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An essay in six variations
 Written by GPT-3 and Howard Smith

The six essays below were written by an Artificial Intelligence called GPT-3. In the final essay, Satie speaks in his own voice and composes a poem reflecting on the influences of his work. The AI-generated essays were guided by Howard Smith, a human. Howard only had to give the briefest of instructions to the remarkable AI. Such ‘generative’ systems are making waves across the world. GPT-3 is but a taste of what’s to come. Humankind will shortly have many new AI companions.

Howard Smith is the human author of Note For Note, Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered. Howard is also the author of an experimental book on the topic of Climate Change. The 180 page book was written by GPT-3 in response to questions posed by Howard. The two collaborators ‘wrote’ the book in just 12 hours. The work was self-published 6 days later and is now available via Amazon worldwide. In Conversation with GPT-3: An AI On Climate Change  is a taste of what’s ahead for anyone working in any creative field. 

One of 30 images generated by DALL*E 2 in response to a prompt by the author: A painting in the style of Dada art of the composer Erik Satie and a ticking clock

And now, dear friends, the essays:

Version 1

Human in italics. All else written by an AI.

Write an essay about the music of Erik Satie. Concentrate on explaining the musical influences and genres that led to Satie’s unique style. Also cover the way Satie’s music influenced composers that followed him.

Erik Satie was a French composer and pianist known for his unique and unconventional musical style. He was born in 1866 and began composing music at a young age. Throughout his career, Satie experimented with a wide range of musical genres and influences, which ultimately led to the development of his distinctive style.

One of the major influences on Satie’s music was the impressionism movement in art. Impressionist painters, such as Monet and Degas, were known for their use of light and color to create a sense of atmosphere and mood. Satie similarly sought to evoke a sense of atmosphere in his music through the use of harmonic and melodic color. He often employed unconventional harmonies and dissonant chord progressions to create a sense of tension and dissonance.

Another important influence on Satie’s music was cabaret and café-concert culture. These venues were popular in Paris during the late 19th and early 20th centuries and featured a wide range of musical styles, including folk songs, popular songs, and vaudeville. Satie was heavily influenced by the playful, irreverent, and often satirical spirit of these performances, and he incorporated elements of cabaret and café-concert music into his own compositions.

Satie’s music also drew inspiration from other genres, including folk music, medieval and Renaissance music, and popular music. He was particularly interested in the use of simple, repetitive rhythms and melodies, which he often incorporated into his music to create a sense of hypnotic and meditative states.

Satie’s unique and unconventional musical style had a significant influence on composers that followed him. Many of his techniques and ideas were adopted and adapted by other composers, particularly those working in the field of minimalism. Satie was one of the first composers to use repetitive rhythms and simple harmonies, techniques that would become central to the minimalist style. He was also an important influence on the development of ambient and experimental music.

In conclusion, Erik Satie’s music was shaped by a wide range of musical influences and genres, including impressionism, cabaret and café-concert culture, folk music, medieval and Renaissance music, and popular music. His unique and unconventional style had a significant influence on composers that followed him, particularly in the field of minimalism and experimental music. His music still continues to be celebrated and performed today.

Version 2

Improve the essay please by including some quotes by Erik Satie. 

Erik Satie was a French composer and pianist known for his unique and unconventional musical style. He was born in 1866 and began composing music at a young age. Throughout his career, Satie experimented with a wide range of musical genres and influences, which ultimately led to the development of his distinctive style.

One of the major influences on Satie’s music was the impressionism movement in art. Impressionist painters, such as Monet and Degas, were known for their use of light and color to create a sense of atmosphere and mood. Satie similarly sought to evoke a sense of atmosphere in his music through the use of harmonic and melodic color. He often employed unconventional harmonies and dissonant chord progressions to create a sense of tension and dissonance. In his own words, Satie stated “I have found it necessary to get rid of all the parts that everyone likes and keep all those which no one likes”

Another important influence on Satie’s music was cabaret and café-concert culture. These venues were popular in Paris during the late 19th and early 20th centuries and featured a wide range of musical styles, including folk songs, popular songs, and vaudeville. Satie was heavily influenced by the playful, irreverent, and often satirical spirit of these performances, and he incorporated elements of cabaret and café-concert music into his own compositions. He once said, “I am a country whose boundaries are the imagination.”

Satie’s music also drew inspiration from other genres, including folk music, medieval and Renaissance music, and popular music. He was particularly interested in the use of simple, repetitive rhythms and melodies, which he often incorporated into his music to create a sense of hypnotic and meditative states. His music was described as being “inventive and original” by himself.

Satie’s unique and unconventional musical style had a significant influence on composers that followed him. Many of his techniques and ideas were adopted and adapted by other composers, particularly those working in the field of minimalism. Satie was one of the first composers to use repetitive rhythms and simple harmonies, techniques that would become central to the minimalist style. He was also an important influence on the development of ambient and experimental music.

In conclusion, Erik Satie’s music was shaped by a wide range of musical influences and genres, including impressionism, cabaret and café-concert culture, folk music, medieval and Renaissance music, and popular music. His unique and unconventional style had a significant influence on composers that followed him, particularly in the field of minimalism and experimental music. His music still continues to be celebrated and performed today. Satie’s own words offers a glimpse into his artistic vision, his revolutionary approach and his enduring legacy.

Version 3

Can you extend the essay by listing some of Satie’s best loved music. Place the list of works at the end of the essay. 

Erik Satie was a French composer and pianist known for his unique and unconventional musical style. He was born in 1866 and began composing music at a young age. Throughout his career, Satie experimented with a wide range of musical genres and influences, which ultimately led to the development of his distinctive style.

One of the major influences on Satie’s music was the impressionism movement in art. Impressionist painters, such as Monet and Degas, were known for their use of light and color to create a sense of atmosphere and mood. Satie similarly sought to evoke a sense of atmosphere in his music through the use of harmonic and melodic color. He often employed unconventional harmonies and dissonant chord progressions to create a sense of tension and dissonance. In his own words, Satie stated “I have found it necessary to get rid of all the parts that everyone likes and keep all those which no one likes”

Another important influence on Satie’s music was cabaret and café-concert culture. These venues were popular in Paris during the late 19th and early 20th centuries and featured a wide range of musical styles, including folk songs, popular songs, and vaudeville. Satie was heavily influenced by the playful, irreverent, and often satirical spirit of these performances, and he incorporated elements of cabaret and café-concert music into his own compositions. He once said, “I am a country whose boundaries are the imagination.”

Satie’s music also drew inspiration from other genres, including folk music, medieval and Renaissance music, and popular music. He was particularly interested in the use of simple, repetitive rhythms and melodies, which he often incorporated into his music to create a sense of hypnotic and meditative states. His music was described as being “inventive and original” by himself.

Satie’s unique and unconventional musical style had a significant influence on composers that followed him. Many of his techniques and ideas were adopted and adapted by other composers, particularly those working in the field of minimalism. Satie was one of the first composers to use repetitive rhythms and simple harmonies, techniques that would become central to the minimalist style. He was also an important influence on the development of ambient and experimental music.

In conclusion, Erik Satie’s music was shaped by a wide range of musical influences and genres, including impressionism, cabaret and café-concert culture, folk music, medieval and Renaissance music, and popular music. His unique and unconventional style had a significant influence on composers that followed him, particularly in the field of minimalism and experimental music. His music still continues to be celebrated and performed today. Satie’s own words offers a glimpse into his artistic vision, his revolutionary approach and his enduring legacy.

Some of Satie’s best known works include:

“Gymnopédies” (1888)

“Sports et divertissements” (1914)

“Vexations” (1893)

“Socrate” (1918)

“Parade” (1917)

“Three pieces in the form of a Pear” (1903)

“Avant-dernières pensées” (1911-1915)

“Furniture Music” (Musique d’ameublement) (1917)

“Sonatine bureaucratique” (1908)

“Véritables préludes flasques (pour un chien)” (1913)

Version 4

Rewrite the essay please, in a writing style that Satie might have used.

My dear friends, let me regale you with tales of my musical endeavors. I, Erik Satie, have always been drawn to the unconventional, the unorthodox. I sought to challenge the status quo and to push the boundaries of what is considered to be “music.”

The movement of Impressionism, with its emphasis on light and color, has had a profound influence on my compositions. I strive to evoke a sense of atmosphere and mood through the use of harmonic and melodic color. I often employ unconventional harmonies and dissonant chord progressions to create a sense of tension and dissonance. As I have said before, “I have found it necessary to get rid of all the parts that everyone likes and keep all those which no one likes.”

The cabaret and café-concert culture of my beloved Paris have also had a great impact on my music. The playful, irreverent, and often satirical spirit of these performances has been a constant source of inspiration for me. I have incorporated elements of cabaret and café-concert music into my own compositions, always seeking to push the boundaries of what is considered acceptable. As I have said, “I am a country whose boundaries are the imagination.”

I have also been heavily influenced by the simplicity and repetition found in folk music, medieval and Renaissance music, and popular music. These have all played a role in my quest to create music that evokes hypnotic and meditative states. My compositions have been described as “inventive and original,” and I take great pride in that.

My unique and unconventional style has had a significant influence on composers that have followed me. My use of repetitive rhythms and simple harmonies, for instance, have become central to the minimalist style. And I have also been an important influence on the development of ambient and experimental music.

In conclusion, my dear friends, my music is the product of a wide range of influences and genres. I have always sought to challenge the status quo, to push the boundaries of what is considered to be “music.” And I will continue to do so, for as I have said, “The essential thing is to invent.” And with that, I bid you adieu, and hope that you will enjoy my compositions.

Some of my most notable works include:

“Gymnopédies” (1888)

“Sports et divertissements” (1914)

“Vexations” (1893)

“Socrate” (1918)

“Parade” (1917)

“Three pieces in the form of a Pear” (1903)

“Avant-dernières pensées” (1911-1915)

“Furniture Music” (Musique d’ameublement) (1917)

“Sonatine bureaucratique” (1908)

“Véritables préludes flasques (pour un chien)” (1913)

Version 5

Rewrite the essay once again to make it sound like Dada art. 

Ladies and gentlemen, behold the absurdity of my musical creations. I, Erik Satie, have always been attracted to the nonsensical, the illogical. I sought to mock the status quo and to shatter the boundaries of what is considered to be “music.”

The movement of Impressionism, with its emphasis on light and color, has been a source of inspiration for my compositions. I strive to evoke a sense of chaos and confusion through the use of harmonic and melodic nonsense. I often employ unconventional harmonies and dissonant chord progressions to create a sense of confusion and disorder. As I have said before, “I have found it necessary to get rid of all the parts that make sense and keep all those which don’t.”

The cabaret and café-concert culture of my beloved Paris have also been a great influence on my music. The nonsensical, irreverent, and often satirical spirit of these performances has been a constant source of inspiration for me. I have incorporated elements of cabaret and café-concert music into my own compositions, always seeking to mock the boundaries of what is considered acceptable. As I have said, “I am a country whose boundaries are the absurdity.”

I have also been heavily influenced by the simplicity and repetition found in folk music, medieval and Renaissance music, and popular music. These have all played a role in my quest to create music that evokes hypnotic and chaotic states. My compositions have been described as “nonsensical and illogical,” and I take great pride in that.

My unique and unconventional style has had a significant influence on composers that have followed me. My use of repetitive rhythms and simple harmonies, for instance, have become central to the Dada style. And I have also been an important influence on the development of chaotic and experimental music.

In conclusion, my dear friends, my music is the product of a wide range of influences and genres. I have always sought to mock the status quo, to shatter the boundaries of what is considered to be “music.” And I will continue to do so, for as I have said, “The essential thing is to invent absurdity.” And with that, I bid you adieu, and hope that you will enjoy my nonsensical compositions.

Some of my most notable works include:

“Gymnopédies” (1888)

“Sports et divertissements” (1914)

“Vexations” (1893)

“Socrate” (1918)

“Parade” (1917)

“Three pieces in the form of a Pear” (1903)

“Avant-dernières pensées” (1911-1915)

“Furniture Music” (Musique d’ameublement) (1917)

“Sonatine bureaucratique” (1908)

“Véritables préludes flasques (pour un chien)” (1913)

Version 6 (the ‘final’ version, or is it?)

Include and invent an absurdist poem by Satie.

Ladies and gentlemen, behold the absurdity of my musical creations. I, Erik Satie, have always been attracted to the nonsensical, the illogical. I sought to mock the status quo and to shatter the boundaries of what is considered to be “music.”

The movement of Impressionism, with its emphasis on light and color, has been a source of inspiration for my compositions. I strive to evoke a sense of chaos and confusion through the use of harmonic and melodic nonsense. I often employ unconventional harmonies and dissonant chord progressions to create a sense of confusion and disorder. As I have said before, “I have found it necessary to get rid of all the parts that make sense and keep all those which don’t.”

The cabaret and café-concert culture of my beloved Paris have also been a great influence on my music. The nonsensical, irreverent, and often satirical spirit of these performances has been a constant source of inspiration for me. I have incorporated elements of cabaret and café-concert music into my own compositions, always seeking to mock the boundaries of what is considered acceptable. As I have said, “I am a country whose boundaries are the absurdity.”

I have also been heavily influenced by the simplicity and repetition found in folk music, medieval and Renaissance music, and popular music. These have all played a role in my quest to create music that evokes hypnotic and chaotic states. My compositions have been described as “nonsensical and illogical,” and I take great pride in that.

My unique and unconventional style has had a significant influence on composers that have followed me. My use of repetitive rhythms and simple harmonies, for instance, have become central to the Dada style. And I have also been an important influence on the development of chaotic and experimental music.

In conclusion, my dear friends, my music is the product of a wide range of influences and genres. I have always sought to mock the status quo, to shatter the boundaries of what is considered to be “music.” And I will continue to do so, for as I have said, “The essential thing is to invent absurdity.” And with that, I bid you adieu, and hope that you will enjoy my nonsensical compositions.

Here is an example of my absurdist poetry:

“The notes danced on the page

With no care for time or age

They sang of chaos and confusion

In a melody of self-illusion

The harmony was out of tune

But that only added to the moon

The rhythm was a mess

But it was the best

For in this madness, we find art

In this chaos, a brand new start

So let us revel in the absurd

For it is in this, true beauty is heard”

Some of my most notable works include:

“Gymnopédies” (1888)

“Sports et divertissements” (1914)

“Vexations” (1893)

“Socrate” (1918)

“Parade” (1917)

“Three pieces in the form of a Pear” (1903)

“Avant-dernières pensées” (1911-1915)

“Furniture Music” (Musique d’ameublement) (1917)

“Sonatine bureaucratique” (1908)

“Véritables préludes flasques (pour un chien)” (1913)

End of interaction with GPT-3

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Guest post by Clare Hammond

Since 2017, British pianist Clare Hammond has given 25 concerts in 8 prisons across the South-West of England. Here she describes her experience of performing in prisons and how music can inspire, console and heal.

Prisons can be daunting environments. A trek through long concrete corridors and heavy iron gates, negotiating lock after lock, to find a community of adults, trapped, bound together by adverse circumstance. Emotions run high yet are often impossible to express – shame, detachment, fear, denial. A sense of loss and frustration is palpable.

These environments are so distinct from our usual lives that the experience of visiting one for the first time is profoundly disorientating. Not only the physical environment, but the social hierarchy, is unfamiliar. I had never previously been so aware of a disparity of power, of the tension that a necessary hierarchy between staff and prisoners can produce. Words become charged and communication falters.
Unlikely as it may seem, music can provide a way to overcome some of these obstacles. I started to perform in prisons in 2017 as I was recovering from a severe and disorientating bout of postnatal depression. Not only had I been profoundly depressed for a year, but at times I had sensed my grasp on sanity weakening. This in itself was so alarming, and my obsessional focus on disaster and despair so wearing, that I decided to take drastic action. I needed to try something new, something challenging enough to distract me from my interior monologue.
I contacted a friend of my husband, a prison Chaplain, and asked if he might be willing to arrange a concert. I had no idea whether a recital of classical music would be of interest, but he accepted. A few weeks later, I found myself at Security, lugging my electronic piano behind me. After a thorough search, I was admitted and made my way to the Chapel. As I unspooled the extension cord, heard just how thin the piano sounded in the acoustic, and watched the rows of men file in, I wondered whether this had been a sensible decision.
I took a deep breath. Some listened expectantly while others were conspicuously indifferent. Two small pockets of young men were joking around, elbowing each other and sniggering. After a couple of virtuosic Chopin études, I decided to focus on the human stories behind the music, describing obstacles that the composer had faced and the way these emerge in their music. I described Schubert’s final illness, the isolation he experienced, and the beauty of the music he composed during that period. This was more powerful than I could have anticipated. The audience were completely still during his Impromptu in G flat major and, to this day, this remains one of my most moving concert experiences.
I have now given 25 recitals in 8 different prisons and still follow this format. I present, in turn, Robert Schumann’s battle with bipolar disorder, Beethoven’s contemplation of suicide in the Heiligenstadt Testament, or Hélène de Montgeroult’s imprisonment and sensational trial before the Committee of Public Safety, evading execution by the skin of her teeth. I programme tonal music with familiar melodies alongside more adventurous repertoire. Unsuk Chin’s phenomenally inventive Toccata, as ‘uneasy’ a listen as you could hope for, has become a surprise hit. To see the eyes of a young man light up in enthusiasm at his first encounter with hardcore contemporary music was not something I had anticipated. I donate copies of my discs, often of obscure repertoire, to the prison libraries and hear, months later, that a man who had never listened to classical music before has become a fan of Szymanowski.
From a personal perspective, these concerts have healed and grounded me. I have always been an anxious person, and suffered from debilitating guilt when I was ill with depression. Seeing the power music has to connect people, to console and inspire in such difficult environments, has taught me the value of my work. I now feel that I am making a real contribution and am much calmer as a result.
I believe firmly that everyone should have access to classical music, in all its forms. It broadens horizons, offering a glimpse of what life could be, what adventures are possible. Most importantly, though, it creates a visceral link between us – between those who hear a performance, those who play together in a band, or between a long-dead composer and the people their music inspires. Music is powerfully communicative, particularly in environments where words are too charged for comfort. It transcends our daily struggles and brings hope.
If you would like to support music in prisons, please consider donating to the Irene Taylor Trust, Changing Tunes or Koestler Arts.
Read Jailhouse Moose’s account of a prison concert given by Clare Hammond

Acclaimed as a “pianist of extraordinary gifts” (Gramophone) and “immense power” (The Times), Clare Hammond is recognised for the virtuosity and authority of her performances.

In 2016, she won the Royal Philharmonic Society’s ‘Young Artist Award’ in recognition of outstanding achievement. Recent highlights include Grieg Piano Concerto with the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, Moussa and Carwithen with the BBC Symphony Orchestra and BBC Concert Orchestra, Panufnik with the Warsaw Philharmonic Orchestra, and recitals at the Aldeburgh Festival, Palazzetto Bru Zane in Venice (broadcast on RAI 3), Husum Festival in Germany, and in Denmark and Norway with Henning Kraggerud.

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Guest post by Rhonda Rizzo

When did I begin my love affair with the music of living composers? The moment I found Yvar Mikhashoff’s ‘Incitation to Desire’ CD of tango music for the piano. The smoky cover, the provocative title track – I was caught before I listened to a single piece. Ah, and what a collection! Tangos from multiple eras and in multiple styles. Tangos that spoke of something illicit, a smoky world of furtive late-night romance, smoky dance halls, and sensuality. These tangos represented a freedom I craved – freedom from the performance practice expectations of standard repertoire, and freedom from the years of insecurities and assumptions I brought to the music I’d been playing my whole life. Tangos broke the rules. I’d never danced a tango in my life, but I knew I needed to make music with the freedom I heard in these pieces.

I’d never worked on music by a living composer before I found this CD, but my love of this music was such that I set about tracking down the scores of my favourite pieces. Many of the tangos were unpublished, which meant I wrote to the composer to purchase a copy. Scott Pender’s tango, ‘Ms Jackson Dances for the World’ was one of these. After I received it, Scott and I kept corresponding. We became friends and have remained so for over a decade. And I loved his music – so much so that I eventually played, performed, and taught most of what he’s written for the piano. Ironically, although Chester Biscardi’s ‘Incitation to Desire’ was easier to find (it was published), I never felt I got inside it well enough to perform it publicly. It sat in my music collection, its provocative title and gorgeous writing teasing me with the promise of something I couldn’t quite grasp.

It took me over a decade to put ‘Incitation to Desire’ on a concert programme. I think this was because I needed to live more before I truly understood it. I needed to go tango dancing and feel the freedom and sensuality of the Argentine tango in my bones. I needed to perform and record Piazzolla tangos with my duo partner Molly Wheeler. And, on a deeper level, I needed to break a whole lot of rules. I needed to experience the judgment that comes from choosing to leave a marriage that had been on life-support for years. I needed to experience being swept off my feet by an unexpected grown-up romance that changed my entire life. In other words, I needed to know freedom before I could play it on the piano.

Because ‘Incitation to Desire’ is about sensuality and freedom. Much like the Argentine dance, it relies on the pianist’s ability to instinctively feel their way through the score. This piece begs to be played almost as an improvisation – just the same way that the Argentine tango is danced. It’s the pianist and the piano and the interplay of notes – sensuous, slinky, unapologetic. Chester Biscardi asks for a flexible interpretation of dynamics and tempi. I take this to mean that that this piece is best played from the senses, not the brain; instinct, not reason. In other words, you can’t play this music until you let yourself be seduced by it.

It was my No Dead Guys post about (and YouTube recording of) ‘Incitation to Desire’ that prompted Chester Biscardi to email and tell me how much he enjoyed my performance of it. That correspondence led to me learning ‘In Time’s Unfolding’ and ‘Companion Piece (for Morton Feldman)’, two pieces that, ironically, I still feel I had more of an innate understanding of than the tango that introduced me to Chester’s music. Best of all, Chet and I kept corresponding, and that correspondence blossomed into another friendship that I cherish.

I’ve never coached a student on ‘Incitation to Desire’; I’m not sure it can be done without introducing topics to a lesson that can get an instructor arrested. Furthermore, because it’s so improvisatory, the key to playing this piece well lies within each pianist’s personal experience. If they’ve lived it, they can play it. If not, no amount of musicianship or technique will bring this piece to life. I can, however, offer some general guidelines on how to navigate the score:

1) Don’t be in a hurry. This is slowly unfolding, sensuous music that can’t be forced by the pianist. All forward momentum must come from the sense that the power of the moment itself is what propels the music forward.

2) Don’t dig in too deeply on the scale passages. These are flourishes, the twirl of a tango skirt, a spin. They’re caresses, not demands.

3) Don’t start your accelerando too quickly at m. 29; you’ve got a very long way to do before you hit the end of it. This – like everything else in the piece – should feel inevitable and effortless.

4) Pay very close attention to the pedalling; it makes or breaks the piece.

5) If you’ve never danced the Argentine tango, watch some videos of it. This will explain the start/stop, slow/fast, gesture-driven nature of the score.

6) When you play it, drop all expectations of the piece, surrender to the music, and let it take you where it wants to go.

Sometimes the best way to find ourselves is to break a bunch of rules. Incitation to Desire gave me the permission I needed to follow my instincts rather than others’ expectations. It seduced me into a lifelong passion for the music of living composers. And even today, it reminds me to let moments and situation unfold naturally; it reminds me that the richest life (and my best playing) lies in releasing rigidity and entering the messy, beautiful, passionate dance of earthy, real life with my hands and heart wide open.

Rhonda (Ringering) Rizzo is a writer and a former performing and recording pianist. Her novel, The Waco Variations, was released in the summer of 2018, and her numerous articles have appeared in national and international music magazines, including Pianist Magazine, American Music Teacher, Clavier, Piano & Keyboard, and Flute Talk. A specialist in music that borrows from both classical and jazz traditions, Rizzo 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.

She holds a BA from Walla Walla University and a MM from Boston University and is a passionate advocate of new music and living composers.

Find out more

Chester Biscardi, composer

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Guest review by Adrian Ainsworth

Edna Stern’s latest release is a fascinating find. Beautifully performed, for sure, but those performances are led by an intriguing, impeccably realised idea.

The pieces on this disc are well-loved and oft-recorded: the first four ‘Impromptus’ (D899) and the ‘Moments Musicaux’ (D780). But Stern, following the courage of her convictions, has arrived at a new way of hearing them. Or perhaps, more accurately, a very old one.

The artist’s sleeve-notes explain the background at length, and if you buy this album, you’ll find they are an excellent read. So I will just try to summarise here. Broadly, Stern became disenchanted with modern digital recording – in particular, the facility to edit performances into ‘perfection’. To the non-expert listener, what can sound like a seamlessly executed rendition of a work is sometimes a painstakingly finessed collage from multiple takes. Flashes of divine inspiration that don’t conveniently occur within the same run-through are made to do so, after the fact.

This came to a head, Stern tells us, when working with a sound engineer who produced an edit that was stitched together to the point where she could barely recognise her own interpretation. For this project, then, each of the ten pieces is represented by a single, intact take. Of course, Stern recorded them several times in order to choose her favourite, but no artificial mix-and-match took place. She picked the versions she found the most interesting or appealing, if not necessarily the most accurate: the integrity and spirit of the performance outweighed the occasional stray note or tempo.

One of the reasons I enjoyed Stern’s booklet essay so much is the extremity of her position. While she acknowledges the value and skills of everyone involved, she calls that game-changing edit a ‘monster’, and likens the studio correction of mistakes to offering a performance from a robot over a human. It’s forcefully argued stuff.

And thought-provoking. Schubert-lovers who are tripping over Impromptu recordings – anyone with shelves (or hard-drives) full of versions of their favourite works: what are we looking for? I realise there’s an element for many of seeking an ideal version that matches the one in their head, of looking for the ‘best’… and I don’t envy critics who have to make these sorts of comparisons all the time. But what it’s really about, surely, is hearing the works you love ‘renewed’, enjoying the surprise and delight of seemingly infinite reinterpretations of the same music.

You could argue that, most of the time, these differences survive modern recording techniques. What must be Stern’s worst nightmare – correcting every error or deviation from the score so that every pianist’s Schubert CD comes out identical to all the others – hasn’t come to pass. But by removing the safety net, Stern has thrown down a gauntlet of sorts – will other classical musicians follow suit and subject their unvarnished playing to scrutiny?

I use the word ‘classical’ here deliberately. Pristine clarity may be the common goal in this genre, but over on the rock side of the fence, many acts have often wanted to go back to the source, in their search for authenticity. There’s the huge number of bands who went through the ‘Unplugged’ rite of passage in the 90s. There are producers like Steve Albini, who seems to carry out the intensive labour upfront, listening to his clients and finding exactly the right place for the microphones in the room – then documenting the resulting live sound, with staggering results. There’s the formidable roster of groups – perhaps most famously, the White Stripes – who have made records at London’s Toe Rag Studios, renowned for their totally analogue set-up.

There is a rock-snob trap here, of course: “when it’s me, it’s authenticity – when it’s you, it’s nostalgia”. But Stern is totally alive to this, seeking to recapture the sound of the recordings she loved most during her early development. Has she succeeded?

When you start ‘Schubert on tape’, you could be forgiven for thinking you’d just lowered the stylus on to vinyl, or pressed the clunky play button on a cassette player. You hear the room before the piano. Instead of a CD’s usual dead silence, you hear an ambient noise that I instantly want to describe as ‘warmth’: it’s not disruptive, there’s no hiss or clicking, just a hushed presence that replaces any potential dryness or sterility.

There’s no doubt about it. I was hit by two waves of entirely pleasurable nostalgia. One, true: my youth, playing records and tapes in my room. Two, false: the feeling evoked by Stern of being at a Schubertiade, hearing the composer perform his work in intimate, informal surroundings.

Because once the music starts, you are there in the room (especially if using a decent pair of headphones). You can hear some of the pedal work – towards the end of Impromptu No. 4, for example, there’s a passage where this almost becomes a percussion feature – and the rise and fall of the keys, even (I think) accompanied once or twice by the click of a fingernail. This sustained, audible ‘physicality’ really brings home the effort involved in a good performance and, in the salon of the imagination, makes you feel genuinely close to the player.

I think there is also a pleasing effect on the dynamics. I was reminded of something the rock writer David Hepworth said on a podcast, when discussing the merits of vinyl over CD – almost his instant response was: “The drums don’t hurt.” Analogue recording as evidenced here has a generosity of scope – I can hear that Stern is across every pp and ff, and all points between, but the sound never becomes a bang or a whimper – it’s all accommodated in the bandwidth.

We hear chiming, keening top notes and a gorgeous bass rumble – particularly in, say, Impromptu No. 2 or Moments Musicaux No. 2 – reminiscent of a fortepiano (I was interested to read that Stern also plays this instrument). The dexterity and sensitivity of Stern’s playing is still immaculately conveyed, shining through – while benefiting from – the tape’s ambience.

As a result, I think Stern’s particular strengths and this style of recording are perfectly aligned. A successful experiment, then – I look forward to seeing the research continue, and hearing which composer becomes its next subject.

Schubert on Tape is available on the Orchid Classics label

This review first appeared on sister site ArtMuseLondon.com

105491206_266430451442172_334752493078903436_nAdrian Ainsworth is, by day, a copywriter specialising in plain language communications about finance and benefits. However, he spends the rest of the time consuming as much music, live or recorded, as possible – then writing about it, often on Specs, his slightly erratic ‘cultural diary’ containing thought pieces, performance and exhibition write-ups, playlists, and even a spot of light photography. He has a particular interest in art song and opera… and a general interest in everything else.

Twitter @Adrian_Specs

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Guest post by Alexandra Westcott

An article in response to Andrew Eales’ excellent article Making Peace with your Inner Musician, which was in turn prompted by this quote from the Bhagavad Bita: “Better indeed is knowledge than mechanical practice…But better still is surrender of attachment to results, because there follows immediate peace”

I’ve already written about mechanical practice versus knowledge and clarity. But I find I am developing my thoughts on this even more with regard to some of my students. In his article Andrew Eales’ discusses having less of an attachment to and more of an appreciation of results and goals; to be kinder and more accepting of ourselves and our piano playing journey; and to find ways to enjoy our playing and what it gives both to ourselves and others. I agree with this wholeheartedly.

I read this quote from the Gita and understood it slightly differently; I interpreted it to mean that in letting go of attachments to goals we let go of those goals altogether; taking away ALL judgement about our playing (even with regards to right or wrong notes) and immersing ourselves in the moment; surely it is this that this leads to immediate peace? I’m not saying that there are not times and situations when results are useful and necessary (whether extrinsic or intrinsically motivated), but that there can be another option for pianists.

As COVID struck I noticed my teaching changed; I was more interested in my students being able to play music than any amount of right notes or technical achievements (hard to do the latter online anyway), so we found ourselves focussing on the sounds, using improvising and ear games. I have already written about how this can help with improvising so I won’t reiterate all those points here, other
than to say if a student can withhold judgement about their playing then they can make music, however little they know or practice; when unable to concentrate on notes on a page, many of my students found solace through the piano and kept playing through both lockdowns.

More recently though, one of my students had an injury and couldn’t play, but got fed up with this and wanted to just get her fingers on the keys, so we have been talking about moving away from any ‘result’ at all, trying instead to focus on being in the moment, and the process of actually playing, whatever that playing is (i.e. whether improvising or learning a piece), and relinquishing all judgement about whether it is good, or right, or even sounds ‘nice’ (there is plenty of published classical music, or jazz improvising, from highly respected musicians and composers, of which I don’t like the sound, so if they can produce such music, why can’t we?!). The student is not learning for either a concert or exam, so why get upset about the notes…? Radical! We can aim at the right notes (assuming we are learning a composed piece), but judge ourselves less, or not at all, for getting them wrong, and enjoy the process in any case.

The Alexander Technique talks about ‘end gaining’; the mistake we make in focusing on the end result rather than how we get there. Understood correctly this is a huge part of how the Alexander Technique can benefit a piano (or any other) student. I think it can go further than aiding our clarity and technical grasp of the music and take us to a place where we are in the moment and finding peace, whether it is in enjoying the physical nature of playing the piano (which is one of the things I myself love about the piano, whereas I didn’t like the particular physical demands of playing the flute, for instance) or getting absorbed in the moods we can evoke. Sometimes we might enjoy the former but not like the latter we produce but does it matter; if it is ephemeral then is has gone in a whisper but we have lived the moment with peace and pleasure.

If you want a left brain reason to do this then be reassured, letting go of all our preconceptions and ‘goals’ completely can produce much more freedom; from judgement, from tightness of technique, or from musical and physical rigidity, and lead one to being more comfortable at the keyboard from whence ‘traditional’
results and goals are more easily attained.

So along with Andrew’s suggestion to be kinder of and more appreciative of where we end up, I also encourage you to be more mindful of, and kinder to yourself, in the moment. Take away an interest in the results completely, and with it any judgement of how you get there or what you are doing. As I’ve said once before and which reflects Andrew’s own words, once we get out of the way, there is only the music, whether is it ours, or Mozart’s.

Alexandra Westcott, BA, FRISM, is a piano teacher and accompanist based in north London.

Twitter @MissAMWestcott

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Ravel’s choices for interior design and landscape in fact are analogous to his inventive musical textures, which reflect his response to diverse European and Asian Pacific and Japanese sources as well as North American blues, jazz, and ragtime.

Guest post by Walter Witt

As a pianist and admirer of Ravel, my visit to Ravel’s house and museum in Montfort L’Amaury several years ago could be considered a sort of pilgrimage.

Ravel purchased the house on the outskirts of Paris, called “Le Belvédère,” in 1921, as a respite from frenzied Parisian social life, a place to entertain his friends, to seal himself off from the world to meditate and to compose. He lived there until his death in 1937. Ravel carried out extensive design work on the house throughout the 1920s.

A deeper understanding of Ravel as a composer, as a master of colour counterpoint, an ornamentalist with miniaturist inclinations, the non-Impressionist and non-European allusions that he employed in his music, can be gleaned from Ravel’s own decorative practices at his home and garden at Le Belvédère. Ravel’s choices for interior design and landscape in fact are analogous to his inventive musical textures, which reflect his response to diverse European and Asian Pacific and Japanese sources as well as North American blues, jazz, and ragtime.

Le Belvédère is what you might call a confidential address, accessible only on certain days and in small groups. Once inside, you can see why. Though the house is picturesque, it’s no chateau. A panorama of hills and forest stretches out beyond the cobbled streets of Montfort-l’Amaury. For Ravel, it was the view from the balcony that first sold him on the house.

The composer was in his mid-40s and at a low ebb when he bought Le Belvédère. He had failed to win the coveted Prix de Rome three times, losing out each time to composers whose names are hardly known today. Determined to serve his country in the first World War, he had tried to sign up for the air force, but was refused on grounds of height. (Ravel’s brocade waistcoats are displayed near the entrance – at 5 foot 2, he was every inch the dandy).

Finally, he was allowed to drive trucks at the Front. He caught dysentery. His beloved mother died in his absence and he felt he had abandoned her. For months, he never touched a manuscript.

Instead, he threw himself into the design and decoration of this house – his first – re-shaping it to reflect his highly individual tastes and personality. He created his own Art Deco wallpaper. He arranged his collection of singular objects, arranging them for harmony or piquancy, creating patterns for the eye. He immersed himself in gardening books, tended to his orchard and turned the sloping garden behind the house into a Japanese style garden.

Ravel was an inveterate antique hunter. He’d invite friends to admire the latest treasures in his sitting room, before revealing how much – or rather, how little – he’d paid for them. The cabinet of Creil et Montereau picture plates, the antique Chinese cups, the drapes, the furniture …everything feels curated, elegant – and personal. Often, homes of famous people feel as if they have been reconstituted from the original. Not this one. It feels as if the owner has just stepped out to buy a baguette or a pack of Gauloises.

Upon entering the house, the first impression is that of a doll-like miniaturism. The stairway and hallways are tight. Throughout the house, the rooms are snug. There’s even a small, secret annex off the music room behind a cabinet (handy for Ravel to whisk manuscripts away from prying eyes).

In the music room, Ravel’s rosewood piano, an Érard which I played during my visit, is still in good condition and kept in tune. The piano fills most of the space. His mother’s portrait hangs above the piano. A portrait of Ravel as a young boy hangs across the room, facing the pianist. Surrounded by portraits of his family and silhouettes of composers, this is where Ravel composed Boléro, the Piano Concerto for the Left Hand, the Concerto in G and L’enfant et les sortilèges. On the piano are more of his treasures – a collection of snuff boxes, butterfly wing art and a rare 19th-century scene made of spun glass, a speciality of Nevers.

While it was here that Ravel wrote his most famous work, Boléro, the work most embedded in the property to my mind is the opera L’Enfant et les Sortilèges. To walk around the house and garden is almost to step into the magical arc of the opera – its first act featuring teapots, armchairs and wallpaper that come to life, its second moving to a night-time garden brimming with cricket calls and croaking frogs – as well as to feel its unforced mix of playfulness and profound seriousness.

In fact, the longer one stays in the house the more one begins to sense the “small wonder” of Ravel: the connoisseur’s mind, the watchmaker’s heart, the eye for beauty and detail, the feeling for pathos. The suggestion of a hidden interior that is bigger than it appears from the outside.

There is a small room full of Asian objects. The collection seems like a mix of objects from China, Japan and Indonesia as well. The extent of his collection is quite impressive, and what was immediately obvious is the almost obsessive way he placed the objects symmetrically in the room. This symmetrical pattern is evident in almost every other part of Le Belvédère.

Ravel in fact gave us a small opening onto Le Belvédère’s aesthetic, as reported in the Dutch tabloid De Telegraaf in 1931. According to the journalist, Ravel asks, “Don’t you think that it slightly resembles the gardens of Versailles, as well as a Japanese garden?” Then the correspondent connects the composer’s question to the idea of miniaturism: “Doesn’t this remark reflect upon the entire man, on the one hand, filled with memories of the stately, joyous century of Couperin and Rameau, yet on the other coupled with a refined sensitivity and miniature workmanship which conjure up Japan?” (quoted in Orenstein, Arbie, ed. 1990. A Ravel Reader: Correspondence, Articles, Interviews, p 475). It is safe to say that Ravel’s decorations in Le Belvédère were themselves a latent allusion to the miniaturism connected with France’s eighteenth-century musical past and the twilight of the ancien régime subtly entwined with the art nouveau aesthetic recognized as “le Japon.” Or, as the Ravel scholar Roger Nichols, stated in his biography of Ravel: “In his life this manifested itself in the division between bouts of socializing, at home or in Paris, and periods of hermetically sealed composition; in his music, between tradition and innovation, between knowing the rules and knowing how to break them. The lifestyle division was no different from that of most composers, for whom long stretches of uninterrupted time are vital (and in the modern world, increasingly hard to achieve). The divisions within Ravel’s music itself are much more interesting, and go to the very heart of its beauty and power” (Nichols, Ravel – A life,  2011, p. 351).

After Ravel’s death in 1937, his faithful housekeeper kept everything precisely as it was. Downstairs, in his smart monochrome bathroom, his toothbrush is still waiting in its beaker.

La Maison musée de Maurice Ravel

Walter Witt is an American-born classical pianist and educator based in France. A lifelong student of the works of Chopin, Walter captivates audiences with his innate musicianship and dynamic presence at the piano. Together with his advocacy for classical music and its educational importance, these talents make him one of the most compelling figures in classical music today.

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