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Guest post by Jill Timmons, DMA

A number of years ago, my editor at the Oregon Musician* asked me to write on the topic of invisible work as it relates to performance and teaching. The dog days of summer were winding down and concert season was about to unfold. Students and teachers were returning to their academic schedules, and as my editor suggested, it might be a timely topic to explore how invisible work undergirds our careers as artists and educators.

I found myself pondering for days this notion of invisible work as it relates to the creative process. What is central to the lives of artists and teachers can be elusive in terms of a precise definition. Here in the distant outpost of the music industry, artists and educators devote vast amounts of time to their craft, a large portion of which often goes unrecognized. It’s a little like an iceberg. The visible part might be our public performances, reviews, recordings, publications, workshops, residencies, and the list goes on. As an educator, one’s professional persona can include students in recitals, auditions, competitions, master classes, service to the profession, and so forth. These are the public events, the actions we take that others see, and those tangible results that are evident. But this all hints at something deeper. Like all icebergs, the bulk of the structure lies hidden beneath the surface. For musicians, this is at the heart of our invisible but essential work. It contains our long-term commitment to study, to practice, and to the formal education that often begins in childhood. It requires a sustained and passionate devotion to the art. There are countless hours of practice, lessons, master classes, years of higher education, mentors, finding the right teacher, and a search for that cadre of like-minded folks pursuing their own pilgrimage into music. It’s all invisible work.

As artists and educators, we know experientially about this unseen and often solitary work. I am not writing about anything that is a mystery or an unknown. On the other hand, what is mysterious is how we convey this understanding and application of invisible work to our students and our audiences. Without the invisible work, there is no true encounter with music let alone a career. In an age when a student might win a contest with the same four pieces they have played for years, or when loud and fast is modelled by performances that feature theatrics and histrionics as new realms of performance practice, it is little wonder that our young people today may be short on time in the “invisible world.”

Invisible work has its own demands: blocks of uninterrupted time, a quiet space, self-reflection, study (not just drilling the notes!), scholarship, and countless hours alone with your instrument. You become the measure of your work and your mastery of the music, and it is you that know in that private way the struggles, the triumphs, and the arduous trek to fluency. This is why great teachers are the ones who offer a language and wisdom about the nature and necessity of invisible work. Without it, there is no artistry.

As teachers, we can validate and encourage the invisible work of our students. From our experience, we can offer a road map for this temporal and elusive terrain, confirming the power and necessity of this work. In our culture of instant gratification and unrelenting distraction, we can serve as a guide to our students into that private world of exploration, study, preparation, and mastery. If they are lucky, our students will encounter not only great musical works but also themselves. As teachers this is our invisible work.

From my vantage point, the biggest impediment facing artists, regardless of age, is the quantitative approach to life. It’s that insatiable appetite for more. For our young students it can take the form of more after-school activities, more extracurricular pursuits, more awards, ribbons, contests, trophies, you name it. Pile it up for that résumé. And I am not speaking of just young people. For professionals in the field, it can be an unquenchable thirst for more concerts, residencies, workshops, students, publications, degrees, accolades, piled higher and deeper. But more is not an indication of quality – it’s just an amount. Quality, conversely, is the result of invisible work, and invisible work requires time. Think of Einstein’s theory of relativity. As an unknown patent clerk, he laboured over that construct for years. There was nothing remarkable on the surface. But underneath was a reservoir of imagination, original thought, brilliance, courage, and invisible work. Einstein forever changed our notion of the universe.

Not all students, however, subscribe to Einstein’s model of how essential invisible work is to mastery and original thought. For those students who believe that volume is equated with excellence, a word of caution. The music profession has its own rules. The world of artistry and the gateway into the profession requires, first and foremost, quality. Only the depth of your artistry, and your integrity and wisdom in service to the music will sustain a career. It takes years to have entrance into this world and the price of admission is invisible work.

Years ago, I encountered a wildly talented student who could sightread just about anything in the advanced piano repertoire. And with a little practice, she could cobble together something approaching performance level. She had an extraordinary gift. For her, however, music was all about the tip of the iceberg – being on stage, tearing through “big pieces,” dazzling the audience, and so forth. It was a challenge to convey to her that without that invisible work of practice hours, lessons, going to a deeper level with her music, and cleaning up the technical fluffs, she would not reap that true reward – a deep and informed connection to composers and their music. It was many years into her professional training before she grasped in an experiential way the power of developing her invisible work.

Over the course of my life, I have been drawn to invisible work. It’s my joy and my passion. And while I relish the tip of the iceberg from time to time, it is the private labour that gives me the greatest reward and exhilaration. I continue to search for ways to convey this rich experience to my students. In addition to “iceberg,” there are a lot of “i” words connected with invisible work: intrinsic, illusive, interesting, illustrative, intuitive, integral, intriguing, illuminating, independent, to mention a few. These might be useful words to weave into our teaching as we enlighten our students and audiences about the power and impact of invisible work. Now that Fall is nearly upon us and as we return to our performance and teaching schedules, invisible work can continue to serve as the underpinning of our efforts. It’s a great time to reflect on what that means for each of us.

*Online scholarly journal for the Oregon Music Teachers Association—MTNA). Excerpts reprinted from Jill Timmons with permission from the Oregon Musician © 2016.

**For more information and an in-depth narrative, see my recent publication, The Musician’s Journey, Second Edition (Oxford University Press, 2023). https://global.oup.com/academic/product/the-musicians-journey-second-edition-9780197578520

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This new release from composer, sound artist and pianist Helen Anahita Wilson is a 45-minute soundscape created by taking unique, natural bioelectricity readings from plants in the oncology section of the Chelsea Physic Garden, London. These plant signals were then converted into musical data.

Helen says, “Each of the 28 plant recordings express their own special patterns of pitch and rhythm: the petal recordings are very active with a variety of different notes and rhythms whilst the branch and trunk recordings are slow moving, with drone-like textures.

Once the bioelectricity recordings were converted into separate musical data tracks, I assigned an instrument to each of these 28 parts. For example, the petals of the Madagascan Periwinkle (Catharanthus roseus – pink form) are played by the harp and the bark of the English Yew tree (Taxus baccata) is played by the viola. The birdsong and rainstorm are field recordings triggered by signals from a small Sisal (Agave sisalana) and an Opium poppy (Papaver somniferum), respectively.

I combined these instrumental lines and applied compositional processes of editing and development to create a unique piece of plant-derived music.

At times, such as the opening minute of the piece, all the plant recordings are sounded together as an ensemble. At other points in the piece, particular plants take the role of a soloist with just a couple of plants accompanying quietly in the background.”

This beautiful, atmospheric, calming and ambient music can be enjoyed by anyone, but the piece is dedicated to people undergoing treatment for cancer, and was inspired by Helen’s own challenging but ultimately successful experience of cancer treatment, including chemotherapy. Many chemotherapy and other anti-cancer treatments are derived from plants: exactly the same plants recorded in this piece of music.

“Linea naturalis offers a means for people to connect back to nature whilst receiving treatment in the sterile, unnatural environment of a hospital or cancer centre. This music aims to demystify cancer treatment through highlighting the natural derivation of many drugs.” (Helen Anahita Wilson)

Linea naturalis is available to download via Bandcamp. All proceeds from this music will go to Maggie’s, a charity offering care and support to people with cancer across the UK.

Do listen and share.

Hear Helen talking about the project on BBC Radio 4’s Today programme (from c2:51)

Helen Anahita Wilson

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ONWARD WE GO

Music by Thomas Hewitt Jones set to words by Canon Gordon Giles

The Children’s choir of St Stephen’s, Dulwich

Caroline Lenton-Ward, conductor, with Oliver Lallemant (piano), Jill Valentine (viola), Jernej Albreht (clarinet), Joe Downard (bass guitar) and Simon Hewitt Jones (violin)

Release date: 2 November

Label: Vivum Music Ltd

The Children’s choir of St Stephen’s, Dulwich conducted by Caroline Lenton-Ward, sing this new nativity carol by Thomas Hewitt Jones with words by Gordon Giles. Written as a tuneful, warm and nostalgic tribute to the Christmas story, Onward We Go is scored for the children’s touchingly young voices with piano, electric bass and instrumentalists. The carol may be sung in procession in church or as part of a nativity play.

Thomas Hewitt Jones says “I have great fondness for St Stephen’s Dulwich, which played an important part in my formative musical education, and it is extremely fulfilling to write music for them and to see the next generations of young singers coming through.”

Caroline Lenton-Ward says, “The Choristers were delighted to record and film ‘Onward We Go’ by Thomas Hewitt Jones, and enjoyed every second of the process and behaved like true professionals! Many of them are from the Kingswood Estate, a Southwark Council Housing Estate with very high levels of deprivation and a very high diversity of ethnic backgrounds. There is a wide ethnic, social, and religious mix, including Muslim twins who sing at the Sunday eucharist, and several choristers with special educational needs. The choir offers a safe space for children to sing and be creative, which is good for wellbeing as well as providing a musical education, which is often very poorly provided in schools due to funding cuts. Judging by the uptake so far, St Stephen’s seems to be filling this gap.”

Canon Gordon Giles says, “This carol was written in Rochester in the summer of 2023, to a tune that Thomas had more or less written.  Thus the text evolved with the music, which is a delightful way of collaborating.  The theme is that of children singing on their way to visit the manger, a happy band of little pilgrims wanting to show the new born king their love and to worship him. Their gift is simply to offer love. As the song progresses they draw nearer, passing the shepherds seeing the angels’ light, and the Kings (Magi) with their gifts, all of which are offered to Christ as loving tribute.  After these three journeying verses, the children have arrived, and find that by bringing love, it is in fact the infant Christ who has called them so that he can show them his love.  In giving they receive.  This is the cause of faith, hope and joy which has called young and old into his kingly presence today, just as it always has done.  It is the core of Christmas, that we give gifts of love, because we have received love.”

Onward We Go is released on the major streaming platforms. The sheet music, published by Stainer & Bell, is available in both printed and digital formats https://stainer.co.uk/shop/cn72/

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Guest review by Ruth Livesey

Jia Ning Ng, Biggar Music, Club 5th October 2023

BEETHOVEN: Piano Sonata No.17 in D minor, “Tempest”Op. 31 No. 2

ROBERT SCHUMANN: Bunte Blätter Op. 99

SCHUBERT: Piano Sonata in B-flat major, D960

Jia Ning, a young pianist from Singapore, studied at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland. She graduated top of her class in 2022 and was awarded her Artist Diploma, having previously gained her Master of Music (Piano Performance) and Bachelor of Music with First Class Honours. She also won several awards and competitions, including the RCOS concerto competition, allowing her to make her debut with the Royal Scottish National Orchestra. In addition to embarking on her solo career, Jia Ning regularly collaborates with other musicians as a keen chamber musician and is also a staff accompanist at the Conservatoire in Glasgow. Her recital at Biggar Music Club formed part of an RCS Governor’s recital tour, including performances in Peebles, Kelso and Falkirk, and forthcoming concerts in Inverness and at Strathearn Music Society in November.

Her performance was keenly anticipated in Biggar, after she received a standing ovation in Peebles, and deservedly so; her performance of the same programme here, tackling some very profound works, showed immense maturity, poise and mastery. Right from the sorrowful Largo opening phrase of the first movement of Beethoven’s Sonata in D minor, Op.31 No. 2 (Tempest), she captivated the audience, who didn’t move a millimetre from the beginning to the end of the concert. Indeed, it was one of those rare openings to a recital where it was apparent from the first few notes that it was going to be something very special.

One of several notable aspects of Jia Ning’s playing, which immediately stood out in this first motif, was the quality of her tone production – a feature that was evident and a highlight throughout the whole recital, in the vast spectrum of soundworlds called for – as she created a mysterious atmosphere, with such a gentle, but clear touch. This immediately gave way to the dramatic, agitated contrasting material that followed. The frequent alternation of the stormy and peaceful sections was well managed and varied throughout this movement. Passages where a lighter, more articulated touch was called for were wonderfully nuanced, with an interplay between melodic and harmonic lines in impressive balance at other times, such as at the end of the exposition. There was an other-worldly quality to the recitative-like section, a solo right hand line over an arpeggiated pedal, often attributed to Beethoven’s own words, but according to Dr Barry Cooper perhaps erroneously so, as being, “like a voice from the tomb.”

In the noble, hymn-like, ravishing slow movement, the audience remained entranced and completely silent, as Jia Ning achieved a splendid purity of tone in her long cantabile melodic lines, which unfolded organically, allowing the music to speak for itself. The triplet drum-like figures in the accompaniment, alternating in register, towards the end of the first subject were played with admirable articulation and an extraordinary, shimmering delicacy. Chords were voiced exquisitely throughout, with so many tangible layers to her sound, even just in this movement. The graceful sweep of the left hand demisemiquaver descending accompaniment in the recapitulation, was stunningly beautiful and elegant, creating one of many memorable moments in this introspective and sometimes poignant movement. Moreover, it was also obvious throughout the evening that Jia Ning possesses an intelligent attention to detail and faithfulness to the score in all aspects of her playing, yet her interpretations were never predictable.

We were always left with an impression of spontaneity and a feeling of discovery, with Jia Ning finding numerous special moments and delightful details, in order to portray her evocative exploration of many different emotions. In the final movement, she presented us witha contrast between lyrical lines and the stormier material, where there were bold torrents of sound. There was tension in the climaxes and a spine-tingling control in the quietest of passages. We were treated to a full range of expression to end this turbulent Sonata. It was a magnificent start to the recital, leaving a wonderful first impression of her astonishing pianism and ability to communicate meaning.

To end the first half, Jia Ning turned to Schumann and his uncommonly heard Bunte Blätter, Op. 99 (which translates as ‘Colourful Leaves’). She presented the first 10 of the 14 miniatures in the set, and each was expertly characterised with a vast array sentiments and moods, that often shifted abruptly. The opening to the first was extremely tender and moving, yet with a joyful simplicity and perfectly judged flexibility in the rubato. It was a splendid introduction to the rich and vivid world of Schumann. There was a meticulous approach, with every phrase precisely contoured, yet her playing always unfolded naturally and was never forced. The playfulness and liveliness achieved in the Novelette was particularly enchanting. An energetic conclusion in the Präludium brought this remarkable first half to an end and, for a while, the audience sat quite stunned, taking in what they had just heard before turning to each other with smiles and praise.

The second half was entirely given to Schubert’s monumental Sonata No. 21 in B flat, D960. This was his final sonata, written in a frenzy of activity during the last months of his life, a time wracked with poverty and ill-health before his premature demise. It is cast in four expansive movements, classical in overall structure, but romantic features are evident, such as the cyclic material unifying the movements, and also the harmonic language. It was pleasing to hear the exposition repeats in the long opening movement. Jia Ning explained that she had included them so as not to miss out important motivic details. The movement is notable for its mercurial shifts in harmony, colour and thematic material, which were handled with a staggering intensity and artistry, as we were drawn into the gentle drama that unfolded. The opening of the development section, in the remote key of C-sharp minor, was played with a celestial beauty and, as it progressed, contrasting motifs gave way to the climax of the development which was imbued with real pathos and serenity. At other moments, warmth radiated from long flowing lines over well-balanced and muted bass figurations. The dynamic and emotional range throughout the movement was boundless.

From the outset, we were drawn right into the reflective, sombre and sometimes tragic second movement. At times the playing was barely audible, yet with an ethereal clarity of sound that still reached the back of the hall. This considerable dynamic control was effortless and there to serve the music, with its spiritual inclination. The rich textures of the middle section signalled yet another shift in temperament. The change of timbre towards the end of the movement for the move to C major was hauntingly sublime.

The Scherzo of the third movement skipped along with a luminosity of sound and lightness of touch, interspersed by the momentarily darker mood of the Trio. The concert was brought to an end by a tumultuous reading of the mighty final movement. Just as in the Beethoven, Jia Ning handled the unpredictable shifts of mood, key, dynamics, texture and timbre astoundingly, yet there was never an excess of ideas. There was a real drive in the turbulent themes, which contrasted with the jubilation elsewhere. It was refreshing to heara player at the beginning of their professional career tackle this repertoire, rather than opt for more obvious showmanship, which she is clearly capable of, as shown in the rapid flourishes in the encore, (Balakirev/Glinka, The Lark). This left me speechless as we were taken to yet another stratosphere. However, it takes a pianist of outstanding skill to be able to play these works of great depth in the way that she achieved, with much of what astounded me being difficult to portray in words, because it was found in her deep communication with the audience. She balanced her ability to have something to say, with letting the music just be. How blessed are the music lovers in our community, and those surrounding us, to have been able to witness such fine creativity and artistry.

There is surely a bright future ahead for this pianist and I will look forward to attending a future concert given by Jia Ning.

©Ruth Livesey