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Last week I attended a reception and recital hosted by H.E. Tore Hattrem, Ambassador of Norway, and Mrs Marit Gjelten, together with Faber Music and Kode Art Museums & Composers Homes to celebrate the first ever Urtext edition of Fantasistykker (Fantasy Pieces) Op. 39 and I Blaafjellet (In the Blue Mountain) Op. 44 by Norwegian composer Agathe Backer Grøndahl. The exclusive event for leading music professionals took place at the Ambassador’s residence in London, an elegant mansion close to Kensington Palace.

Agathe Backer Grøndahl (1847-1901) was a Norwegian pianist, composer and music teacher. She studied with Franz Liszt and Hans von Bulow, amongst others, and was a contemporary and close friend of Edvard Grieg. She wrote over 400 works, mainly for piano and voice, and, like Grieg’s, her music blends Norwegian folk elements with Romantic influences. The English writer and music critic George Bernard Shaw described her as one of the foremost pianists in Europe, and at the time of her death in 1907, she was hailed as one of the great names of Norway’s musical heritage. Yet, over the following years her music was overshadowed by her famous compatriot and has remained relatively unknown, until now.

The music was performed by Christian Grøvlen, who gave some fascinating insights into Backer Grøndahl’s life and her compositional output. Although these works can be defined as “salon pieces” , they display an intriguing range of styles, textures and musical colours – at times impressionistic or nodding towards Bartokian folk idioms and dance rhythms; at other times, energetic, virtuosic and sweepingly Romantic, with a depth of emotion that goes beyond far beyond the salon miniature.  

The Fantasy pieces resemble Grieg’s Lyric Pieces yet they can also be seen as tone paintings with their programmatic titles (Summer Night, In the Boat, Bird’s Winter Song, for example). And while beauty and charm may lie on the surface of these pieces with their elegance and decorativeness, there is smouldering darkness beneath – and this is the core of Agathe Backer Grøndahl’s music.

This darkness is more evident in the suite I Blaafjellet (In the Blue Mountain), one of Grøndahl’s major works, dedicated to her sister, the painter Harriet Backer. It owes something to the programmatic music of Liszt in that the suite takes the listener on a journey, not unlike the first year of Liszt’s Annees de Pelerinage. The ‘fairytale’ suite evokes the different moods of the magical mountains of Norway, replete with trolls and wood nymphs, and from the outset, despite the relatively calm opening piece ‘Night”, there is an unsettling sense that something is afoot…. The suite builds in intensity, as the troll emerges from the mountain, heralded by portentous, almost aggressive chords, and unnerving jazz-like rhythms.

This was a splendid introduction to Backer Grøndahl’s piano music, characterfully performed by Christian Grøvlen, whose affection for and appreciation of it shone through every note.

The first-ever Urtext editions of two of Backer Grøndahl’s greatest piano works are published by the distinguished music publisher Edition Peters. Edited by Christian Grøvlen, they are based on the original manuscript and the first edition of 1898, which was out of print for many years. Now, in these new critical editions, the beauty and inventiveness of Backer Grøndahl’s writing for piano can be brought to a wider audience and enjoyed by pianists professional and amateur alike.

“I hope these new editions will make more people play, explore, understand and love Backer Grøndahl’s music” – Christian Grøvlen, pianist

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Guest post by Anthony Hardwicke

Instrumental Music Teachers as Individual Learning Coaches

In Episode 4 of his A Land Without Music? podcast series, Julian Leeks collected lots of evidence that a musical education can benefit our children. However, he stopped short of claiming that learning a musical instrument can boost a child’s progress right across the school curriculum. I believe we can and should make this claim, and the reason is simple: when children are given piano lessons, they get weekly one-to-one coaching on how to learn. 

Learning how to learn involves acquiring a key set of skills, such as planning, repetition, memorising, listening, feedback loops, etc. Once encountered, these can be deployed to help master other academic disciplines. Learning to learn has been championed in the past by academics such as Professor Guy Claxton. The main takeaway is that if we focus more on making children better learners, they can use their ‘learning muscles’ to make a success of other areas of their lives. 

In a weekly one-to-one piano lesson with a peripatetic teacher, the child will experience a wide variety of different approaches to learning to play the piano. The teacher might discuss the most efficient strategies for effective practice, explain how to memorise a piece of music, talk about how music theory relates to a Mozart sonata, or they might give the student an impassioned pep-talk about how interesting and exciting Beethoven is. Perhaps they might not even intend this as an outcome, but the piano teacher might find themselves auditing that individual child’s learning skills in a way that a classroom teacher simply hasn’t got time to. I really do see the peripatetic instrumental teachers in a school as a super-motivated, highly experienced team of personal learning coaches.

What nobody talks about is how easily these useful learning approaches can be applied to learning about STEM subjects (and indeed other academic subjects). To memorise eight different chords to let you play 20 pop songs, is a very similar proposition to memorising the formulae of eight different ions so as you can work out the formulae of 20 different ionic compounds in chemistry. 

Teach a child to play the piano and you will almost certainly additionally grant them regular access to an inspirational teacher who will coach them and rehearse the priceless skills they need to learn all other school subjects. In most cases, because the lessons are one-to-one, the teacher will diagnose which skills the child individually needs to develop and move forwards their ability to learn effectively. 

Whether you’re a parent who wants your child to have a competitive advantage, or a politician pondering how best to invest for future society, we must have more music education.

Anthony Hardwicke has been a classroom science teacher for nearly 30 years and is a dedicated amateur pianist. 

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Guest post by Dakota Gale, part of his Notes from the Keyboard series for adult amateur pianists

Back in 1970, when my mom was 18, she composed the first section of the only piece of piano music she’s ever written.

Perhaps inspired by copious amounts of listening to Debussy and Satie, the music just poured from her fingers one day when she sat down at her piano.

At the time, she was in college in Madison, WI and in love with Robert, her first serious boyfriend. The piece starts off sweetly, brightly, a happy time in her life. The happiness shines from the first notes.

She’d taken piano lessons when she was younger, but never studied composition. She never wrote down the music, but it lodged in her hands and head.

Like mother, like son. (A drawing of mine.)

My mom graduated from college a couple of years after she wrote the first section. She and Robert planned to head to Santa Fe together and get married, but first he needed to work in construction for a bit to earn money for the move.

My mom headed south ahead of him to get situated in Santa Fe and start job hunting. A month, two months passed, but Robert didn’t show up. She wrote him letters, no response. Had he changed his mind, broken up with her?

Finally, a letter arrived. But not from Robert—from his mother. 

He’d died in a construction accident. 

Devastated, her world spun around and plans shattered, soon afterwards my mom wrote the second part of her composition. It’s a faster, darker section, an outpouring of grief after a sudden key change.

Years passed. My mom got a teacher’s certification, moved to Idaho, lived in a tipi and taught art. 

Then she went to a national ceramics convention and met a bearded artist from California. A romance followed and they got married and moved to a defunct commune outside Chico. 

Little Dakota popped out into the world not long after.

42 years later during a snowy walk in Bend.

Around this time, she composed the third section of music for her piece. It’s sweet, my mom in love again. The innocence and freshness of it is apparent. Cheery, fast and impetuous, full of expectations. 

Who knows, maybe it flowed from her fingers while she was pregnant with me? She can’t remember the exact timeline.

Regardless, I recall her playing it occasionally when I was younger. After years away from the piano, she could perform it beautifully at any moment.

When I started learning piano, I wanted to learn the piece, but there wasn’t sheet music… Until this past week, that is! 

On a rainy afternoon during her recent visit, we worked through the chords together and I explained the harmonies and sudden key changes that she’d chosen. She’d never learned music theory and didn’t know which chords she’d picked or why—all the music came straight from The Muse.

Sorting out the piece. Check out the stained glass in the background that my mom made for us—lady of many talents!

The only things missing were a final chord or two, so we played around with options before landing on something she liked. After some work, I fully transcribed the piece to sheet music—a first for me.

And so I’d like to present In Search of Lost Time by my mom. If you’re a pianist, you can download a PDF of the sheet music via Dropbox and play it! (Please forgive any newbie sheet music notation mistakes.)

Here’s a recording of my mom playing her piece, 54 years after the initial idea bubbled up from her consciousness:

The end of a special project together.

Dakota Gale

When he isn’t playing piano, Dakota Gale enjoys learning languages (especially Italian) and drawing. He also writes about reclaiming creativity as an adult and ditching tired personal paradigms in his newsletter, Traipsing About.

He can often be spotted camping and exploring mountain bike trails around the Pacific Northwest.

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Guest post by Ann Martin-Davis, pianist and teacher

‘Dum diddle diddle dum dum dum.’

How can it be that this simple tune that we all know isn’t counted in three? Yes, you heard me, not in three, but in fact in four plus two.

Try it out right now in your head – go on – and then go through all those other Baroque minuets that you have been humming for years and you’ll see that the shape of the melodies and the articulation that follows fall into the same pattern.

Now fast forward 200 years to Ravel; Menuet sur le nom d’Haydn, the Sonatine, Menuet Antique, and you’ll find the same patterns, and why? Because this is how it’s danced.

Learning the dances of the Baroque period doesn’t just sort out your understanding and playing of these composers, but it can inform pretty much everything else dance related that you might be involved with.

I’m with the dancer and historical coach Chris Tudor, and I’m joined by harpsichordist Sophie Yates, and Bach specialist, Helen Leek. We’re here to learn some of the basics and after intros in our ‘comfortable clothing’, we’re warming up with a simple hand held chain called a linear carole.

Caroles, or carols as we now call them, always used to be danced and sung, but at some point we lost the dance element. The origins go way back to the ancient Greeks and to the choros, or circular sung dance. Remember the dancers on Achilles’ shield in Homer’s Iliad? The magic of the shield creates a moment of escape from the pressures of reality and of the battle; I too quickly forget my parking battle off the Euston Road and settle into the conviviality of it all.

Next up is a renaissance dance, the Branle, which Chris tells us is a surreptitious way of introducing some of the steps to a minuet. We take one step to the right, close, then one step to the left and over with the right. Always rotating clockwise as we don’t want any negative energy.

We make swift progress and then I drop the bomb.

‘How about a Courante?’

Chris grimaces a bit and at this point I suddenly have a flashback to a grade exam, where I galloped through a Bach Courante and landed with a grateful ‘ta dah-like’ placement of the final ‘G.’

Sophie steps in and tells me that the Courante was fast in the Renaissance, but by the time J S Bach got busy with it, the metre had moved to 3/2 making it one of the slowest of all of the Baroque dances. She continues, ‘it could be apocryphal, but gossip colomnist in Chief in Versailles, Titon du Tillet said it slowed down because of Louis XIV’s long-toed shoes, meaning an extreme turn-out was necessary.’

So the Courante gets us talking about the ‘cadence’ of a dance which can relate to two ideas. We have cadence, as in the cadence of your voice, the qualities of the dance (a Courante has a noble and stately quality), but there is also the exploration of the cadences in the music and how these are going to relate to the cadences in the dance.

This is blowing my fuses now, so we all agree it’s time for coffee…

‘Dancing with Bach’, hosted by Ann Martin-Davis, with Chris Tudor, Sophie Yates and Helen Leek is a one-day workshop for pianists exploring the dance forms familiar to Bach that he used in his Partitas, Suites, and throughout his other collections of keyboard music.

Saturday 22nd February at St Mary-Le-Savoy Lutheran Church, London WC1H 9LP

Find out more here

Bring your dancing shoes!