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Schubert’s penultimate piano sonata, No. 20 in A, D959, is my sonata. Never mind that I’ve heard Imogen Cooper, Daniel Barenboim, Piers Lane, Andras Schiff and Richard Goode, amongst others, perform the sonata, and have listened to countless recordings (including Shera Cherkassy, Radu Lupu, Mitsuko Uchida, Elisabeth Leonskaja, Inon Barnatan and Krystian Zimerman), all of whom might claim that it is their sonata. Schubert’s D959 is my sonata.

Why is it ‘my’ sonata? Because I spent many hours, days and months studying, learning and eventually performing this work, and through that meticulous process I acquired a sense of “ownership” of the music.

Taking ownership of one’s music, literally making it one’s “own piece”, is something that musicians strive for. A strong sense of ownership connects one to one’s music, and also creates a special communication with the audience.

Ownership is hard won, however, and comes from close study and deep knowledge of the score to fully acquaint oneself with the composer’s message and intentions. All the explicit information contained within the score must be processed, understood and acted upon –  the notes, dynamic, rhythmic and articulation markings, tempo, expression and character directions, and all the technical aspects of the music; in addition, implicit directions need to be considered and factored in: a rising passage may suggest a slight crescendo or stringendo, rests and fermatas suggests breathing space, a doubling of octaves may indicate a more orchestral sound or texture. The ability to process and interpret implicit directions comes from the musician’s own musical knowledge, training, an understanding of historical contexts and performance practice (in, for example, Baroque music), experience, maturity and personality.

Such disciplined learning and study gives one the confidence to play the music convincingly and to create one’s own personal vision of the music. I have been to concerts where it is evident that the music is well learnt, all the details taken care of, but it doesn’t communicate, or touch one’s emotions. A non-committal performer may tread the middle road, providing an inoffensive range of dynamics, expression and so on, but without a real sense of conviction which robs the performance of that special edge of excitement. Audiences can certainly feel this and may leave the concert satisfied but unmoved.

So, ownership is about having done the detailed work on the score to give one the confidence to perform the music convincingly. But there’s more: ownership also creates spontaneity, freedom, originality and sprezzatura in performance – the impression that everything one does is effortless. As a performer, one does not want to show the audience what one cannot do; instead, the performer reveals, through their ownership of the music, not only mastery, but also freedom, ease and delight, playing ‘in the moment’…. Performers who have these qualities, and who have complete ownership of their music, are prepared to take risks in performance, secure in the knowledge that one never plays the same piece of music the same way twice. Such performances are thrilling and memorable.

 

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Performers understand the notion of “taking ownership” of a piece of music – making it their own by understanding the work in depth and bringing their own musical insights, life experience and personality to it to create a performance that is colourful and, more importantly, convincing and memorable.

While watching and commenting on the Leeds Piano Competition, an email exchange with a blogging friend of mine who was actually present at the concerto finals about our personal responses to hearing music, in particular in a live concert setting, reminded me that as a listener we can also take ownership of a performance.

Listening to music is a highly subjective and personal experience. I go to many concerts, often with friends and discussions during the interval and afterwards reveal that we each take from a concert something that is deeply personal to us alone – and that includes negative experiences as well as positive ones.

It’s enjoyable and stimulating to discuss a concert with others, in the pub or via social media, but it can be frustrating when people assert their views with the express intention of trying to compete with someone else’s opinion or to suggest the other’s opinion or response to the concert is less valuable or meaningful than theirs. This can have the effect of diminishing the experience of a concert (on occasion has led me to wonder if I might have something wrong with my hearing…..)

The responses in the press and from friends who’d also attended Ivo Pogorelich’s last concert in London in 2015 is one such example. “Oh it was terrible!” one friend exclaimed after the event. “Fistfuls of wrong notes, erratic tempos and just so much wrong with his playing!“. The mainstream press eviscerated Pogorelich in their reviews, questioning not only his pianistic abilities but his reasons for daring to appear in London in the first place when he clearly wasn’t up to the job (itself a questionable assertion by a critic who probably couldn’t even play Happy Birthday on the piano from memory…..). I found the concert memorable for all sorts of reasons – yes, there was some peculiar playing, very personal and at times erratic, but there was also some incredible, thrilling and really beautiful playing (notably in the Brahms Paganini Variations). There were times when the narrative of the evening seemed to unfold like a Shakespearean tragedy (my personal feeling was that Pogorelich really didn’t want to give the concert), and a peculiar, almost comedic interaction with the page turner. At the end Pogorelich received a standing ovation – a reaction which a number of critics questioned. But for those people who stood to applaud, their actions were entirely justified, because they felt he deserved it. And in doing so, they took ownership of the concert, each in their own way.

I too took ownership of that concert. Tired of people who had simply read the reviews in The Times, The Telegraph et al, but didn’t actually attend, telling me that Pogorelich’s career was “over” or that he should never be “allowed” to give a concert again, I simply replied “You weren’t there“. It was an extraordinary evening, and one I won’t forget in a hurry. A shame then that the comments and views of others rather undermined my experience.

754bce465e38fd
Piotr Anderszewski

A similar thing happened after I’d attended a concert by Polish pianist Piotr Anderszewski, a pianist I much admire and try to hear every time he is in London. An acquaintance of mine wrote to me after reading my review and bluntly stated that this pianist was “a case of the Emperor’s New Clothes” – but without actually explaining why.

It seems that some people feel the need to make such comments under the pretence of offering a critique when in fact all they are doing is trying to compete with or undermine someone else’s opinion or experience. But I know how I felt about Anderszewski’s performance, or indeed Krystian Zimerman’s 2017 Schubert Sonatas disc for that matter: those are my personal responses to the performances and the music, and are experiences which I own.

A similar scenario occurs when people turn to reviews in the press: if [insert name of well-known broadsheet newspaper here] says such-and-such a performer/concert/opera production is good/indifferent/shockingly bad it must be true. This attitude forgets that the critic is simply offering an opinion, not an empirical truth.

Our personal responses to music, concerts and performances are incredibly important, and contribute to an ongoing experience. Some concerts stand out more than others, the memory of them a potent lasting connection to the original event (I can still recall very vividly hearing the British pianist John Lill perform Chopin’s B-flat minor Sonata at the Southbank in the early 1980s. An engrossing, emotionally-charged evening, when he came to take his bow, he looked utterly shattered: I think it was the first time I realised just how bloody hard, physically and mentally, playing the piano can be).

Treasure your listening experiences and don’t let anyone else’s comments or critique diminish them. They are your experiences and yours alone: you own that concert.

 

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By |

Performers understand the notion of “taking ownership” of a piece of music – making it their own by understanding the work in depth and bringing their own musical insights, life experience and personality to it to create a performance that is colourful and, more importantly, convincing.

While watching and commenting on the Leeds Piano Competition, an email exchange with a blogging friend of mine who was actually present at the concerto finals about our personal responses to hearing music, in particular in a live concert setting, reminded me that as a listener we can also take ownership of the performance.

Listening to music is a highly subjective and personal experience. I go to many concerts, often with friends, and discussions during the interval and afterwards reveal that we each take from a concert something that is deeply personal to us alone – and that includes negative experiences as well as positive ones.

It’s enjoyable and stimulating to discuss a concert with others, in the pub or via social media, but it can be frustrating when people assert their views with the express intention of trying to compete with my opinion or to suggest my opinion or response to the concert is less valuable or meaningful than theirs. This can have the effect of diminishing my experience of the concert and on occasion has led me to wonder if I might have something wrong with my hearing…..

The responses in the press and from friends who’d also attended Ivo Pogorelich’s last concert in London in 2015 is one such example. “Oh it was terrible!” one friend exclaimed after the event. “Fistfuls of wrong notes, erratic tempos and just so much wrong with his playing!“. The mainstream press eviscerated Pogorelich in their reviews, questioning not only his pianistic abilities but his reasons for daring to appear in London in the first place when he clearly wasn’t up to the job. I found the concert memorable for all sorts of reasons – yes, there was some peculiar playing, very personal and at times erratic, but there was also some incredible, thrilling and really beautiful playing (notably in the Brahms Paganini Variations). There were times when the narrative of the evening seemed to unfold like a Shakespearean tragedy (my personal feeling was that Pogorelich really didn’t want to give the concert), and a peculiar, almost comedic interaction with the page turner. At the end Pogorelich received a standing ovation – a reaction which a number of critics questioned. But for those people who stood to applaud their hero, their actions were entirely justified, because they felt he deserved it. And in doing so, they took ownership of the concert, each in their own way.

I too took ownership of that concert. Tired of people who had simply read the reviews in The Times, The Telegraph et al, but didn’t actually attend, telling me that Pogorelich’s career was “over” or that he should never be allowed to give a concert again, I simply replied “You weren’t there“. It was an extraordinary evening, and one I won’t forget in a hurry. A shame then that the comments and views of others rather undermined my experience.

754bce465e38fd
Piotr Anderszewski

A similar thing happened after I’d attended a concert by Polish pianist Piotr Anderszewski, a pianist I much admire and try to hear every time he is in London. An acquaintance of mine wrote to me after reading my review and stated that this pianist was “a case of the Emperor’s New Clothes” but without explaining why he thought this. A day or so later, the acquaintance’s daughter then messaged me to tell me she thought Anderszewski’s playing was “awful!” and added “but each to their own, I suppose!“. I found this last comment deeply patronising, especially coming from someone who is nearly 30 years my junior, and any pleasure I had experienced at the concert was immediately destroyed.

It seems that some people feel the need to make such comments under the pretence of offering a critique when in fact all they are doing is trying to compete with or undermine someone else’s opinion or experience. But I know how I felt about Anderszewski’s performance, or indeed Krystian Zimerman’s 2017 Schubert Sonatas disc for that matter: those are my personal responses to the performances and the music, and are experiences which I own.

A similar scenario occurs when people turn to reviews in the press: if [insert name of well-known broadsheet newspaper here] says such-and-such a performer/concert/opera production is good/indifferent/shockingly bad it must be true. This attitude forgets that the critic is simply offering an opinion, not an empirical truth.

Our personal responses to music, concerts and performances are incredibly important, and contribute to an ongoing experience. Some concerts stand out more than others, the memory of them a potent lasting connection to the original event (I can still recall very vividly hearing the British pianist John Lill perform Chopin’s B-flat minor Sonata at the Southbank in the early 1980s. An engrossing, emotionally-charged evening, when he came to take his bow, he looked utterly shattered: I think it was the first time I realised just how bloody hard, physically and mentally, playing the piano can be).

Treasure your listening experiences and don’t let anyone else’s comments or critique diminish them. They are your experiences and yours alone: you own that concert.