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Mojo

N.
1. Self-confidence, Self-assuredness. As in basis for belief in ones self in a situation. Esp. I context of contest or display of skill such as sexual advances or going into battle.
2. Good luck fetish / charm to bolster confidence.
3. ability to bounce back from a debilitating trauma and negative attitude

[Source: Urban Dictionary]

It’s been some time since I posted something specifically about piano playing. I have enjoyed so much live music in the last month, some of which I have reviewed for this blog and Bachtrack, and I haven’t had as much time at the piano as I would have liked due to building work going on in my home. While I could practise while the builder laid bricks or tiled the roof, somehow sitting at the piano while he laboured, alone, seemed rather self-indulgent.

And to be truthful, in the immediate weeks after receiving my LTCL Diploma results, I experienced a curious flatness, a post-diploma ennui, not unike the tiredness that comes after a virus like ‘flu or a bad cold. I had worked solidly for 15 months for the Diploma, starting my practising at 8am religiously, almost every day of the week, and eschewing a social life to the extent that a good friend commented “you’re chained to that effing piano these days!”. Only those who do it seriously, both professional and serious amateur musicians, understand the need to turn into a hermit in order to undertake such a task. The Herculean effort of learning all the notes, and ordering them into such a way that they make beautiful, expressive, insightful and thoughtful music; feeding the artistic temperament without allowing the ego to take over; doing the reading and research to write the programme notes; the pre-Diploma performances; and then – The Day. No wonder I was tired afterwards!

After the initial euphoria of receiving a result which astonished me (no, I really wasn’t expecting to secure a second Distinction), and far too much champagne, I decided I should start to focus on new repertoire. Each day the piano glared balefully at me from its niche in the corner of my living room, the open score of Liszt’s Années de pèlerinage challenging me to come and practise. But I just didn’t want to go there.

An enjoyable Saturday piano event with my friends and colleagues Lorraine Liyanage and Manny Vass, and assorted amateur pianists, at which I played what I now consider my ‘signature piece’, Takemitsu’s haunting Rain Tree Sketch II, failed to rouse me from my gloom. I consigned my scores to the bookcase and rediscovered my social life.

Rather rashly, or so it appeared to me when I found myself in this slough of despond, I had, on the crest of the wave of exam jubilation, booked myself a set at The Little Proms, a wonderful initiative to take classical music out of the formal setting of the concert hall and into places where it is accessible and informal – in this case, the basement bar of a Soho pub. I played at The Little Proms last August and enjoyed it very much. But with the concert looming, I felt bored by the repertoire and the prospect of performing it.

However, as the concert date approached, I found more time to practise and instead of resenting the piano, I began to enjoy it again. I started working on what might become the greatest challenge of my pianistic career to date – Beethoven’s Sonata in A, Op110, my most favourite of all of Beethoven’s Piano Sonatas, or indeed anyone else’s, and a work I have long wanted to learn and play properly. Going back to the nitty-gritty of learning something from scratch, as opposed to finessing very well-learnt pieces, was interesting and engaging. One afternoon, when the builder had gone, I played for an hour and a half – and I loved it.

I took myself off to Soho on Sunday afternoon to arrive at the venue in time for a sound check. When I go there, one of the other acts, Brasilliero Big Band, were warming up with much vibrancy and laughter. I had a brief warm up on the piano and then went to brush my hair, apply my “lucky” lipstick and quietly await the signal to go on. I was to open the event (a relief, as no one could possibly compete with the exuberance of Brasilliero Big Band!). My programme was mostly a now very well-trodden path of Diploma pieces, with a couple of new things thrown in. Beginning with the ‘Adagio’ from the Bach Concerto BWV 974 was an excellent idea, as a friend later pointed out. The slow tempo and hypnotic bass quavers drew everyone in, and by the time I started on the mysterious opening chords of the Takemitsu I felt I had everyone’s attention.

And this is where it got interesting for me. You’re close to the audience in a small venue. You can almost hear them breathing and you’re very aware of the people around you, so much so that you actually have a sense of people listening, very concentratedly and carefully. The people sitting behind me were close enough to read my scores, if they cared to.

This sense of intense concentration and attention is very potent, and is surely the reason why performers get a buzz from, well, performing. (On a purely physiological level, it is the release of adrenaline that creates this feeling.) There is also a very strong sensation of everyone being engaged in a special and unique experience. There are certain performers who have an amazing ability to create this intimacy in the biggest venues – Mitsuko Uchida is one, Stephen Osborne another – drawing the audience into that wonderful, enchanted circle that is impossible to recreate when listening to music on disc in the privacy of one’s home.

Adrenaline, the fight or flight hormone, does interesting things to us as performers. It can unleash a whole host of unpleasant symptoms – sweaty, trembling hands, headache, nausea, palpitations, cold fear – but it can also, if we use it positively, enable us to raise our game, to rise to the occasion, and play well. A professional pianist I interviewed some years ago, during research for a book, admitted that he rarely had time to feel nervous before a concert, but that adrenaline did induce a certain lightness in the hands and arms. I felt this on Sunday night, so that by the time I reached Chopin’s Nocturne in E, Op 62/2, I hardly had to remind myself to keep my hands and arms soft to produce a rich cantabile sound in the right hand melody (a friend in the audience told me afterwards that with the amplification this came across very effectively). The final piece of my set, ‘Muted and Sensuous’ from Aaron Copland’s atmospheric Four Piano Blues, was receiving its premiere, at least in my hands, and such was the atmosphere in the venue that a piece which had, the previous week, felt horribly unpolished, suddenly poured out of the piano with all the sonorous and shiny sounds I had tried, and failed, to achieve in practise.

Interesting things happen in performance – which is why it is important to perform. Anyone who has performed, or performs regularly, knows that the bar is raised considerably higher as soon as you take your repertoire out of the comfort of your home and put it before other people. But by playing for others, we endorse all the lonely hours of practise and, more importantly, offer the music up for scrutiny. Sometimes in performance issues with a piece are revealed, which inform our practise when we go back to it, and sometimes really remarkable things happen, which create a special magic for performer and audience.

When I returned to my seat near the bar, to rapturous applause and whooping (that’s pretty potent too!), I felt excited. I had enjoyed every minute of my 35-minute set, and despite a slight mishap in the opening of the Liszt (note to self: don’t try something new in a familiar piece on the morning of a concert!), the pieces went well, and, by all accounts, communicated effectively to the audience. My friends and family were very complimentary, and a couple of members of Brasillieiro Big Band even came to congratulate me. I had rediscovered my ‘piano mojo’, and I couldn’t wait to get back to the piano and on with new repertoire. But the best part of the evening was my husband’s very evident delight and pride in my performance: he has been basking in my reflected glory ever since I received my LTCL results.

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Patrick Caulfield, Selected Grapes (1981 )© British Council Collection

Hot on the heels of the unveiling of the fabulous newly hung British collection, Tate Britain throws open a pair of giant pink hospital doors to showcase the work of two complementary British artists, Patrick Caulfield and Gary Hume. Presented as two parallel exhibitions (a single ticket admits visitors to both), each offers a survey of the work of painters whose names have become indelibly associated with two great movements in modern British art – Pop Art and the Young British Artists (or YBAs). Both movements were an attempt to bring art back into touch with the real and the everyday, in exciting new ways.

Read my full review here

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Fiona Lau

What is your first memory of the piano?

In assembly at school we marched in and out to a lovely lady playing a variety of marches on a battered piano. My parents then bought one and as I was the eldest I got to have piano lessons first! I remember being enchanted by fingers flying over keys and the variety of sounds the piano made.

Who or what inspired you to start teaching?

Originally I was a class teacher in secondary schools, but with the birth of my children gave that up and then a friend asked me to teach her children. After a while (private teaching and peri teaching) I thought I had better do it properly and so I enrolled on the CTABRSM course. It opened my eyes and I learnt to teach not just as I had been taught but as appropriate for each pupil.

Who were your most memorable/significant teachers?

My first teacher was Miss Charlesworth; she had a beautiful house and a fabulous piano- I think that was part of the attraction. At Huddersfield I had Ronald Newton and he dragged me up from a passable grade 8 to a secure diploma standard. He gave me a sound technique and a great view of the piano repertoire. In later life I had lessons from Tim Carey who made lessons such fun and imbued me with excitement and enjoyment about playing. Tim also taught me to be friends with my pupils and do more than “just teach”.

Who or what are the most important influences on your teaching?

Richard Crozier at ABRSM for his calm, erudite but humorous approach. Tim Carey for his holistic approach and my many colleagues who are generous enough to share their ideas.

Most memorable/significant teaching experiences?

As a peripatetic teacher, I taught a boy who was in set 5 (nearly the lowest set) but who had a desire and talent for playing the piano. We progressed to grade 6 practical and grade 5 theory and he then went on to complete a degree in music followed by a PGCE and is now a music teacher. That experience is more important to me than the grade 8 distinctions and it taught me to always keep an open mind.

What are the most exciting/challenging aspects of teaching adults?

It’s exciting because they want to learn. Challenging because they have more life experience, more music experience, more baggage and often greater expectations.

What do you expect from your students?

Commitment, enjoyment and a have a go attitude. I can’t bear it if someone won’t try!

What are your views on exams, festivals and competitions?

Hmm, mixed. They suit some pupils and not others so I take the individual and work out, with them, what is best for their development.

What are you thoughts on the link between performing and teaching?

I am pretty sure that an effective piano teacher will perform – if not at the Wigmore Hall every week – at least in the lessons they teach! Pupils learn so much by demonstration and modelling; sometimes words are just not enough. However I also know that when I perform, whether it’s accompanying exams,playing in recitals, a concert or at a wedding, my teaching about performance has much more veracity and integrity. I can say “when I played last week, I did feel nervous but some deep breaths and focussing on the music really helped me” or other such advice. If you don’t perform at all it would be hard to convincingly and effectively prepare your pupils for performance.

What do you consider to be the most important concepts to impart to beginning students, and to advanced students?

How to practise is probably up there for both. With beginning students it’s probably more important to educate the parents. With advanced pupils I encourage them to have a holistic approach to playing- listen, attend concerts, learn about composers and pianists and play with other musicians.

What do you consider to be the best and worst aspects the job?

Best- the music and the people. Worst- tax and admin!

What is your favourite music to teach? To play?

I love teaching all sorts of music but love a bit of Beethoven. To play- duets with my pupils and friends.

Who are your favourite pianists/pianist-teachers and why?

I have a top ten in my head but always delight in Murray Perahia’s playing.

Fiona is an experienced and successful piano teacher, mentor, presenter and music journalist. She is involved in many areas of professional development via workshops, mentoring and presentations, talks and seminars for the Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music (ABRSM), Hal Leonard, the European Piano teachers Association (EPTA), Essex Music Services (EMS) and other music services. She has written several articles on aspects of instrumental teaching and reviewed piano sheet music for Music Teacher magazine, EPTA Piano Professional Journal and the British Music Education Yearbook. Fiona also works as a mentor, guiding and advising instrumental teachers for the ABRSM and Essex Music Services and has edited and arranged two educational piano books-“Songs of the British Isles and Ireland” and “Treasured Classics”, for De Haske.

www.fionalau.com

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Musical Overture is an online community of aspiring musicians showcasing their talents before the world and the watchful eyes of conservatory and university recruiters.

It is a place where young musicians find community, performance experience, helpful instruction, and a platform from which they can enter the next stage of their training.

Musical Overture was founded by Terry Lowry  (Conductor and Music Director of the Carroll Symphony Orchestra) and Steve Gradick (owner of Gradick Communications, LLC). I asked Terry to explain the vision and philosophy behind Musical Overture, and how it seeks to be different from other video and music-sharing/networking platforms:

Why did we build Musical Overture?
To make a difference in the lives of undiscovered musicians and empower them to build a better world. We built a place where undiscovered musicians could post videos of their performances, their rehearsals or even videos of them just cutting up and having a laugh.  We built place where their audience would not have to sort through videos of famous performers from the past or of completely unrelated videos.

We built a safe place – monitored by REAL PEOPLE (not computers looking for key words) – where musicians could build a community and their parents can be confident about their security.  We built a place where musicians can receive encouragement, without slash and burn-style comments from frustrated sour grapes.  We built a place where musicians can learn from each other and feel that their voices are being heard, a place where the people behind the music matter.

We built a place where the difference makers – people like university recruiters, agents and conductors – could go listen to and watch the stars of tomorrow.  We recognize how difficult it is to sort through the billions of videos on the internet and how costly it is to travel to hear prospects live.  We built a place – one place – where these difference makers can find the talent they are looking for.

As a young musician growing up in a small town I felt as if I was the only teenager in the world for whom classical music was important.  I felt odd and isolated from my peers, most of whom had never heard of the composers that were so important to me.  I would have done anything to have a community of musicians who, like me, wanted to make a difference in the world through music.  I would have done anything to have the chance to be heard by a difference maker.

Why did we build Musical Overture?  To make a difference in the lives of undiscovered musicians and empower them to build a better world.

It’s free to join Musical Overture and you can browse the site without signing up. More here