Guest post by Ingridon the experience of studying with Dr Michael Low
Like many musicians, my journey started thanks to a fabulous piece I heard one day (and for sure so many more, but it has been a while so I can’t quite tell) that moved my heart and soul so deeply that I started daydreaming about it and about being able to do that same thing with the piano. I was maybe 10 or 13, but it took a while until I finally got to convince my parents to allow me to start learning the piano.
This led me to begin music lessons at the National Conservatoire here in Guatemala, and, as all music schools based on tradition, the curriculum included not only piano per se, but also Solfege, History, Tonal Harmony, and other subjects that are intended to nurture (and they actually do) your musical understanding and therefore your musical interpretation. A couple of years later I decided to pursue a music degree at university, and I obtained a Teacher’s Diploma in Music and a bachelor’s degree in music composition.
All of this gave me the tools to finally “play the piano”, which we normally say when we hear someone “play” that instrument. But little did I know that there is a huge dimension behind the mere study of any artistic discipline, that is sometimes overlooked and underestimated – that is, the Human Dimension, with all its intricacies and complexities.
And why is it overlooked? Well, maybe because we usually assume that as artists (musicians, painters, writers…) that dimension is an obvious part of us, and even if that is true, no one ever prepares us for the setbacks and negative experiences that are inevitably part of the journey. As musicians we may suffer from stage fright, we may face abusive/authoritarian teachers, we may be immersed in a toxic competitive environment, we may be the target of intended mean critics, and none of that has to do with the subjects that we learn in during our studies, and that prepare us to become professional musicians – but it has a lot to do with who we are as human beings and how we practice our art.
These setbacks may lead us to reconsider our career path and that maybe we need a change. Some of us may decide to make a radical change, some of us may decide to make a small change. But all of this raises the question of how we can thrive when facing such difficult challenges.
I started searching for answers and began to read blogs where other musicians shared their own experiences in similar situations; blogs where teachers shared their thoughts on how to build a healthy technique and learning environment; blogs where authors shared their thoughts on creativity and how to foster it in your own practice; blogs that shared research based tips to better manage performance anxiety; and I found great resources in authors like Noa Kageyama, Forrest Kinney, William Westney, Graham Fitch, Penelope Roskell, Frances Wilson (The Cross-Eyed Pianist), Rhonda Rizzo, Zsolt Bognár and Michael Low.
In one of those blogs, I was particularly struck by an article that Dr. Michael Low shared where he talked about his own journey with the piano, performance anxiety and the tradition in music education. It really resonated with me, so I started following his work closely.
At some point we also started sharing our musical impressions through social media and video chat. I shared with him that I was re-studying the Brahms’ Intermezzo in A, op. 118 no. 2, and sent him a recording I made of the piece. I remember he gave me some observations about it and his enthusiasm to work on it musically. I am not exaggerating when I say that this experience has been life changing.
I have to say I’d never had the chance to really discover and experiment with that (or any other) piece, nor I have had the chance to “think outside the box” musically speaking, because you are normally taught that there are “rules” that you must respect as interpreter, and sometimes even “fear”. There is nothing wrong with rules, but as an artist you can always trust your own criteria to use them; however, only an open-minded teacher and artist can help you discover that, and one of them is Dr. Michael Low.
It amazes me how spontaneously Dr. Low fosters that safe environment for experimentation, and how through funny examples and direct questions he challenges your own beliefs: be it about the piece or the composer or your own playing, always in a very kind and respectful manner, going beyond the surface and helping you to start thinking more as an artist than just a “piano player”. And the best part is that there are plenty of Eureka! moments, when you discover all the possibilities you have in your own hands, under his guidance.
And even if I have been in piano lessons before, there has always been a rush and a pressure to play a particular piece “perfectly”, not giving any space to really discover it (besides the obvious aspects of technique and analysis that are intrinsic to the music study), and to find one’s own voice as a musician and, most importantly, as artist. When there is too much noise outside, we get distracted from what we must look for on the inside.
After working all this time with Dr. Low and sharing interesting discussions about music, while also applying and following all of his very insightful advice in my own practice (both as teacher and as pianist), I have come to various conclusions that make me think about how we can thrive.
There is not just one answer, nor a right or wrong one, but there are some general thoughts that are worth always keeping in mind:
Music is a lifelong learning career/experience where one of our biggest enemies is the obsession with perfection
Kindness, in every aspect: with ourselves and with others, is a life changer as it creates wonders
Patience with our own artistic growth, as no path is the same as other and there is no one-size-fits-all solution for such big endeavor
As Vincent van Gogh wrote to his brother Théo, in a letter from May 1882, with relation to the meaning of being an artist:
“(…) Those words naturally imply always seeking without ever fully finding. It’s the exact opposite of saying ‘I know it already; I’ve already found it’. To the best of my knowledge, those words mean ‘I seek, I pursue, my heart is in it’.”
This article is translated from the original Spanish, which you can read here:
Dr Michael Low is a pianist and teacher based in South Africa. If this article has piqued your interest in his work, why not come along to a masterclass at Coach House Pianos London showroom on Saturday 1 June to observe Dr Low teaching advanced amateur pianists in a variety of repertoire. The event is hosted by Frances Wilson AKA The Cross-Eyed Pianist.
‘Music, Painting, Landscape, and Me’ by Marc Yeats
Publication date 1st April 2024
In this book, composer and landscape painter Marc Yeats embarks on an introspective journey, weaving together the symbolic realms of music and painting through the written word. This endeavour expands upon the immediacy of engagement with his compositions and paintings and what these artworks tell us, offering further understanding and dialogue concerning their interrelation. Yeats’s transformation of his inquiries and insights into text emerges from a conviction that the foundational questions—the ‘whys’ and ‘hows’ of being an artist and his creative exploration—resonate far beyond the confines of his personal experience, reaching out to a wider community of artists and those intrigued by the mechanisms of artistic expression.
I have known Marc Yeats for some years now. We met ‘virtually’, initially, as is often the way these days, via Facebook and TwitterX, and then in real life when I moved to Dorset in 2018. We have become good friends and enjoy many stimulating conversations about creativity – and so much more! (I also own one of Marc’s wonderful landscape paintings.) For a flavour of our conversations, do watch this video
I was very flattered when Marc asked me to endorse his book
Music, Painting, Landscape and Me is a fascinating, detailed and honest journey into the endlessly curious, questioning and polymathic mind of landscape artist and composer Marc Yeats. Drawing on a diverse range of subjects – including quantum mechanics, metaphysics, philosophy, fuzzy logic, neuroscience and hermeneutics – this book offers the reader an extraordinary personal insight into the complex mechanisms of making art and music, and Yeats’ own intent, impulse, imagination and inspiration. Furthermore, it shines an important light on the ‘how and why’, not only of Yeats’ artistic practice, but that of creative individuals in general, and is an invaluable contribution to the understanding of the creative impulse and ‘what artists do all day’.
Non par je ne sais quelle prétention ou folie, mais plutôt par nécessité.
Quand on écoutait l’un de ses très nombreux enregistrements, quand on sortait de l’un de ses concerts.
Lorsqu’adolescent, on se préparait à une vie de musicien et que l’on écoutait Pollini jouer, une force, une énergie vitale prométhéenne – beethovenienne – s’emparait de chacun d’entre nous. Passée la sidération, voire l’incrédulité devant ce qu’il venait d’accomplir sur scène, c’est un sentiment volontariste qui s’emparait de nous. Pour ma part j’allais immédiatement travailler, lire de la musique, éberlué par les programmes que Pollini proposait au «grand public».
Quand on écoutait Gilels ou Richter on était renversé, quand on écoutait Radu (Lupu) on pleurait à chaudes larmes devant sa poésie désarmante et Brendel, avant qu’il ne renonce à se produire en public nous livrait les secrets de la beauté pure des classiques viennois comme on solutionne un rébus mystérieux.
Mais quand Pollini venait de jouer… on voulait être Pollini … Quand je l’entendis jouer la Hammerklavier je voulais immédiatement la travailler. Peu importait qu’elle fut inaccessible … j’ai fini par en faire 3 enregistrements et la jouer plus d’une centaine de fois … On voulait être Pollini!!!
Un soir à Pleyel en 1981 c’est le premier concerto de Bartok avec Baremboim à la baguette. « J’oblige »mes parents à braver les embouteillages de l’autoroute A13 et m’y emmener alors que mon père n’écoutait que du Chopin et du Rachmaninoff !! J’avais 11 ans…
Quelque temps plus tard, j’achète mon premier CD: Pollini justement dans les deux premiers concertos de Bartok avec son complice de toujours Claudio Abbado. Dès lors je n’eus de cesse que de jouer ces concertos et c’est ce qui arriva bien plus tard!
C’était cela la magie « Pollini » : il donnait envie de se surpasser; d’aller au-delà de ses capacités réelles, au-delà du répertoire conventionnel! Car ses programmes étaient, pour notre génération, une source d’inspiration EN SOI.
En 2004 je suis invité à jouer avec l’Orchestre de Paris au festival Musica de Strasbourg sous la direction d’Alexander Briger. Il s’agit du mal-aimé concerto de Schoenberg – mais que moi j’adore depuis que j’ai entendu le disque de Pollini – et que je cherche une occasion de jouer. Vient la question du complément car le concerto est court (et foudroyant!)je suggère la grande pièce de Luigi Nono «Come Una ola do fuerza y luz» avec piano principal. Frank Madlener le directeur artistique du festival me dit que Pollini a joué l’œuvre à Paris sous la direction d’Abbado en 1975 avec le concerto de Schoenberg !!!! Je voulais être Pollini, encore une fois!
Quand il interpréta le 25 janvier 2009 à la Salle Pleyel la deuxième sonate de Boulez, comme s’il s’agissait d’une ultime sonate de Beethoven récemment retrouvée dans une bibliothèque d’une obscure université, après la tempête et l’Appassionata, le public pourtant réputé conservateur à l’époque, salle Pleyel – et qui quittait souvent la salle après l’entracte si quelques dissonances apparaissaient dans les œuvres proposées, est resté silencieux quelques secondes – une éternité! – après que le Géant ait joué par cœur sans la moitié d’un quart de huitième d’erreur ce monument INATTEIGNABLE pour la plupart d’entre nous. Puis ce fut l’explosion jubilatoire, incontrôlable, libératrice des applaudissements avec douze rappels à la clé pour Boulez le compositeur-présent ce soir-là- et son interprète venu d’un autre monde. Les mots pour qualifier ce à quoi on venait d’assister oscillaient entre « que c’est beau » tout simplement, à « comment est-ce possible », « cela dépasse tout ce qu’on peut imaginer » et qu’on ne se méprenne pas: ce n’était pas juste la « performance ». Et ce n’était pas la « beauté » de la musique comme on l’entend habituellement – d’ailleurs ce chef d’œuvre organise presque le CHAOS de la beauté Traditionnelle et la PULVÉRISE. NON, ce qui était beau c’était POLLINI qui domptait le chaos, qui surpasse l’humain : Sur(passe)humain. Le sentiment d’assister à quelque chose qui nous dépasse, du domaine de la transcendance.
On me demandait il y a quelques heures quel disque de Pollini était le plus cher à mon cœur. Ce choix est tout simplement impossible pour moi (ce qui est rarissime !). Chacun de ses disques est immédiatement devenu une référence quel que soit le répertoire abordé! Je ne connais pas de disque de Pollini que je rejetterais.
Et c’est là qu’on réalise l’envergure de ce Seigneur. Son ambitus de répertoire laisse pantois, tout simplement. Comment choisir entre ses préludes de Chopin, la sonate en fa dièse de Schumann- qui n’a pas en tête l’entrée hautaine de l’introduction du premier mouvement, , subtilement, provoquant un choc émotionnel originel qui ne nous quittera pas de toute la sonate – ou alors la fantaisie de Schumann ou celle de Chopin(!), les sonates de Beethoven : les dernières? La Waldstein qu’il jouait comme personne à en donner le tournis? Les concertos? l’Empereur où il régnait en maître ? Ou bien les premiers avec Jochum, pétillant comme du Prosecco ? les Brahms ? Mais alors le 1er avec Karl Böhm (pas de second car Böhm décède), ou alors ceux avec Abbado? En live ou en studio? Petrouchka, la septième de Prokofiev ? Les œuvre solo des trois viennois? Ou le concerto du plus célèbre d’entre eux, Schoenberg ? Le 488 de Mozart avec Böhm encore?
À chaque parution que nous guettions (combien de discussions avec Nicholas Angelich!), c’était l’excitation maximale ! « Alors, les dernières sonates de Schubert? Sa Wanderer était tellement olympienne »….. ah oui, il jouait Schubert…aussi … et la sonate de Liszt ! Je viens d’écouter une Totentanz en concert. Je ne me souvenais pas qu’il ait jamais joué cette œuvre ! Époustouflant ! Et les polonaises de Chopin tout comme la première ballade qu’il jouait si souvent en Bis ! Et les études ! Au cinquième bis après la ballade, l’opus 90 entière et le premier opus 11 de Schoenberg, on attendait tous l’étude opus 25/11 de Chopin pour clôturer un nouvel événement musical qui allait nous tenir éveillés des jours entiers comme dopés à l’énergie Pollinienne!
Et, quelquefois, le Sur-homme, Übermensch, était tendu presque crispé devant le clavier, comme conscient de l’énormité de la tâche à accomplir, mais une conscience de sur- homme! Il plaçait tellement haut la barre de son exigence et celle de la musique qu’il interprétait, qu’il y avait curieusement des soirs difficiles où l’on s’accrochait à notre siège espérant qu’il « tienne le coup » comme dans ce deuxième concerto de Chopin avec Barenboim et l’Orchestre de Paris il y a si longtemps… et que j’avais piraté avec un Walkman !!! C’était cette fragilité momentanée qui le rendait humain et qui parlait à notre for intérieur, pétri d’angoisses de toutes sortes, de doutes, de folles espérances, à la veille d’embrasser la carrière de musicien.
Pour toutes ces raisons et mille autres encore, pour son incarnation musicale, son insatiable soif de défis, de découvertes, d’avant-garde, on voulait être Pollini !
Adieu au Géant, adieu au Maître, adieu au Seigneur du clavier.
Translation:
Yes. We wanted to be Pollini.
Not because of I don’t know what pretense or folly, but rather because of necessity.
When we listened to one of his many recordings, when we left one of his concerts. As teenagers, we were preparing for the life of a musician and listening to Pollini play, a strength, a Promethian – Beethovenian – vital energy seized from each of us. After the seduction, seeing the disbelief of what he had just accomplished on stage, it was a voluntary feeling that was overwhelming us.
For me, I immediately went to work, read music, amazed by the programmes Pollini proposed to the general public.
When we listened to Gilels or Richter we were knocked down, when we listened to Radu (Lupu) we cried hot tears in front of his disarming poetry and Brendel, before he gave up performing in public, delivered the secrets of the pure beauty of Viennese classics like solving a mysterious puzzle.
But when Pollini came to play… we wanted to be Pollini… When I heard him play the Hammerklavier I immediately wanted to work on it. Never mind that it was inaccessible… I ended up recording it three times and played it over a hundred times… We wanted to be Pollini!!!
One evening in the Salle Pleyel in 1981 – Bartok’s first concerto with Baremboim conducting. “Forcing” my parents to brave the A13 traffic and take me there when my dad only listened to Chopin and Rachmaninoff!! I was 11 years old…
Some time later, I buy my first CD: Pollini in the first two concertos of Bartok with his constant accomplice Claudio Abbado. From then on I never stopped playing these concertos, and that’s what happened much later!
This was the “Pollini” magic: he wanted to exceed himself; to go beyond his real abilities, beyond the conventional repertoire! Because his programmes were, for our generation, an inspiration IN ITSELF.
In 2004 I was invited to play with the Orchestre de Paris at the Musica de Strasbourg festival under the direction of Alexander Briger. It’s Schoenberg’s much-loved concerto – I’ve loved it since I heard Pollini’s CD – and I’m looking for a chance to play it. The question of the pieces to complement the programme comes up because the concerto is short (and lightning!). I suggest Luigi Nono’s great piece “Come Una ola do fuerza y luz” with principal piano. Frank Madlener, artistic director of the festival, tells me that Pollini played the work in Paris under Abbado’s direction in 1975 with the Schoenberg concerto!!!! I wanted to be Pollini, again!
When he performed Boulez’s second sonata on January 25, 2009 at the Salle Pleyel, as if it were a final sonata by Beethoven recently found in a library of an obscure university, after the storm and the Appassionata, the audience, although considered conservative at the time – and who often left after the intermission if some dissonance appeared in the works performed – remained silent for a few seconds – an eternity! – after the Giant had played the Boulez from memory without half a quarter of an eighth of an error, this monument UNATTAINABLE for most of us. Then there was the jubilant, uncontrollable, liberating explosion of applause with twelve encores for Boulez, the composer – present that evening – and his interpreter from another world. The words to describe what we had just witnessed oscillated between “how beautiful it is” quite simply, to “how is this possible?”, “this goes beyond anything we can imagine”, and, make no mistake, it wasn’t just the “performance”. And it was not the “beauty” of music, as we usually hear it – in fact this masterpiece almost organizes the CHAOS of traditional beauty and PULVERIZES it. NO, what was beautiful was POLLINI who tamed chaos, who surpasses the human, sur(passes)human. The feeling of witnessing something beyond us, in the realm of transcendence.
I was asked a few hours ago which Pollini album was dearest to my heart. This choice is simply impossible for me (which is rare!) ). Each one of his albums immediately became a reference no matter what the repertoire presented! I don’t know of a Pollini album I would turn down.
And that’s when we realize the magnitude of this Lord. His breadth of repertoire simply leaves you speechless. How to choose between Chopin’s preludes, Schumann’s sonata in f minor – which does not have in mind the haughty entry of the introduction to the first movement, subtly, provoking an original emotional shock which will not leave us throughout the entire sonata – or Schumann’s fantasy or Chopin’s, Beethoven late Sonatas? The Waldstein that he played like a dizzy person? The concertos? The ‘Emperor’, where he reigned as a master? Or the first ones with Jochum, sparkling like Prosecco? Brahms? But then the first one with Karl Böhm (no second because Böhm dies), or the ones with Abbado? Live or Studio? Petrouchka, Prokofiev’s seventh? Solo work of the three Viennese? Or the concerto of the most famous of them all, Schoenberg? Mozart’s K488 with Böhm again…
With each release (so many chats with Nicholas Angelich!), it was maximum excitement! “So, Schubert’s last sonatas?”. “His Wanderer was so Olympian”… Ah yes, Schubert again…. and the Liszt sonata! Just heard Totentanz live. I don’t remember him ever playing this piece! Breathtaking! And Chopin’s polonaises, just like the first Ballade he played so often in encore! And the etudes! At the fifth encore after the Ballade, the whole Opus 90 and Schoenberg’s first opus 11, we were all waiting for Chopin’s opus 25/11 study to close a new musical event that would keep us awake all day as if we were drugged with Pollinian energy!
And, sometimes, the Superman, Übermensch, was tense in front of the keyboard, as if aware of the enormity of the task to be accomplished, but with a consciousness of superman! He set the bar so high for himself and that of the music he played, that there were curiously difficult evenings when we clung to our seat hoping he would “hold on”, like in the second Chopin concerto with Barenboim and the Orchestre de Paris so long ago … and I pirated it with a Walkman!!! It was this momentary fragility that made him human, and spoke to our inner strength, filled with all kinds of anguish, doubts, crazy hopes, on the eve of embracing the career of a musician.
For all these reasons and a thousand more, for his musical incarnation, his insatiable thirst for challenges, discoveries, the avant-garde, we wanted to be Pollini!
Farewell to the Giant, farewell to the Master, farewell to the Lord of the keyboard. Maurizio Pollini
This tribute first appeared on Facebook. Thank you to François-Frédéric for allowing me to reproduce it here
The Royal School of Church Music (RSCM) marks the centenary of Charles Villiers Stanford’s death with a series of special events
Charles Villiers Stanford, one of the great choral composers of the late 19th/early 20th century, died on 29 March 1924. As executors of the Stanford estate, the RSCM publishes a vast range of Stanford’s music, available from RSCM Music Direct. To mark the centenary of Stanford’s death, the RSCM is planning a number of special events.
An exclusive singing weekend in Stanford’s honour, to be held 12–14 July at Queens’ College Cambridge, where he was organ scholar. This is a unique opportunity to sing some of Stanford’s best known (and lesser known) works in glorious Cambridge surroundings, including Trinity College Chapel (where Stanford was organist) and Great St Mary’s Church. This course will particularly focus on the wonderful inheritance of Anglican Choral music, with RSCM Director Hugh Morris as conductor.
The RSCM holds a number of Stanford manuscripts, and there will be an exclusive session for members of the course to view them, along with an informative lecture on the life and works of the composer given by Stanford expert Jeremy Dibble (University of Durham) on the Saturday evening. On the Friday evening there will be a special, illustrated organ recital featuring Stanford organ works, given by Anthony Gritten.
There will also be meals to share social time together, as well as time to explore the delights of Cambridge in summer.
The course is suitable for experienced, adult (18+) choral singers working at or above RSCM Silver Award level or equivalent (which expects a reasonable level of music reading and independence as a singer); and places may be limited in some voice parts to ensure a balanced choir. Interactive learning resources will be available through the RSCM Choral Coach app, and a full set of music in a commemorative presentation folder will be available to all participants.
Illustrated organ recital by Anthon Gritten, Queens’ College chapel, Friday 12 July, 7.30pm
This illustrated recital will span Stanford’s entire compositional life, from an early work of c.1875 through to his final works of the 1920s. At the centre of the recital is one of his large-scale masterpieces for organ, the Sonata no. 4 in C minor ‘Celtica’ op. 153, written at the end of the First World War. In addition to complete performances of these five pieces, the event will discuss aspects of Stanford’s compositional language, including his use of hymn tunes, the impact of his Irish heritage, the shape of his sonata thinking, and the influence of other composers on his music.
Lecture with Jeremy Dibble, Queens’ College, Saturday 13 July, 7.30pm
Charles Villiers Stanford is justifiably renowned for his brilliantly original church music, but he is perhaps less well known for the extraordinary range of other work he composed across his highly creative life. This lecture will explore some of that repertoire, including extracts from his operas, symphonies, choral works, songs and partsongs, to offer a fresh appreciation of his unrivalled composition for the Anglican liturgy.
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