People assume that if you can read music, you can be a page turner for another pianist. 

You read music! You play the piano! You must be able to turn pages!” is the cry I frequently hear, and while all these statements are true, many people do not realise that page turning is an art in itself, a specialist skill which can help a performance go brilliantly, or turn a concert into a Feydeau farce.

These days at piano concerts it is still quite unusual to see a page-turner in attendance. The ongoing – and to my mind rather ridiculous – trend/burden of having to perform from memory (a habit which developed during the second half of the nineteenth-century, thanks in no small part to Franz Liszt and Clara Schumann) means that the turner is a fairly rare sight. It is more common if the pianist is playing as part of a chamber ensemble, though many pianists these days play from an iPad or similar device.

Page turning can be a nerve-wracking experience as the turner feels a great responsibility to “get it right” for the performer. Turns should be discreet and silent (turn from the left of the pianist, using the left hand to turn the top of the page). In effect the turner should be “invisible” – and the turner should be sure never to turn too early or too late.

In addition, the turner has to be able to understand and act correctly upon repeats, da capo and dal segno markings, and other quirks of the score. Turners also need to be alert to concert hall conditions: drafty halls can be stressful as stray gusts and breezes may blow the pages around. Page turners have to observe correct on-stage etiquette: they must follow the performer on to the stage and know not to rise from their chair nor fidget during pianissimo passages. They leave the stage after the performer has taken his or her applause and only step forward to receive plaudits if invited to by the performer.

Much of the turner’s role is about being able to “read” the performer’s body language and be acute enough to act upon sometimes highly discreet signals. Turners should not discuss their anxiety with the performer, nor expect the performer to give them tips or advice about their own playing or musical careers.

In fact, being able to read music is not necessarily a prerequisite of being a competent page turner as someone who gets too involved in reading the music may miss a crucial turn.

A quick poll around Facebook and X (Twitter) revealed some page-turning horror stories (turning the wrong pages, a severely damaged score with pages held together with sellotape, pages out of order) but also anecdotes celebrating page turning and page turners. One turner confessed that pianist Francesco Pietmontesi’s performance of the Liszt transcription of Beethoven’s ‘Pastoral’ Symphony had moved her to tears, and many people describe the privilege and pleasure of being able to turn for top international artists. 

Modern times call for modern page-turning techniques and gagdets: scores stored on an iPad or other tablet device can be turned using a bluetooth foot pedal such as the AirTurn. Music publishers go to some lengths to engrave and print music in such a way as to facilitate easy page turns, but when this is not possible, one either ends up with photocopied sheets taped to the score, uses an automatic turner, or opts to have a page-turner, which can look more poised and professional.

Whatever route you choose, make sure your page turns are tidy, quiet and discreet – oh, and always thank your page-turner after the performance!

(Image credit: The Student Music Organizer on Facebook)

 

A guest post by James Holden

I am not practising but playing the piano.

It has not always been like this. I was younger once and like all pupils would be given my notes on how to play the notes. I would each week be handed a few handwritten, barely legible lines marking out my teacher’s expectations for the coming week: a list of scales to perfect, contrary motion; the names of the pieces to work up.

I am older now. I no longer have to decipher any comments or reach any point by a particular time. I no longer have to worry that my lack of practice will show. I’m not working towards any exams. I’m not studying for a GCSE or A Level. I’m certainly not building up to my Grade 6, Grade 7 or Grade 8. I’ve not had to pick any pieces from List A; I’ve not even looked at List B. And I’m definitely not looking forward to any concert performance.

I am older now and I no longer practise the piano. It’s not practice because I’m not practising the piano for anything. I’m not practising a work in readiness for some point in the future when I’ll finally be asked to play it, when I’ll be asked to perform it, when I’ll be marked, given a merit or a distinction or not. I’m not setting aside time at the keyboard now against some prospective moment. I’m not preparing for anything. No, I’m not practising but just playing the piano.

The difference is one of quality. It is a difference that I can feel in every note, even the wrong ones. I’m not practising the piano, I’m just playing it and that playing belongs entirely to this present moment, this instant as I press down each key. This is it; it’s happening now and not in some future time of a potential recital. It belongs entirely to me, even and especially when I play not the right notes but the wrong ones.

It is an experience that as well as being more immediate in time is also now closer in space. It is nearer to me. The playing begins and ends with me at the piano. There is no inevitable audience. I’m not playing to the upper circle or to any icy examiner but for myself.

The difference between practice and play is also one of quantity. I play the piano far more now than I ever did when I was younger. I play every day when I’m at home. And when I’m not playing the instrument I’m listening to recordings of other people playing it. The piano is no longer a distraction but the thing from which I’m distracted.

And with this increased quantity of time at the keyboard has come an increased quantity – or at least variety – of music on the stand. The difference between practice and play has been for me a greater freedom to choose any piece I want, from any List, A or B, any piece by Liszt or otherwise, from the most simple to those that remain beyond me at the moment, and may well always stay out of reach. It is equally a greater freedom not to choose certain pieces and to abandon any work I want. If I find a work unrewarding (which is different to finding it difficult) I can simply take the music down and put it away without any sense of failure. There is no longer any merit or distinction in playing something that more than challenging me is making me unhappy.

This playing still does not come easy. I’m only moderately competent at the piano. I still have to work out which note is which when there are multiple leger lines. I still have to work hard to eliminate those wrong notes which multiply themselves across the keyboard. And I still patiently have to work my way through complex passages hands separately first and then hands together after, counting in my head as I go, one and two and… getting a feel for the cantabile melody line before adding the accompaniment.

And yet for all these difficulties it is still a joyful and intensely rewarding experience. And so I would recommend that everyone diligently practise the piano and then whenever possible also make time just to play it as well.

© James Holden 2014

Dr James Holden was born in Ashford and educated at Loughborough University. He graduated with his PhD in 2007. He is the author of, amongst other things, In Search of Vinteuil: Music, Literature and a Self Regained (Sussex Academic Press, 2010). His website is www.culturalwriter.co.uk and he posts on Twitter as @CulturalWriter

 

Ziyu Chen

A new series of concerts launches on 5th February 2014 at the Radcliffe Centre at the University of Buckingham with a concert by violist Ziyu Shen and pianist Anthony Hewitt.

Hot on the heels of their recital at London’s Wigmore Hall, these two world-class musicians bring a glorious, innovative programme of music by Bloch, Brahms, Prokofiev, Ravel and Guan. Sixteen year old Ziyua Shen won the 11th Lionel Tertis International Festival and Competition in 2013, the youngest prize-winner of this prestigious competition.

Anthony Hewitt

 

 

 

Pianist Anthony Hewitt is founder of the Ulverston International Music Festival, now in its 11th year, and an internationally acclaimed virtuoso, whose communicative performances have won his high praise.

An intriguing addition to the programme is the inclusion of a specially commissioned poem by Artist in Residence, Graham Roos, to mark the 10th anniversary of the Chinese Cocklepickers’ disaster at Morecombe Bay. The event has resonances for both performers: Chinese born Ziyu and Cumbrian Hewitt, whose home town Ulverston overlooks the fated bay.
Further details and tickets

Future concerts in the series, which take place on the first Wednesday of each month, include:

5th March – Preludes and Promenades. The world premiere of a new words and music collaboration between Anthony Hewitt and actress Susan Porett, featuring selected Preludes by Scriabin and Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, with original artwork by Klara Smith.

2nd April – LePage/McLean Duo. Violinst David LePage and pianist Viv McLean in a programme of music by Bach, Brahms, Debussy, Ravel and Monti.

Further information www.sevenstarconcerts.com

The Instrument, the Music, the Musicians – From Mozart to Modern Jazz and Everything in Between [Hardback]

Stuart Isacoff

Hardback/paperback: 382 pages
Publisher: Souvenir Press Ltd
Language: English
ISBN: 9780285641129

Anyone who has read Charles Rosen’s intelligently-written Piano Notes will find plenty to enjoy in this new book on the “life and times” of the piano by Stewart Isacoff, writer, composer, pianist and lecturer, and founding editor of the magazine Piano Today.

This compact, well-designed book traces the history and evolution of the piano in a richly erudite and engaging narrative, from the unveiling of Mozart’s concertos through to Liszt’s fainting female fans, the rise of the modern travelling virtuoso pianist, to the ‘greats’ of the piano such as Rubinstein, Horowitz, Richter, Gilels, Gould, Peterson, Evans, Tatum, and many more. The book examines why the instrument has had such a fascination for generations of listeners and practitioners, how it can be used as a vehicle for emotional expression and individuality of style, and how it developed into the sleek, beautifully-crafted modern instrument of today. There are numerous sidebars and byways in the text, offering the reader a comprehensive survey of all aspects of the instrument, with plenty of amusing anecdotes, essays, and entertaining rambles around the subject.

Following a schematic course through the chapters, Isacoff’s wide-ranging and accessible text covers subjects such as the groundbreaking music of Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt and Debussy to the breathtaking techniques of the great pianists, such as Glenn Gould, Oscar Peterson, Arthur Rubinstein and Van Cliburn. Asides to the main text serve to amplify and spotlight particular aspects: we have Murray Perahia on shaping the piano’s sounds, Brendel on the challenge of playing Mozart, a profile of Duke Ellington by Oscar Peterson, Garrick Ohlsson on playing Chopin, plus many other contributions by both contemporary commentators and pianists of today, including Piotr Anderszewski, Emmanuel Ax, Billy Joel, Yundi Li, Menahem Pressler and Gabriela Montero. (A section before the index gives further biographical details about all the contributors.)

Jazz, too often overlooked in more traditional histories of the piano and its music, is celebrated with great affection, and the author shows how it grew from the same sources of inspiration as classical repertoire. The text segues comfortably between subjects, enhanced by 100 black-and-white illustrations, and there are copious notes, bibliographical information and a comprehensive index.

This book will delight and enthrall pianists and pianophiles everywhere, and at c£20 is excellent value as a gift for the piano enthusiast.