and to strive to improve their playing, cherishing precious moments in their busy lives to find time to spend at the piano.

It’s a state of madness. Unless you’re any good. Even then, you drive yourself half mad and waste precious time proving yourself to idiots who haven’t a clue – David, professional pianist

There’s a frustration with which many of us who play at an advanced level are familiar – that people don’t really understand or appreciate what we do, or how hard it is (“does it get easier as you get better?” a friend of mine asked me recently. “No“, I replied. “You just get more efficient at working out how to do it!“).  I remember the parent of one of my students commenting admiringly that it was “amazing” how the music just “came out” of my fingers. “How do you do it?” she asked. I felt like asking her whether she had ever considered why her daughter, my student, was required to practise regularly…. Yet for audiences and onlookers the magic, the mystique, of the pianist is very potent, and to reveal too much about our craft and art would dispel that.

Frustration, physical pain and constant setbacks. Sadly it doesn’t seem to be a mantle I can take off though – it’s just what I am

– Dave

It’s my passion, frustrating, challenging and rewarding every day

– Teresa

It is the most important thing in my life, it makes me profoundly happy to play and teach this beautiful instrument and its wonderful repertoire. I never take it for granted. When I play, I am transported somewhere else beyond my music studio…

– Caroline

It means I can be pro-active with the world of music, and not just a bystander

– Terry

It means feeling alive, it’s who I am. My life would be useless without music

– Tricia, professional pianist

Being a pianist puts us in touch with a vast repertoire, a rich seam of creativity, and some of the finest music ever written, and still being written. By engaging with it, we bring these works to life, like a conservator or gardener, every time we play. It puts us in touch with emotions and sentiments which are common to us all; it reminds us of our humanity, yet also transcends the pedestrian, the every day. In this way, for many of us being a pianist is an escape: as a child, I regarded the piano as a playmate, a place where I could go to weave stories and set my imagination free. Why should that be any different when one reaches adulthood?

For all of us who play the piano – amateur or professional – being a pianist offers limitless possibilities in what we can create and experience.

The real question is – what would you be without the piano?

Martha Argerich
amateur pianists at a piano summer school

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