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Guest post by Rhonda Rizzo

In the caress of notes, Cassie knew nothing of fire, death, loss, or fear, just love plucked from Bach’s hands, to Eric’s, to her own—spoken in a language too deep for words.

—excerpt, The Waco Variations

Writing about music is like dancing about architecture. And while I can’t speak to dancing or architecture, this cliché sums up the problem of using words to describe what is fundamentally an experience, not a concept. Whether listener or performer, we enter into the world of the notes and receive and respond to the music through the lens of personal experience and understanding. And, because everyone’s experience and taste is different, how does a writer capture in words the sensation of sinking one’s hands into the piano keys, or the eerie magic of “one mind” that occurs when musicians perform together?

Write what you know. It’s another accurate cliché. As a lifelong pianist, I know music. I know the experience of making music, and of listening deeply to others. As a writer, I know my character, Cassie, and how she falls in love to Bach and allows herself to grieve through the music of Rachmaninoff and Liszt. I write the common ground between what I know, what Cassie knows, and the human truths that connect all of this to music.

Show, don’t tell. A writer’s cliché. If I tell the reader that Cassie and her boyfriend Eric, had a good performance of a Bach double concerto, it’s dull boring. Showing makes it tactile. It makes it real. It makes it matter.

In the second movement, Cassie stopped being aware of any reality beyond the music. The competition, the judges, her hair, her dress—none of it existed. The notes defined her universe. And as she and Eric passed the sensuous lines back and forth, she dissolved into them. She was the piano, and the piano was her. She was Eric, Eric was her. And Bach was what held everything together. There were no mental pictures and no stories. Just the music, and Eric, and the piano, which seemed to grow out of her fingertips.

—excerpt, The Waco Variations

Make me care, I used to tell my piano students. Don’t just press the notes. No matter how beautifully you phrase a line, if you don’t have anything interesting to say, you’re just speaking phonetic music. Writing requires the same because readers deserve entry into all aspects of the moment, not just a description. In both art forms, if the notes or the words don’t communicate something beyond themselves, everything comes out flat and lifeless.

Another quote: the visible is the invisible written down. As musicians and writers, we use what’s concrete (notes, words) to point to intangibles: love, joy, loss, hope, and a myriad of other human emotions. It’s an internal landscape we all share, and because of this common ground, music—and writing about music—is about bringing the listener or reader into a new world through our shared emotional doorways. We don’t need to know why a piece of music moves us to tears, or how a paragraph conjures up an entire world. We experience it. We feel Cassie’s struggle with an unfamiliar piano and we know her belief that somehow she can communicate with her deceased parents through the notes of Liszt’s Sposalizio.

Taking a deep breath, she put her hands on the keys, closed her eyes a second, and then played the opening lines. The muted upper register hampered her attempt to get a bell-like tone in her first right-hand arpeggio section. She tried to play through it, thinking of each note as being wrapped in thick velvet. Perhaps the clarity was there, at the center of all that velvet? What the piano took away from the upper register it gave back in the middle; when Cassie started what she always thought of as the prayer-like section—the one where she sensed she needed to breathe the notes rather than just play them—the velvet tone gave the notes a warmth she had never before been able to achieve on any other piano. The sounds matched the one she had been hearing in her mind, and the magic of reality matching the ideal was so strong that she could feel the hair on her arms bristling. Normal life fell away, and for those breathless moments she sensed that the notes were getting through and that somehow, someone was on the other side, hearing all the love and loss she poured into each pitch.

—excerpt, The Waco Variations

Writing about music is, ultimately, writing about humanity because that’s where power of the best music and literature resides. The form—the architecture—only points to the bedrock truths we all share. We love, we grieve, we celebrate, we mourn, and we seek (and sometimes find) meaning in the most unexpected places.

rhonda2bheadshot2bpianoRhonda (Ringering) Rizzo is the author of The Waco Variations. She has crafted a career as a performing and recording pianist and a writer. A specialist in music that borrows from both classical and jazz traditions, Rizzo has released four CDs, Made in America, Oregon Impressions: the Piano Music of Dave Deason, 2 to Tango: Music for Piano Duet, and A Spin on It.  As both a soloist and a collaborative artist, her performances include several allclassical.org live international radio broadcasts, Water Music Festival, Central Oregon Symphony, Oregon Chamber Players, Aladdin Theatre, Coaster Theatre, Ernst Bloch Music Festival, Bloedel Reserve, Newport Performing Arts Center, Skamania Performing Arts Series. In addition to her work as half of the Rizzo/Wheeler Duo, with pianist Molly Wheeler (www.rizzowheelerduo.com), Rizzo records and writes about the music of living composers on her blog, www.nodeadguys.com. 

Her numerous articles have appeared in national and international music magazines, including American Music Teacher, Clavier, Piano & Keyboard, and Flute Talk. Her novel, The Waco Variations, was released in the summer of 2018 and can be found on www.amazon.com.  

Rhonda Rizzo earned her undergraduate degree from Walla Walla University and her Master’s degree from Boston University.

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

I remember being fascinated by the piano in my grandmother’s house, and this led to my mother teaching me to read music at the age of three. I do not remember, as a child, hearing much music, none of my friends played an instrument, but I remember my grandmother played by ear, and sang music-hall songs to me, which I loved. They must have embedded themselves deep in my memory, as I still remember many of these, including all the words!

One strange memory stands out. My mother, before her marriage, had worked in the office of a local chemist, a Mr. Lester, of whom she spoke occasionally, with the greatest respect and admiration. I had never met this gentleman before, but on one memorable occasion I was taken, by my mother, to visit him at his home. He possessed a fine gramophone, and played me some of his precious 78rpm records. I was about 6 years old at the time. Two recordings stand out in my memory. One was the Grieg piano concerto, which I was hearing for the first time. It made a tremendous impression on me, and I determined that I would one day perform it,(which I did.) The second recording was an odd choice to play to a child, but I was overwhelmed. It was Kirsten Flagstad singing Sibelius songs, and it was one of the most powerful musical experiences of my life. I had never heard anything like it, the powerful intensity of this magnificent voice, and the vivid colours of this unfamiliar music made a huge impression on me. I never saw Mr. Lester again, but he brought magic into my life.

And when I gave my first public performance, at the age of seven, the feeling of engaging with an audience, and sharing this magical world of music was so exhilarating, that I knew, without a doubt, that I wanted to be a pianist.

Further motivation and inspiration came from my repeated reading of ‘Prelude’,a book based on the early life of Eileen Joyce, who was arguably the most famous concert pianist at that time in Britain. I was captivated by this highly romanticised account of a child from a very ordinary background being swept into the extraordinary and exciting world of music. I devoured the stories of her inspiring lessons with eminent European teachers, and the manic regimes of practising, which all culminated in a dazzling career. It was heady stuff, and I became even more determined to enter this fascinating world myself one day.

I was taken to hear Eileen Joyce play on one  occasion by a family friend, who took me backstage afterwards to meet this glamorous superstar of the classical music world. I remember her gorgeous frocks, and, in marked contrast, her workmanlike hands. As she shook my hand, I remember being struck by their immense power.

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

The first time I heard a great pianist in recital was in my early teens, when I I attended a Sunday afternoon concert given by Artur Rubinstein at the Royal Festival Hall. I was mesmerised by the sheer joy and freedom of his playing. This represented the ideal of piano playing that I would, from then on, aspire to.

At the age of seventeen I began my studies at the Royal Academy of Music, where my teacher was Vivian Langrish, who had been a student of Tobias Mattay, alongside Myra Hess. He taught me the importance of sound quality and variety of colour, and greatly expanded my tonal range. Also, while a student, I played for many singers, and was hugely influenced by the great singing teacher, Flora Nielsen, who first revealed the wonders of French song to me, opening the door to the exquisite music of Debussy and Faure in particular.

But I think the greatest inspiration and influence on my playing came from two violinists, the remarkable Hungarian violin professor, Bela Katona, and the legendary violinist Nathan Milstein.

Bela had the most extraordinary ability to reveal the inner life and structure of the music, while at the same time demanding a meticulous attention to detail.

One of the greatest experiences of my life was playing with Nathan Milstein. Every rehearsal was a lesson with a great master. He would demonstrate on the violin what he wanted me to do on the piano. I learnt so much just trying to develop my touch to match his attack on the string, and the freedom of his bow arm to make the gestures of the music. It was awe-inspiring. And throughout, there was always his insistence on the vital importance of the bass line. I learned to focus my attention on a fully independent and fully present and vital bass line, which underpins everything.

Finally, I must acknowledge the influence of jazz, in particular, great jazz pianists, most notably Oscar Peterson Bill Evans and Erroll Garner. From first hearing jazz in my early teens, I knew that I wanted to play classical music with the freedom, spontaneity and immediacy of these artists. This is still my ideal.

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

One’s life as a musician is a continuous, never-ending series of challenges, and it is in meeting these challenges that one develops. But two huge personal challenges stand out for me.

The first was a very serious illness at the age of 28, when , quite suddenly, all my joints, right down to fingers and toes, seized up, and I became completely immobilised. I spent some weeks in hospital, where the doctors were completely baffled, and considered that I would never walk again, and certainly never play the piano. Eventually, however, slowly and painfully, movement returned, curiously, one joint at a time. The fingers were the last to return, taking several months. I gradually eased back into playing again, finding my way back gently into professional work by doing a little accompanying, and then duo playing and chamber music, as my strength returned. I did not return to solo playing in public, as, due to my illness, I had developed severe anxiety about performing from memory. I was now teaching at the Royal Academy of Music, and was also invited to teach at Trinity College, and to establish an ensemble class there. Thus I found myself enjoying a thriving and fulfilling career, performing and teaching, which continued over the following three decades.

And then, shortly after my 60th birthday, came my second huge challenge, when I lost most of my sight, due to haemorages behind the retinas of both eyes. It was extraordinary timing, as, just four years earlier, I had begun training in NLP, ( Neuro-Linguistic-Programming), during which, using one of the very powerful processes we were being taught, I succeeded in eliminating my memory anxiety. I had been looking forward to performing solo again when this new catastrophe struck. Recitals had already been booked, and these, of course, now had to be postponed, while I adjusted to a new, and frightening reality, but I knew that, although I had to give up all ensemble playing due to my severely impaired sight, I would be able to perform solo, from memory. Now there were new challenges, but my desire to continue to play carried me through, and again, I rebuilt my strength and my career, with the support of my wonderful husband Ian, and an amazingly loyal and devoted group of ex-students, who had become wonderful friends over the years.

Which performances/recordings are you most proud of?

My last CD , of solo piano music by Fauré, and the previously-released disc of music by Saint-Saens.

Which particular works do you think you play best?

I think that is for others to express their opinions. During the past few years I have felt a particular affinity with the music of Chopin, Fauré, Debussy and Ravel.

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

I allow ideas, or the desire to play particular works, to come to me, and then I play around with them, experimenting, until they come together to form programmes. It’s a creative process.

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

The Holywell Music Room, Oxford. It has special personal memories for me, and I love its intimacy and unique history.

Who are your favourite musicians?

Gyorgy Cziffra, Dinu Lipatti, Clara Haskil, Vladimir Horowitz, Claudio Arrau, Emil Gilels, Artur Rubinstein, Martha Argerich, Nathan Milstein, the Beaux Arts Trio.

Jazz pianists: Erroll Garner, Oscar Peterson, Bill Evans.

What is your most memorable concert experience?

My most memorable concert experience was when I performed in the Memorial concert for John Bingham in 2005, at Blackheath Halls in London. John was a wonderful pianist and a very special colleague and friend. We had met at Harold Craxton’s studio when we were both 16 years old, and entered the Royal Academy of Music together the following year as scholarship students. We resumed our friendship later when we were both teaching at Trinity College of Music.

At the same time as John was suffering his final illness, leading to his tragic and untimely death, I also had been ill, and had lost most of my sight. Despite my extreme physical weakness at that time, I felt compelled to volunteer to play at John’s memorial concert, such was the bond between us. I knew exactly what I should play— the Fourth Ballade of Chopin, a work which had been special to both of us since our student days.

This would be a momentous experience for me for another reason. As I have related earlier, I had not performed solo in public since a previous illness three decades earlier had left me unable to perform from memory in public. I also described how I had cured this anxiety, and was able to resume performing solo again. This performance at John’ s concert was to be my first solo appearance for more than thirty years. As the date for the concert drew near,  I became apprehensive, thinking how crazy I had been to volunteer, when I knew that, not only would I be performing alongside some very eminent musicians, but that the hall would be packed with many distinguished pianists and other highly respected members of the music profession.

The little sight I had left was also highly distorted at that time, so, on the day, before the concert, I practised finding my way to the piano, which, fortunately, was at ground level, with no treacherous stairs to negotiate.

When the time came for my entrance, the doors opened, and then the most extraordinary thing happened. As I tentatively began to walk forward, I found myself following the figure of a woman, who I instinctively knew was another version of myself. She was taller than me, with hair much darker and longer than mine, but I had no doubts as to her identity. And I suddenly felt quite confident, knowing that she would lead me safely to the piano. As I sat down on the stool, I sensed her sitting down by my side, ( although there was no actual chair there.) I felt entirely at ease, and as I played the opening bars I felt her gradually drift away. I felt inspired, with a sense that all was well, and the music seemed to play itself. Afterwards I received a wonderful ovation from the audience, and I knew that this  was a turning point in my life. I have no explanation to offer, but assumed that my mysterious guide must have been a kind of doppelgänger.

As a musician, what is hour definition of success?

For me, success is when I experience the sense of being ‘in the flow’ in a performance, truly in the moment, being at one with myself, with the music and the audience, in a kind of ‘magic loop’. The music seems to play itself. One cannot make this happen. One can only prepare meticulously, and in a way which creates the greatest potential for this to happen. Then, miraculously, sometimes the gods will smile on us!

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

Be curious, allow yourself to experiment.

Ask the question How?

Be kind to yourself.

Embrace uncertainty.

Do not strive for perfection, but follow your dreams, and move step by step towards your goals. Enjoy the journey. Remember that we ‘play’ a musical instrument!

What is your most treasured possession?

I have two. My beloved Steinway piano, and my beautiful Cornish Rex cat, Leo.

What is your present state of mind?

Curious.
Christine Croshaw’s recording of piano music by Gabriel Fauré is available now

Christine Croshaw has enjoyed a long and successful career as a solo pianist, accompanist and chamber music player.

Her concert engagements have taken her to most major venues around the U.K., including many appearances at the Wigmore Hall, Queen Elizabeth Hall and Purcell Room.

She has performed across the Continent in France, Germany, Austria, Spain, Portugal, Italy, Malta, Norway and Denmark, Finland, Poland and Switzerland, and also in North America. Festival appearances include Cheltenham, Lichfield, Kensington and Chelsea, Ludlow, Chichester, Lisbon, Bermuda and Taomina.

Read more

La and Leo – Christine’s Croshaw’s blog

By |

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

I remember being fascinated by the piano in my grandmother’s house, and this led to my mother teaching me to read music at the age of three.I do not remember,as a child, hearing much music, none of my friends played an instrument, but I remember my grandmother played by ear, and sang music-hall songs to me, which I loved. They must have embedded themselves deep in my memory, as I still remember many of these, including all the words!

One strange memory stands out. My mother, before her marriage, had worked in the office of a local chemist, a Mr. Lester, of whom she spoke occasionally, with the greatest respect and admiration. I had never met this gentleman before, but on one memorable occasion I was taken, by my mother, to visit him at his home. He possessed a fine gramophone, and played me some of his precious 78rpm records. I was about 6 years old at the time. Two recordings stand out in my memory. One was the Grieg piano concerto, which I was hearing for the first time. It made a tremendous impression on me, and I determined that I would one day perform it,(which I did.) The second recording was an odd choice to play to a child, but I was overwhelmed. It was Kirsten Flagstad singing Sibelius songs, and it was one of the most powerful musical experiences of my life. I had never heard anything like it, the powerful intensity of this magnificent voice, and the vivid colours of this unfamiliar music made a huge impression on me. I never saw Mr. Lester again, but he brought magic into my life.

And when I gave my first public performance, at the age of seven, the feeling of engaging with an audience , and sharing  this magical world of music was so exhilarating,that I knew, without a doubt, that I wanted to be a pianist.

Further motivation and inspiration came from my repeated reading of ‘Prelude’,a book based on the early life of Eileen Joyce, who was arguably the most famous concert pianist at that time in Britain. I was captivated by this highly romanticised account of a child from a very ordinary background being swept into the extraordinary and exciting world of music. I devoured the stories of her inspiring lessons with eminent European teachers, and the manic regimes of practising, which all culminated in a dazzling career. It was heady stuff, and I became even more determined to enter this fascinating world myself one day.

I was taken to hear Eileen Joyce play on one  occasion by a family friend, who took me backstage afterwards to meet this glamorous superstar of the classical music world. I remember her gorgeous frocks, and, in marked contrast, her workmanlike hands. As she shook my hand, I remember being struck by their immense power.

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

The first time I heard a great pianist in recital was in my early teens, when I I attended a Sunday afternoon concert given by Artur Rubinstein at the Royal Festival Hall. I was mesmerised by the sheer joy and freedom of his playing. This represented the ideal of piano playing that I would, from then on, aspire to.

At the age of seventeen I began my studies at the Royal Academy of Music, where my teacher was Vivian Langrish, who had been a student of Tobias Mattay, alongside Myra Hess. He taught me the importance of sound quality and variety of colour, and greatly expanded my tonal range. Also, while a student, I played for many singers, and was hugely influenced by the great singing teacher, Flora Nielsen, who first revealed the wonders of French song to me, opening the door to the exquisite music of Debussy and Faure in particular.

But I think the greatest inspiration and influence on my playing came from two violinists, the remarkable Hungarian violin professor, Bela Katona, and the legendary violinist Nathan Milstein.

Bela had the most extraordinary ability to reveal the inner life and structure of the music, while at the same time demanding a meticulous attention to detail.

One of the greatest experiences of my life was playing with Nathan Milstein. Every rehearsal was a lesson with a great master. He would demonstrate on the violin what he wanted me to do on the piano. I learnt so much just trying to develop my touch to match his attack on the string, and the freedom of his bow arm to make the gestures of the music. It was awe-inspiring. And throughout, there was always his insistence on the vital importance of the bass line. I learned to focus my attention on a fully independent and fully present and vital bass line, which underpins everything.

Finally, I must acknowledge the influence of jazz, in particular, great jazz pianists, most notably Oscar Peterson Bill Evans and Erroll Garner. From first hearing jazz in my early teens, I knew that I wanted to play classical music with the freedom, spontaneity and immediacy of these artists. This is still my ideal.

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

One’s life as a musician is a continuous, never-ending series of challenges, and it is in meeting these challenges that one develops. But two huge personal challenges stand out for me.

The first was a very serious illness at the age of 28, when , quite suddenly, all my joints, right down to fingers and toes, seized up, and I became completely immobilised. I spent some weeks in hospital, where the doctors were completely baffled, and considered that I would never walk again, and certainly never play the piano. Eventually, however, slowly and painfully, movement returned, curiously, one joint at a time. The fingers were the last to return, taking several months. I gradually eased back into playing again, finding my way back gently into professional work by doing a little accompanying, and then duo playing and chamber music, as my strength returned. I did not return to solo playing in public, as, due to my illness, I had developed severe anxiety about performing from memory. I was now teaching at the Royal Academy of Music, and was also invited to teach at TrinityCollege, and to establish an ensemble class there. Thus I found myself enjoying a thriving and fulfilling career, performing and teaching, which continued over the following three decades.

And then, shortly after my 60th birthday, came my second huge challenge, when I lost most of my sight, due to haemorages behind the retinas of both eyes. It was extraordinary timing, as, just four years earlier, I had begun training in NLP, ( Neuro-Linguistic-Programming), during which, using one of the very powerful processes we were being taught, I succeeded in eliminating my memory anxiety. I had been looking forward to performing solo again when this new catastrophe struck. Recitals had already been booked, and these, of course, now had to be postponed, while I adjusted to a new, and frightening reality, but I knew that, although I had to give up all ensemble playing due to my severely impaired sight, I would be able to perform solo, from memory. Now there were new challenges, but my desire to continue to play carried me through, and again, I rebuilt my strength and my career, with the support of my wonderful husband Ian, and an amazingly loyal and devoted group of ex-students, who had become wonderful friends over the years.

Which performances/recordings are you most proud of?

My last CD , of solo piano music by Fauré, and the previously-released disc of music by Saint-Saens.

Which particular works do you think you play best?

I think that is for others to express their opinions. During the past few years I have felt a particular affinity with the music of Chopin, Fauré, Debussy and Ravel.

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

I allow ideas, or the desire to play particular works, to come to me, and then I play around with them, experimenting, until they come together to form programmes. It’s a creative process.

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

The Holywell Music Room, Oxford. It has special personal memories for me, and I love its intimacy and unique history.

Who are your favourite musicians?

Gyorgy Cziffra, Dinu Lipatti, Clara Haskil, Vladimir Horowitz, Claudio Arrau, Emil Gilles, Artur Rubinstein, Marta Argerich, Nathan Milstein, Beaux Arts Trio.

Jazz pianists, Erroll Garner, Oscar Peterson, Bill Evans.

What is your most memorable concert experience?

My most memorable concert experience was when I performed in the Memorial concert for John Bingham In 2005, at Blackheath Halls in London.

John was a wonderful pianist and a very special colleague and friend. We had met at Harold Craxton’s studio when we were both 16 years old, and entered the Royal Academy of Music together the following year as scholarship students. We resumed our friendship later when we were both teaching at Trinity College of Music.

At the same time as John was suffering his final illness, leading to his tragic and untimely death, I also had been ill, and had lost most of my sight. Despite my extreme physical weakness at that time, I felt compelled to volunteer to play at John’s memorial concert, such was the bond between us. I knew exactly what I should play— the Fourth Ballade of Chopin, a work which had been special to both of us since our student days.

This would be a momentous experience for me for another reason. As I have related earlier, I had not performed solo in public since a previous illness three decades earlier had left me unable to perform from memory in public. I also described how I had cured this anxiety, and was able to resume performing solo again. This performance at John’ s concert was to be my first solo appearance for more than thirty years. As the date for the concert drew near,  I became apprehensive, thinking how crazy I had been to volunteer, when I knew that, not only would I be performing alongside some very eminent musicians, but that the hall would be packed with many distinguished pianists and other highly respected members of the music profession.

The little sight I had left was also highly distorted at that time, so, on the day, before the concert, I practised finding my way to the piano, which, fortunately, was at ground level, with no treacherous stairs to negotiate.

When the time came for my entrance, the doors opened, and then the most extraordinary thing happened. As I tentatively began to walk forward, I found myself following the figure of a woman, who I instinctively knew was another version of myself. She was taller than me, with hair much darker and longer than mine, but I had no doubts as to her identity. And I suddenly felt quite confident, knowing that she would lead me safely to the piano. As I sat down on the stool, I sensed her sitting down by my side, ( although there was no actual chair there.) I felt entirely at ease, and as I played the opening bars I felt her gradually drift away. I felt inspired, with a sense that all was well, and the music seemed to play itself. Afterwards I received a wonderful ovation from the audience, and I knew that this  was a turning point in my life. I have no explanation to offer, but assumed that my mysterious guide must have been a kind of doppelgänger.

As a musician, what is hour definition of success?

For me, success is when I experience the sense of being ‘in the flow’ in a performance, truly in the moment, being at one with myself, with the music and the audience, in a kind of ‘magic loop’. The music seems to play itself. One cannot make this happen. One can only prepare meticulously, and in a way which creates the greatest potential for this to happen. Then, miraculously, sometimes the gods will smile on us!

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

Be curious, allow yourself to experiment.

Ask the question How?

Be kind to yourself.

Embrace uncertainty.

Do not strive for perfection, but follow your dreams, and move step by step towards your goals. Enjoy the journey. Remember that we ‘play’ a musical instrument!

What is your most treasured possession?

I have two. My beloved Steinway piano, and my beautiful Cornish Rex cat, Leo.

What is your present state of mind?

Curious.
Christine Croshaw’s recording of piano music by Gabriel Fauré is available now

Christine Croshaw has enjoyed a long and successful career as a solo pianist, accompanist and chamber music player.

Her concert engagements have taken her to most major venues around the U.K., including many appearances at the Wigmore Hall, Queen Elizabeth Hall and Purcell Room.

She has performed across the Continent in France, Germany, Austria, Spain, Portugal, Italy, Malta, Norway and Denmark, Finland, Poland and Switzerland, and also in North America. Festival appearances include Cheltenham, Lichfield, Kensington and Chelsea, Ludlow, Chichester, Lisbon, Bermuda and Taomina.

Read more

La and Leo – Christine’s Croshaw’s blog

By |

Long read guest post by Dr Michael Low

Regardless of where you stand (or perhaps more appropriately, sit, as that is our general default position when it comes to using electronic devices such as tablets, chrome books and laptops) on the subject of social media, there is no doubt that websites and applications such as Facebook, YouTube, Instagram and Twitter play a huge part in our everyday lives. Apart from the countless hilarious sports memes, adorable pet videos, spiritual (and lifestyle) citations, cooking tips, political news bulletins, relationship status updates and narcissistic selfies, they also provides the ideal podium for a talented artist or an upcoming entrepreneur to showcase their ability. Furthermore, even if these aspiring individuals don’t have the ability to ‘make the cut’, there is a certain sense of satisfaction when one’s social media post generates hundreds and thousands of views and ‘likes’. Perhaps it says something about the world that we live in that being noticed counts just as much as having the ability to do something unique.

However, social media can also be a very unforgiving and ugly platform where humanity’s flaws and imperfections are ridiculed and unfairly judged. Someone recently likened social media to that of the cyber age colosseum, its members the mob, often out for blood and entertainment. A similar parallel can be drawn from the words of Derek Jacobi’s Gracchus in Gladiator (2000) directed by Ridley Scott:

The beating heart of Rome, is not the marvel of the senate, but the sound of the colosseum. He [Ceasar] will bring them death, and they will love him for it.

There is something very distasteful and perverse about that part of human nature where we want to see those directly in competition with us crash and burn. Perhaps this is one the (many) reasons behind the success of prime-time television shows such as Idols, Dragon’s Den and The Weakest Link, where members of the jury (or in Anne Robinson’s case, juror) are known for their ability to outrightly dismiss the contestant with cutting remarks.

Just as an aside, the Hong Kong version of The Weakest Link sets out to replicate the British series in all its full glory. However, the Chinese viewers did not understand or appreciate Carol Cheng’s imitation of Anne Robinson (let’s face it, who can?) and soon vent their anger at broadcast company, resulting in Cheng’s much changed and likeable demeanour. Which I thought completely missed the point: the reason why audiences tune into The Weakest Link is for Anne Robinson sarcasm and her trademark parting shot: ‘You are the weakest link – goodbye! Furthermore, it is also known that (as well as the prize money) some contestants go on the show because they are keen to experience what it is like to be dismissed by Robinson on television. The shift in Hong Kong’s presentation perhaps owes more to what the East perceived as acceptable behaviour on television as the Orientals are not known for their sarcasm and dry sense of humour.

As a golf enthusiast, it saddens me to say that the 1999 Open Championship in Carnoustie will always be remembered for Jean van de Velde’s implosion on the final hole, rather than Paul Lawrie’s performance during the playoff. (Van de Velde’s entourage will point to the fact that he got what is arguably one of the most bizarre ricochets in sports when his second shot bounced off the railing of the grandstand, onto the top of the stonewall before nesting itself in the deep rough. At the same time, critics will argue that it was Frenchman’s combination of flair and dire decision-making that resulted in his precarious second shot). Tennis fans will recall Jana Novotna’s unfortunate collapse (and her tears on the Duchess of Kent’s shoulder) rather than Steffi Graf’s heroic comeback during the 1993 Wimbledon Ladies Final. The 2013-14 English Premier League football season will forever be synonymous with the image of Steven Gerard’s slip which handed the initiative back to Manchester City, who became the eventual champions. Finally, we all knew what happened in the most recent US Open Ladies final between Naomi Osaka and Serena Williams.

One of the subjects that generates the most interest on social media is that of the musical prodigy: an infant with the technical ability and (at times) musical maturity equal to an adult musician. However, before I proceed with the rest of this article I just want to clarify the following points:

  • The article is a based upon my own experience as a human being, an educator and a musician.
  • This is Not (notice the capital N) Dr Michael Low’s How Not to be An @rs3hole Piano Teacher or D1ckhead Parent 101.
  • I am not a parent.

There is a general (and much overstated) adage that behind every successful child prodigy stands (at least) one Tiger Parent – an overbearing individual who set the highest standard of achievement for their children by authoritarian means. The term Tiger Mother or Tiger Mom (老虎妈妈) is synonymous with Amy Chua’s controversial 2011 Memoir Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, where the author detailed her stringent and at times ferocious parenting regime. Though it is not explicit, the book also argues in favour of such parental methodology as well as the superiority of Chinese as opposed to Western culture.

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Amy Chua watches her daughter Sophia Chua-Rubenfeld practise the piano in her home in New Haven, Connecticut

I know a number of parents who have read Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother and hated every single paragraph, as it goes against what they believe to be good parenting. On the other hand, I interpreted the book as an outright parody of the Chinese culture (much like Jon Chu’s movie adaptation of Kevin Kwan’s 2013 novel Crazy Rich Asians) and found the author’s writing immensely entertaining (I read the entire book – given to me as a Christmas present by the parent of a student – en route to London and it actually made me love my mum [herself also a Tiger Mom during her heyday] even more when I saw her). Regardless of what you think of Amy Chua, there is one thing that is clear: no matter how badly a parent wants a child to succeed, the final application has to come from the child him/herself. Chua openly confesses that despite her intense style of parenting (which bore fruit with her eldest daughter, Sophia), she has to admit defeat and eat a considerable portion of humble pie when her youngest daughter, Lulu, refuses to emulate Sophia’s musical achievement. Of all the very talented children I have had the privilege to have worked with, and there are just about (at least) two or three in every corner of Asia, none of them gave me the impression that they are playing the piano for their parents (the counter-argument here is that the less musically interested child would not have to seek out another teacher’s opinion in the first place). The feeling I get from working with these talented youngsters is that they would not achieved such a level of technical attainment if they do not firstly, believe in themselves (needless to say, this is supported unwaveringly by their parents and teacher) and secondly, enjoy what they do. Critics of Tiger parenting often point out that one run the risk of forsaking one’s soul if you ‘demand a child to practise an instrument until they hate it’ – presumably seeing practising as the outdated, dry, and monotonous act which is often associate with strict parenting. Being an avid practiser myself, I can tell you that I won’t even last five minutes, let alone four hours, doing this sort of practising! However, if a child can be taught how to practise intelligently, creatively and at the same time being able to enjoy the process of slowly working through a new piece of music before eventually having the satisfaction of playing the composition up to speed, why shouldn’t they practise for hours on end? Some may argue that musical intensity at this young age will come at the expense of the infant’s childhood, leaving the individual susceptible to various psychological and emotional scars later on in life. But then again, just how many of us are actually ‘normal’ in every sense of the word? We seek an expression in art (and especially music) because part of us (for whatever reason) is looking for an alternate form of human expression. And in today’s world, the only way for one to have any chance of success in music, be in performance or otherwise, is to really love what we do. The eminent piano pedagogue Maria Curcio recalled that her teacher, Artur Schnabel, once told her that in art, there is no such thing as a compromise. This is a statement that resonates with me on most levels (notice I say most, not all), because I have always maintained that the best people are those who can maintain a sense of balance and perspective in their life (which is not often easy when you are a child or a teenager, as there is a tendency to be impatient wanting to live for the moment).

It is the lack of social distraction, coupled with the ever-rapid ability to grasp the basic, along with many hours of discipline, that propels a musically talented child into the status of a prodigy. Universally admired by their peers, lauded by parents and immortalised by social media, the prodigy is much like a meteor or a ‘shooting star’, incandescence on their journey and leaving behind a streak of light in their quest for world recognition. Unfortunately, meteors also have the tendency to fall back down to earth: with every advancing year, the musical prodigy relinquishes a certain amount of his/hers prodigious status. I would argue that it is the technical ability – much more than the interpretive vision – that is the contributing factor behind the prodigy’s success (a certain Wow factor such as: ‘Did you see that six-year-old with such tiny hands play the Hammerklavier Sonata?’). And when a musical prodigy reaches the awkward age of the late teens and early twenties, no longer will he/she be judged on their technical prowess (which is now taken for granted) but their artistic vision. I use the term ‘awkward’ because this is the alleged stage when a musician ‘comes of age’ (which is absolutely nonsense in my not so humble opinion because studying music is a lifetime of work, and every artist matures at a different age). This, along with the human propensity to always be looking for the next best thing, meant that the prodigy has a life-span akin to that of a sportsman, although the former probably doesn’t earn as much. Conversely, I would imagine that if a child is used to performing in front of a packed house, as well as to an audience who is easily wowed by the performer’s technical prowess, he or she will probably find it very difficult to settle for anything less later on in life. These are some of the contributing factors towards why many musical prodigies have not catapulted themselves onto a successful musical career despite their remarkable promise.

It is the teacher’s job to see the best in our student, and with that, help them to realise their potential. In our line of work, we often work very closely with the parents of our students, and this has both its advantages and disadvantages. Unfortunately for us, we also live in a results-driven culture where marks and validation on a piece of paper counts more than anything else, and this is especially evident in some of the more driven, first-world countries in the East. In such cultures, it is not unusual for the parents to have Tiger-like tendencies: imagine being part of a lifestyle similar to that of a fast-moving train, in a society where every parent will do anything (within reasons and financial means) to hurl their own children on board in the fear that they will either come second or miss out. In these societies, it must be very difficult not to get caught up with what everyone else is doing. Even if there are parents who feel that being part of such a competitive environment is not entirely suitable for their children, are they willing to jeopardise their child’s future by not participating? The question becomes infinitely more complicated when the child exhibits potential or show glimpses of ability to attain – and in some cases exceed – the standard set by his/hers teachers and peers. Realistically, how many parents have the financial means as well as the mind-set to even consider the possibility of emigration and starting life in a different country?

While we are on the subject of achievement, it is my humble opinion that parents have every right to feel proud when their child produces a brilliant musical performance, and the same can be said for us teachers. Let’s not be coy for a second here, there is always a tremendous sense of satisfaction and reward when one of our students perform well in either an exam, festival or competition (and sometimes all three!). As a teenager, I recall attending my sister’s ABRSM High Scorer’s Concert (which took place in the RAM’s Duke’s Hall) and said to myself, ‘It must be such an honour for any teacher and their student to take part in these occasions.’ Such feelings became reality a few years ago when one of my Grade 8 piano student was invited to perform in such a concert here in Cape Town. However, I have also seen the CV of several high-profile piano teachers (this is much more apparent in the East, where piano playing is seen as an achievement rather than an artistic expression), who littered their website with names of prize-winners whom they have taught or worked with (the irony here is that most, if not all of these competitions are relatively unknown, or perhaps I am just not that knowledgeable when it comes to competitions). While the business part of me understands such a marketing ploy, the cynical side of me seems to have other reservations. Afterall, I have always believed that the greatest teachers are those who let their students do the talking, or playing, in this case.

In the perfect world, no piano teacher would have to sit through their student’s mediocre performance, nor should we have to deal with tears and disappointment when exam marks and competition juries don’t see eye to eye with our candidate. One of the hardest thing for any teacher to endure is to allow our student to make their own mistake knowing full well this is the only way they will learn their lesson. I will never forget teaching a very talented student who, despite her tremendous musical temperament and ability, didn’t quite have the patience or mindset to practise slowly (for this student it is the case of ‘playing through’ a piece of music hoping that it will eventually come right). In spite my best efforts in trying to reason, encourage, and motivate her to be more disciplined in her practising, she was adamant that things will continue as they were. Afterall, why should anything change? She has gotten to where she is by doing what comes naturally to her (the superstitious side of me tells me that this is karma at its bitchiest best, the perfect payback for all those times in the past when I did not listen to my piano teachers). Heartless though it may seem, I eventually realised that the only way forward is to let her play the exam on her own terms, and this lead to the following afterwards: ‘Dr Low, I am so sorry… I fu(k3d up so badly…I have let you down…’ followed by loud sobs (for those interested, this student actually ended up passing her exam, despite the assumption that she ‘fu(k3d up’ her own performance). This incident made me realise one thing: if allowing your student to play out her own mistake isn’t heartbreakingly enough, it must be (at least) twenty times worse for a parent to let their child do the same (I can say with a degree of certainty that no parents want to see their children hurt, physically or emotionally). Unfortunately such is life that sometimes the only way for a child to grow is for them to make their own mistake, and this is in spite of their parent’s best intervention – conversely, interventions can sometimes end up pushing the child further away from their parents. It is not often easy to develop a sense of objectivity when we work closely with our student. However, I strongly believe that not every single piano teacher is completely responsible for how their student performs, just as not every parent is entirely liable for the adult their children become.

Parenting is perhaps the hardest job in the world. Children are conceived not only for the purpose of genetic immortality, but also to provide an opportunity for a parent to play the all-important role in shaping an infant’s life. I have often heard the following numerous times: ‘Michael, I don’t want my son to give up the piano because it was a decision that I regret taking when I was his age.’ To which I answer: ‘It is never too late for you to start having lessons again.’ Interesting that this is often followed by: ‘I just want him (the child) to be able to sit down and play!’ As teachers and musicians, all of us recognise that ‘to be able to sit down and play’ is far from straightforward, as it requires not only many hours of practising, but also a considerable amount of performing experience. Imagine just ‘chilling out’ playing the Rachmaninoff D minor Piano Concerto or Bach’s Goldberg Variations! I will never forget almost incurring the wrath of one of my piano teachers when I asked him to perform Beethoven’s ‘Waldstein’ Sonata during one of our lessons! (I did ask nicely just in case any of you guys are wondering!) It is my humble opinion that no parent raises their children with the intention of deliberately messing them up (psychologically or otherwise). Parents will always make the decisions based on what they know best when a situation arises, but unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you see things), hindsight is such a beautiful thing and will always have the last word. I do not believe that there is a right or a wrong way to bring up a child; parents are human beings after all, and no matter which approach a parent decides to take, whether it is the Tiger Mother/Dragon Father combination, or the converse, Mother Hen/Father Owl mindset, somewhere down the line, mistakes will occur, and the child will be better or worse off because of that. No self-respecting parent raises their children hoping that they will become billionaire owners of football clubs, along with their corrupt Russian Oligarch associates. Nor do any parents wish their kids to turn into some sort of pathological animal lovers who give candy bars to golden retriever pups. I can say (with a degree of confidence) that every parents raises their children in the hope that they will one day become courageous, compassionate, intelligent and respectable human beings; to be able see the beauty in this cold and (at times) objective world that we live in, to love another whole-heartedly, to live a life of integrity and perhaps, just perhaps, also be able to find the extraordinary in our ordinary life. Similarly, a piano teacher should not harbour the unrealistic expectation in hoping that our student will be the next celebrity performer akin to Khatia Buniatishvilli, Lang Lang, Ivo Pogorelich or Wang Yuja. We teach piano and because we want to convey the passion and love of music to our students, and in learning a musical instrument, a student will hopefully be able to grasp a set of important life skills and ethics such as discipline, integrity, honesty, hard work and communication. At the end of the day, if any of my students can apply to their life what they have learnt from their piano lessons, then I will be quite content.

As a teenager, Michael studied piano under the guidance of Richard Frostick before enrolling in London’s prestigious Centre for Young Musicians, where he studied composition with the English composer Julian Grant, and piano with the internationally acclaimed pedagogue Graham Fitch. During his studies at Surrey University in England, Michael made his debut playing Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto in the 1999 Guildford International Music Festival, before graduating with Honours under the tutelage of Clive Williamson. In 2000, Michael obtained his Masters in Music (also from Surrey University), specialising in music criticism, studio production and solo performance under Nils Franke. An international scholarship brought Michael to the University of Cape Town, where he resumed his studies with Graham Fitch. During this time, Michael was invited to perform Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto for The Penang Governer’s Birthday Celebration Gala Concert. In 2009, Michael obtained his Doctorate in Music from the University of Cape Town under the supervision of South Africa’s greatest living composer, Hendrik Hofmeyr. His thesis set out to explore the Influence of Romanticism on the Evolution of Liszt’s Transcendental Etudes.Michael has also worked with numerous eminent teachers and pianists, including Nina Svetlanova, Niel Immelman, Frank Heneghan, James Gibb, Phillip Fowke, Renna Kellaway, Carolina Oltsmann, Florian Uhlig, Gordon Fergus Thompson, Francois du Toit and Helena van Heerden.

Michael currently holds teaching positions in two of Cape Town’s exclusive education centres: Western Province Preparatory School and Herschel School for Girls. He is very much sought after as a passionate educator of young children.

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