By |

noun

noun: elite; plural noun: elite

a select group that is superior in terms of ability or qualities to the rest of a group or society

The word “elite” is frequently applied to sportspeople and no one has a problem with that. Athletes and sportspeople at the top of their game are regularly described as “elite”, and afforded an elevated status. And rightly so: these people are at the peak of their fitness, they train long, hard and meticulously, and the medals, trophies and approbation they receive are the visible badges of their achievements. They are truly “elite”. We have no problem in applying this word to our sporting champions and when we use it it is replete with respect, admiration and awe.

It’s a rather different scenario when the word is used in relation to classical music. In this case it suggests exclusivity and privilege, and describes an art form which is regarded as the preserve of the monied few not the many. As I explain in this article, this view is inaccurate and misguided.

But of course classical music is full of elite people – the musicians are elite.

Look at how they train, the meticulous way they approach preparation, fitness, mental attitude. The mindset and physical preparation of the musician is very similar to that of the athlete, and many comparisons can – and should – be drawn between sporting elite and musicians.

These days many musicians look to sport and more specifically sports psychology to inform their musical training and preparation (cf The Inner Game of Music which came from “inner game” sports training which has been used successfully by top tennis players). Musicians, like sportspeople, require discipline, dedication and commitment to put in the many long hours of training to do what they do and do it well, and many make huge sacrifices to achieve this. And just like elite athletes, musicians undergo a very rigorous training which includes much repetitive physical activity (practising) and psychological conditioning. We admire our elite athletes for their physical prowess, their stamina, their grace and strength – and we praise them for their dedicated, meticulous training. And we should admire the same attributes in our musicians.

Musicians, unlike sportspeople, last longer: those who’ve been elevated to the dizzy heights of “elite” (aka “world class”, “internationally renowned”, “legendary” etc) can continue a career well into their 80s (Paul Badura Skoda, for example). A few know when it’s time to step back to let the younger players through (notably, Alfred Brendel, Maria Joao Pires and Radu Lupu). Others cling on determinedly, even if their playing does not match their revered status.

We want our musicians to be elite: by adopting a mindset and training regime akin to that of the elite athlete, musicians are able to produce performances which are consistently impressive, technically assured, absorbing, moving, exhilarating, inspiring…… These are the traits we admire in our elite musicians and for this reason we should celebrate their superhuman talents, in just the same way that we lionise our medal-winning athletes.

 

By |

According to this article which appeared in The Guardian at the weekend, classical music is for the elite monied few, not the many. What a shame The Guardian, which in the past has championed classical music, has fallen back on that tired old trope that classical music is elitist and inaccessible – and to make the point, the (unknown) author of this lazy article has chosen the Proms as the prime example of this.

The Proms is the most democratic, non-elitist and accessible classical music festival there is. Not only can one pick up a promming (standing) ticket for just £6 and thereby have access to some of the greatest musicians and orchestras in the world, there are cheap seats in the auditorium, and every concert is broadcast on BBC Radio Three, so you can listen at home, for free. If that’s not “accessible”, I don’t know what is.

Classical music concert tickets are generally far cheaper than West End theatre and musicals, and significantly cheaper than pop gigs/festivals and football matches. Even opera, always tiresomely wheeled out as an example of how elitist classical music is, is affordable with venues like the Royal Opera House offering tickets in the gods for c£25, and ENO’s secret seat scheme where you pay c£30 and may end up in a £100 seat in the front row of the dress circle. Meanwhile, Wigmore Hall’s partnership with ClassicFM gives under 30s the opportunity to purchase tickets for just £5, and Cavatina Trust‘s ticket scheme provides young people free entry to 100+ concerts around the country every year.

In its keeness to highlight “the unwillingness of many audiences to expose themselves to the shock of the musically new” (the author blames the UK’s classical music radio stations and their “unchallenging” programming for this), the article omits to mention that the Proms is also one of the greatest showcases for new music, opening with a world premiere and new commissions peformed in virtually every concert, thus bringing contemporary music and living composers (of every gender and colour) to the attention of a large audience (in fact, the article reads as if the author has never actually attended a Prom, or indeed any other classical music concert).

With its obsession with elitism and privilege, The Guardian article also overlooks the primary reason why most people engage with classical music. At its best, classical music has the power to transport us to places we never thought possible, freeing the imagination and removing us, for a few hours at least, from the every day. Classical music puts us in touch with the full range of human emotion – because those who wrote/write it, whether dead white guys or living composers of all genders/colours, were/are human too and share our hopes and desires, fears and joys. For some, classical music provides therapy, solace and comfort (and let’s not snobbishly dismiss the therapeutic, relaxing benefits of classical music); it uplifts and excites, energises and thrills.

Classical music still has an image problem and its association with privilege, the notion that one must have specialist knowledge to “understand” or appreciate it, and that the etiquette and customs of classical music concerts or opera are confusing and off-putting, remains a problem for those of us who seek to encourage more people to engage with this fantastic artform. Ill-thought articles such as the piece in The Guardian are not helping.

Meanwhile, if you want to sample classical music, just buy some goddam concert tickets – because classical music is for everyone.

 

 

By |

9780571350476The title is a play on his name and the collection of essays in this satisfyingly chunky volume were often “roughed out” by Stephen Hough while travelling between concert engagements, If you think the life of the international concert pianist is glamorous, think again – in between rehearsals and concerts much time is spent at airports, on planes or in faceless continental hotels; for Hough writing was a way of filling that dead time.

The word “polymath” is nearly always uttered in the same breath as “Stephen Hough” – concert pianist, composer, writer, artist, teacher, thinker –  but Hough wears the title modestly. Articulate and highly communicative on and off the concert stage, he is charming and natural when you meet him after a concert, and his lively Twitter presence reveals a penchant for the good things in life – fine food, perfume, hats – combined with an intelligent, open-minded approach to the challenges of our modern world. While other internationally-renowned concert artists may hide behind their reputation, Hough is happy to engage with his audiences, online and in person, and this warm-hearted, genuine approach, alongside his thoughtful suggestions on changing the format of concerts, for example, has helped break down some of the barriers and misconceptions surrounding classical music.

Many of the essays in Rough Ideas will be familiar to those who have enjoyed Hough’s blog in The Telegraph (sadly no more – so thank goodness for this compilation!) and writings elsewhere. As befits a Living Polymath, Hough’s writing net casts wide, and while the bulk of the volume focuses on musicians and music – the exigencies of being a professional musician, the piano and those who play it, concerts (giving and going to them) – there are also engaging articles on art and culture, and more challenging and philiosophical reflections on religion and the difficulties of being a gay Catholic.

Most musicians communicate best via their music, but Hough, himself a deeply communicative and intellectually acute pianist, is also an eloquent and intelligent writer, whose words are as carefully crafted and colourfully nuanced as his playing, and the phrasing, cadence and pacing of his writing pleasingly mirrors musical shaping.

Hough illuminates the pleasures and challenges of being a concert pianist and offers readers an intriguing view “beyond the notes” and the concert stage into this sometimes masochistic, often lonely profession, while never quite dispelling the mystique of the professional musician. There are thoughts on those sacred, church-like spaces where music is performed and heard (a lovely appreciation of London’s Wigmore Hall opens the book), ageing audiences (be kind to them – they populate and support concerts), dealing with creative block and performance anxiety, page-turners, the joy of making mistakes, and what happens when musicians “lose it” on stage (in the best possible way).

In the section entitled Studio, he discusses the musician’s “tools” – practicing, fingering schemes, scores, trills, pedalling and more – sharing his wisdom and offering encouragement and inspiration to pianists, whether amateur or professional. Later sections ‘….and More’, ‘…..and Religion’ reveal Hough as a profound thinker, always curious and questioning, never accepting nor complacent, and the entire volume is a wonderful insight into the mind of one of our greatest living pianists and a significant cultural figure in his own right.

This generous, varied compendium is intriguing, engaging and thought-provoking, always readable and elegantly written. Dip in and out of the chapters or read from start to finish, Rough Ideas is an ideal volume for the serious musician or keen amateur, music lovers in general and anyone who enjoys well-crafted, intelligent prose on a broad range of subjects.

Highly recommended

Rough Ideas is published in the UK on 1 August by Faber & Faber in hardback and e-book editions

Meet the Artist interview with Stephen Hough

By |

Guest post by Samantha Ege

“Remember it’s about connection not perfection.”

Those were the words of my coach and mentor Deborah Torres Patel. I had just told her about one of my first international lecture-recitals. The lecture had gone well, but the recital had been an absolute disaster. Actually, that wasn’t true—it wasn’t a disaster at all. Yes, my playing had been more nervous than usual, but “disaster” was definitely an exaggeration. I had received sincere compliments, encouragement and gratitude for my scholarly and pianistic contributions. But in my post-performance ritual of dramatizing the worst, re-imagining all the ways in which I could and should have played perfectly, and re-living all of the ways in which I did not, it was an absolute disaster.

About a year after this experience, a video surfaced. It was the trailer for the 2018 Women Composers Festival of Hartford where my lecture-recital had taken place. The trailer contained a short excerpt from my recital that cut to the lyrical second theme of Florence Price’s Sonata in E minor (first movement). It wasn’t bad! Festival Director Penny Brandt showed me the yet to be released full film that featured more of my playing. There was no sign of the disastrous performance I thought I had delivered. In fact, I heard my playing quite differently to how I had experienced it in the moment. Time had allowed me to zoom out and actually appreciate what I brought to the music in that performance. But I wished I could have felt this appreciation back then, and not just in retrospect.

I thought about Deborah’s words again. “Connection not perfection.” What kind of anticipation might I have built pre-performance if I had truly prioritized communication over self-consciousness? What kind of delivery might have unfolded if I had centred my connection to the music over the perfection of the notes. How might I have experienced the immediate aftermath of the recital if I had fully absorbed the audience’s response rather than becoming entangled in a web of personal disappointment? The idea of connection bore so many implications and in this moment of reflection, I was inspired to dig deeper and explore its many layers.

As a pianist-scholar who champions music by women, it is my goal to do the music justice and leave a lasting impression upon the listener. As much as I enjoy the academic side of writing and research, I feel that my work is not complete until I bring the music to life through performance. In those moments, I hope to perform in a way that captures how I felt when I first heard Althea Waites play Florence Price, or Virginia Eskin play Vítězslava Kaprálová because it was connection rather than perfection that drew me in and inspired me to make this repertoire my own.

As I look back on past performances, I try to apply what I wish I had known or felt then to the present. There is something so daunting, yet so liberating about playing repertoire that doesn’t carry the weight of heavily scrutinized performance histories. Indeed, the daunting side always seems so readily present while the liberating side requires a lot more pursuit. Still, they go hand in hand: the repertoire is daunting exactly because it is liberating. In championing under-represented composers, I have found incredible freedom as a pianist; oftentimes, my performances present first-time listening experiences for many, and even world premières—no pressure! But I know that this freedom will not transpire in the moment of performance unless I remember “it’s about connection not perfection.”

Samantha-16Samantha Ege is a British scholar, pianist and educator. Her PhD (University of York) centres on the African-American composer Florence Price. As a concert pianist, Ege’s focus on women composers has led to performances in Singapore, Australia, the UK and the US Ege has also championed Florence Price’s repertoire alongside violinist Er-Gene Kahng with duo recitals in Singapore, Hong Kong and the US.

Ege released her debut album in May 2018 with Wave Theory Records, entitled Four Women: Music for solo piano by Florence Price, Vítězslava Kaprálová, Ethel Bilsland and Margaret Bonds. The album featured the world première recording of Bilsland’s The Birthday Party, which led to Ege preparing an edition of the suite, now published by Faber Music. Four Women has been described as “an impressive collection…performed with virtuosic assurance.” Ege has also been commended “for her goal to bring the music of these composers to greater public awareness.”

Website: www.musicherstories.com