Eric Myers Music

Ice Cream Clock: Time's Flexibility and a Musical Response to a Dali Painting

     I fist saw the famous painting The Persistence of Memory (1931) by Salvadore Dali at the MOMA in New York when I was in college.  I must have been around 19 or 20 at the time.  The tour guide was talking about the painting but I don't remember what he said about it.  What I do remember is the impression this unusual surrealist work had on me.  I was truly intrigued by the watches that appear to be melting or made of rubber and the ants which perhaps represent the passing of time and the decay that is inevitable. The way objects are placed on a beach is also very interesting (a place Dali used in a lot of his paintings, presumably the Mediterranean coast in Spain where he lived).  What is Dali saying about time?  Was he saying that time is flexible or has no fixed form?  What is he saying about memory?  We know that memory requires time.  Is he telling us that time, like memory, is a constant in life and that it has no clear beginning, and, so far as we know, no ending, and so, by that logic, has no clear definition or form.  What is time made of?  Minutes?  Hours?  Days?  What is the standard for time - Greenwich Mean Time?  And what does that mean exactly?  Without veering off into my favorite Taoist philosophical musings, we can at least establish that Dali was making a statement about time and, music being a time-based art, and given my preoccupation with music and my ongoing interest in time, I suppose this painting struck a chord with me.

 

Salvadore Dali's The Persistence of Memory (1931).  This low-resolution image taken from the Wikipedia page:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Persistence_of_Memory

 

     Part of my interest in The Persistence of Memory stems from my belief that music can have a direct impact in how we experience time (see my blog entry "Time Perception and Music").  Music can help us forget ourselves and our troubles, if only for a short time; it can also help us to sort through a difficult period, as music therapy seeks to do, or just help us achieve a more relaxed state of mind.  In terms of perception, music can make time seem to go faster or slower depending on a variety of factors (as I talk about in "Time Perception") including tempo, rhythm, dynamics, instrumentation and other factors we probably can't imagine.  Music can also make us feel nervous or uneasy, depending on our preconceptions and how "wierd" or "crazy" the music may sound to us - how about a piece of music that uses finger nails scratching a blackboard as an instrument?  Music can also be incredibly boring - elevator music, grocery store "muzack", doctor's office waiting room selections, or even a lot of classical music can be boring to people who aren't used to hearing it.  I find the average radio station incredibly boring and unimaginative as they play the same 15 or 20 songs over and over. 

     So, music is made from time (and other things) and is experienced in time.  Given that fact, music has a huge influence on how we experience time as well as our conception of what time is.  Dali's painting, for me, creates a visual reference for the flexible and almost formless nature of time, an idea to which I'm very attached (but I still try to get to my appointments on time!) and it's an idea that I often draw on in my own music.  I was so intrigued by The Persistence of Memory that i composed a piano piece as a direct response to it.  The piece, entitled Ice Cream Clock, creates a rather dark image of time with its stark notes and strange harmonies.  The rapid, descending 32nd note phrases are a musical image for the melting or drooping of the clock in Dali's painting and also stands for the pliability of time, or at least, our experience of it.  The repetitive chromatic theme is intended to bring to mind the ticking of a clock, bell tower chimes and the passage of time.  What do you think of this painting?  Do you see any relevance to the images in the painting and this excerpt from my piano piece?  Following is the first two minutes:

IceCreamClock_2minExcerpt

Eric Myers, Ice Cream Clock (2011, excerpt)

 

 

My website: www.emtones.com

Composer as Story-teller: Can Music Tell a Story Without Words?

     I remember when I first saw Disney's film Fantasia (1940).  I was so disappointed that there was no story, no characters, no evil emperor, lovely princess or daring hero and no funny little creatures clowning around.  Actually, there were a lot of these things in Fantasia, it's just that they didn't all support one long narrative or fairy tale.  So, for this reason, I was disappointed as a kid who was around 9 years old - but my disappointment slowly turned to a vague curiosity.  I asked myself, "if Disney isn't making a movie about a prince or princess, then what is it about?"  And that's an important question: what is anything - a story, music, art - really about?  It turns out the creators of Fantasia had no intention of telling one story, but they did tell a lot of little stories, like the part of the film that tells the entertaining tale of The Sorcerer's Apprentice, about a young magician's apprentice who gets in over his head.  Each piece of music in the film has its own setting (or backdrop), characters (even if the "characters" are simply geometric objects), and a narrative of sorts (sometimes just movement).   It wasn't long before the musician in me recognized what this film was about - music!  And once I recognized that fact, I was able to enjoy the film for what it was - the visual representation of music through the art of animation.  Needless to say, much credit is due to all the visual artists who worked on the film and their important role in the telling of each story.  To this day, I still admire Disney for producing such an imaginative work for youngsters - and to think how it affected my musical development at that age (!).

     This all begs the question, thinking about music in general - what is it supposed to be about?  Well, what is art about?  There's often some background or story behind any piece of music or art (program notes you read at a performance, for example).  And since we're on the subject of music appreciation for kids, the first piece that comes to my mind is Sergei Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf for orchestra and narrator.  Now, here we have a very clear narrative, and, in fact, spoken words are part of the work.  This Russian tale tells the story of a boy named Peter, who is warned by his grandfather not to go out into the forest for fear of the hungry wolf that lives there.  But, Peter ignores his father's warning and goes anyway.  He ends up killing the wolf and becomes the town's smallest hero.  Getting back to our original question of whether or not a story can be told through music alone - well, if you remove the narrator's voice from this work, you aren't likely to get a story about a young boy, his grandfather and a wolf.  Some explanation would certainly be required to stimulate the listener's imagination.  Incidentally, I love how Prokofiev portrays each character in the story using a different instrument in the orchestra: Peter is represented by a lively motif in the strings, the grandfather by a double bassoon and the wolf by a brooding brass melody.  While we're still dependent on words to tell this story, the instruments of the orchestra do a lot to create depth, wonder and momentum in the telling of the story.

     Next, I'm thinking of another Russian composer, Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, and his incredibly popular orchestral suite, The Nutcracker.  With The Nutcracker you have several shorter works, each with its own sound, style and each lending itself to a particular image or idea.  Subsequently, a ballet with a cast of characters grew around these wonderful little pieces and we have the popular ballet by Marius Petipa and Lev Ivanov that we're all familiar with today.  What interests me about The Nutcracker is the fact that each piece is so distinct from one another.  For example, Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy has a very sweet and light melody that exudes mystery, delight and awe.  As a contrast, there's Trepak, the fiery and exciting Russian dance.  Going from one piece to another is akin to changing scenes in a play as the ballet does.  This moving from one "place" to another conveys the type of story-telling that I think only music can - one without words, where the feeling reigns supreme.   Another great piece of music comes from yet another Russian composer, Modest Mussorgsky.  His piece Night on Bald Mountain, and the subsequent work Night on the Bare Mountain by Rimsky-Korsakov is actually depicted in Disney's Fantasia and it's a great one - with darkness settling over the village below when demons coming out to frolic in the night.   Here, the story is a very simple one, what happens on this mountain-top after the sun goes down, but a story nonetheless.  

     Let's also consider Gustav Holst's great orchestral suite The Planets.  Again, several shorter works, in this case, each representing a planet in our solar system.  As in The Nutcracker each piece of music creates its own backdrop, characters and scene: there's Mars, the Bringer of War with thunderous horns and percussion, for example, and Mercury, the Winged Messenger and its busy and boisterous fast-paced melodies, while Venus, the Bringer of Peace is more serene and gentle.   Each planet tells its own story and, together as a whole, they tell a larger story - one that is as varied and dynamic as life itself.

     Segueing to my own work, I've been composing a series of piano pieces intended for the intermediate pianist.  One piece in particular is inspired by my experience hiking the Seven Lakes Trail in the Alaskan wilderness with my wife and brother in 2010.  The piece, entitled Trail to the Seven Lakes, tells of our journey as we discovered each lake (we actually made it to five) and our unexpected encounter with a bear.  It's for solo piano and relates the short adventure without words.  Following is the first minute of the piece:

 

 

Trail_1minExcerpt

Eric Myers, Trail to the Seven Lakes (2011, Excerpt)

 

 

 

My website: www.emtones.com

 

The Greatness of Small Things: Rimsky-Korsakov and the Power of Imagination

     We've all whistled or hummed a simple melody, like a nursery rhyme or a tune we heard on the radio.  Maybe we've even made up our own melody.  How does a composer take a simple melody like that and create a piece for an entire symphony orchestra?  This question is at the heart of almost every great piece ever written for the orchestra.  It depends, of course, on the composer's knowledge of the different instruments of the orchestra and his or her experience composing for them, but it also depends on the composer's imagination.  The composer has to ask himself a lot of questions before he begins: What instrument (or instruments) should start the melody?  How many instruments?  How fast or slow?  How loud or soft?  And that's just the first 20 - 30 seconds.  As you can see, there's a lot to think about when composing for a full orchestra.  Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov was a Russian composer who had to ask these questions a lot.  His most famous orchestral work, Scheherazade, Opus 35 is a shining example of how a composer creates a great work starting with a simple melody.  Now, taken as a whole, Scheherazade is comprised of a lot of different melodies, but I'll focus here on the opening 4 or 5 minutes of the piece. 

     The first movement, Largo e maestoso, opens with a theme in E minor, a simple melody (measures 1 - 4) of nine notes: E down a fourth to B and back up a minor third to D and so on.  The last two notes happen suddenly in a prompt "One-two!" (or, "Bum-Bump!) statement.  Then this "one-two" statement is repeated but a half step down. This is followed by soft chords in the woodwinds.

Here's the opening theme from "Scheherazade" as in appears on the score:

Source: www.imslp.org

Next, a totally new 'sound space' starts at measure 14: violin solo, high register 16th note triplets cascade down an E minor scale and back up in A minor arpeggios with accompanying harp strumming an occasional chord, starting with A minor chord. Violin continues in this fashion very sweet and lovely - the 2nd chord by the harp in an A minor with an F-sharp added - suppose you could call that an A minor 6 chord.  Now - horns and woodwinds answer with a thick, heavy E major chord held..

Here's the beginning of the violin solo with harp accompaniment:

Source: www.imslp.org

In answer to the violin solo, the strings give us the theme again at measure 20 - this is only the 2nd time we've heard it - with some support from the woodwinds but now it's in the context of E major (the opening was in E minor) - but still the same melody.  Cellos and basses support the melody with quarter note arpeggios.  The "one-two!" statement played by strings is echoed by the woodwinds.  Now, the strings continue this nice arrangement of the theme but this time at the fifth (so starting on B instead of E).  The "one-two!" statement becomes more prominent and is repeated (echoed) with pizzicato. The theme is repeated softly at the 6th (C-sharp) then again at the Flat I a bit louder and again at the Flat III but not the whole melody, just the first part of the phrase (and louder) then again at the Flat III then at the IV - good and loud by now - and the full melody ending with a loud "one-two!" statement (V - II) and then the "one-two" statement repeated.  By this time, Rimsky is off and running with a wonderful structure, a magnificent musical 'space' and the makings of a great work. 

     That simple 9-note opening melody has grown into a tremendous orchestral behemoth and makes me think of a big old ship on the ocean in a storm with the waves crashing up on the deck as the movement's title, The Sea and Sinbad's Ship, suggests (Scheherazade is based on the Arabian Nights stories - perhaps the brooding theme is Sinbad's ship and the sweet violin solo is the sea.. )  The maritime image also has relevance in that Rimsky-Korsakov himself was a ship captain in the Russian navy.  No doubt Rimsky was a master orchestrator - he wrote a book on orchestration, and, by that token, is a great composer, his instrument being the orchestra itself.  He made full use of the various colors: the sweet violin solo accompanied by an occasional strum of the harp creates a wide 'open' space that the other sections of the orchestra can respond to.  Also, that simple melody, first in E minor then in E major, gives the orchestra something of substance to build on.  Finally, that short sharp "one-two!" statement provides real fodder for the other instruments - you can do that with any dynamic and in any key and still have the same effect - like a simple "A-men" sung in different languages or by a variety of people with different sounding voices.  Rimsky took that incredibly simple thing and made it into a wonderful movement - strong but alluring and memorable. 

Here's the Moscow Symphony Orchestra performing same:

 

 

 My website: www.emtones.com

 

Chamber Music Evolves: Melody of China Premieres New Work by Gang Situ

The words "Chamber Music Concert" usually evoke images of a string quartet or a grand piano, violin or clarinet, or even a small jazz group.  One doesn't often think of Chinese music or instruments.  But Melody of China, San Francisco's fascinating Chinese music group, is taking the definition of chamber music into a whole new realm.   The group has been around since 1993 performing with such unlikely partners as Lines Ballet and Del Sol String Quartet and in 2010, broke barriers with a collaboration with Asian Improv aRts, the popular jazz group led by saxophonist and composer Frances Wong.  It seems chamber music is in fact changing, with electronic music and jazz working its way onto the stage and with the increased popularity of new music festivals such as Other Minds where contemporary composer showcase new work.  One wonders what it means or where this development will lead?  When you think about it,  such a development makes perfect sense.  After all, our economy is more "global" than ever before with kids in China watching Harry Potter movies and American teenagers listening to artists like Korean pianist Yiruma.   And what better place than San Francisco, with its 'art for art sake' ethos, to nurture such a trend.  I find this development in not only chamber music but popular music as well (take a look at the appeal  of bollywood music and dance) really exciting and confirms my suspicion that we're living in some very interesting times.  For a Chinese music group to comission a new work from a contemporary composer for such an austere instrument as the Qin, the ancient seven-string zither loaded with history and culture points to a new aesthetic, one that makes use of traditional instruments but creates something new and in an experimental vein, for the sole sake of pure artistic expression.  

Melody of China will  be taking the stage on Saturday December 10th 2:30PM at the Chinese Culture Center in San Francisco as part of the CCC's Winter Festival 2011.  The group will be performing with special guests Qin virtuoso Liu Li and Dizi (bamboo flutes) specialist Chen Tao.  A special pre-concert talk with the musicians and the composer starts at 2PM.  The Chinese Culture Center is located at 750 Kearney Street on the 3rd Floor of the Hilton in San Francisco.  The concert is taking place in the auditorium (also on the 3rd Floor).  Here's the link for tickets and info:  http://ccc2011winterconcert.eventbrite.com/

 

The Internet as Music Teacher: Help or Hindrance?

Music students today have an unprecedented set of tools available to them for the purposes of learning and experiencing music.  At the heart of this new set of tools, of course, lies the internet.  But is there a downside to this wealth of information?

Anyone can go online and instantly hear sound files of famous works.  I Googled “Mozart’s Requiem” and got several links to Youtube videos of performances by prominent choirs.  A search for “Mozart’s Requiem score” turned up several links to free downloadable pdf files of scores for the piece.  Once downloaded, a person can follow the score page-by-page while listening to a streaming performance all on his/her laptop and with no paper.  This is perfect for students of Mozart’s music, music history, theory or composition.  I’ve had piano students who wanted to learn a pop song so they go on Youtube and find a video of someone playing the song.  Then they learn the song by watching the video repeatedly and imitating the finger movements.   Or, let’s say you’re a first year flute student and you need a chart with the correct fingerings, or a beginning guitar student and you need chord charts – it’s all there at your fingertips.  I came of age in the 1990’s, when the internet was still in its infancy and when both access and content were extremely limited.  There were no streaming performances or downloadable pdfs (back in my day!); a trip to the local library or music store carrying sheet music was always necessary.   

I guess this means we’re living in the “information age” and that is truly remarkable.  However, I think there is a downside to this unprecedented access to endless information.  Let’s say you are the music student and you want to learn online.  Well, once you’ve downloaded that pdf file, what do you do with it if you can’t read music?  You can view a performance on Youtube – so what?  You can learn to play a song at the piano by imitating someone else but if you have no idea what notes you are playing then how will you learn the next song?  You’ll have to go through the same tedious process of rote imitation.  In the long run, this will make for a very difficult learning experience.  Granted, you can always dig a little deeper and do more research, learning how to read music, how to interpret a music score, as well as music theory and composition, all online.  This can certainly lead to a greater appreciation of music performance and music in general, but does it constitute a complete course of instruction, one that will provide the fullest possible benefit while inspiring you to continue learning?  

The danger lies in the temptation to see the internet as an ‘end-all, be-all’ substitute for private or classroom instruction.  I suppose, like any schooling, it depends on what your goals are.  Do you want to learn to play the piano and read music?  Do you want to learn music notation and create your own compositions?  Or, do you just want to learn some guitar chords?  You can get information on all of these things online as well as video instruction.  However, I believe (and I think most teachers would agree) that there’s another side to learning that starts where ‘information gathering’ ends.  First, in order to learn any skill, whether playing guitar or reading music, you have to practice regularly and practice in a way that will nurture progress.  This isn’t always achievable online (at least not in my experience!).  In other words, learning a musical instrument is more than just acquiring information - you have to dedicate hours of time with that instrument (whether piano, flute, voice, etc.) using proper technique and so develop a skill – incidentally, learning to read music without learning to play an instrument is a bit like learning to ride a bike by reading about bike-riding without actually getting on a bike.  That is to say, the physical component of practice is crucial to a thorough understanding of music.  Second, there’s a lot to be said for live personal instruction.  When you meet someone who has dedicated much of their life to music and you see what music means to them, then you’ll surely foster a much deeper appreciation for music than just by watching videos and collecting information online (I’m not addressing long-distance video phone or ‘virtual’ instruction, a rapidly-developing technology; my discussion here defines the internet as a place to gather information via pre-recorded documents and videos).  A real instructor can also provide focus through a comprehensive lesson plan putting you on a clear path and helping you avoid costly mistakes.  Finally, enthusiasm is infectious, and a teacher’s enthusiasm for music will invariably be passed on to a receptive student. 

Music is a human activity, one that requires both heart and mind.  Seems today’s music student would do well to strike a balance between studying online and studying with a real person.  That said, the internet remains an invaluable tool for learning and inspiration.  Isn’t it wonderful that we’re here to witness it?

Sound as Object: Putting Time in a Bottle

In 1877 Thomas Edison invented a new device that could record sound.  He called it the ‘phonograph’ and listed several possible uses for the contraption including: recording someone’s last dying words, replacing the job of a stenographer, recording a professor’s lectures for students and, of course, listening to music.  The phonograph, while simple, was a major step forward in audio technology.  It had a diaphragm with an embossing point and a cylinder coated in tin foil.  The diaphragm responded to vibrations from the voice and etched an impression of those vibrations on the cylinder’s surface.  Edison succeeded in capturing sound so that it could be played back for listening later.

Thomas_Edison_Mary_h#295DA9

Listen to this early recording of Thomas Edison reciting "Mary Had a Little Lamb" from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

I find the idea of taking sound, which exists in time, and turning it into a physical impression that exists in space, completely fascinating.  It is a process that has occupied both scientists and artists for at least a hundred and twenty-five years.  What exactly is it that we’re doing when we record sound? I believe there’s an interesting parallel between what the engineer does when recording sound and what an artist does when creating a piece that represents or evokes sound. 

With sound recording, sound waves are converted to an impression of what amounts to a wave shape, or ‘analogue’ of the original sound wave, whether a spiral groove on a vinyl record or ‘hill and dale’ impressions Edison’s cylinder.  A needle and some type of amplification are required to hear the result.  While sound recording technology has certainly changed over the years, the basic principle remains the same: small changes in air pressure are converted into a representation of the wave, whether the format is digital or analogue. 

Aside from literal sound representation, depictions of sound in art may be found in various disciplines.  From poetry and literature to abstract painting and sculpture, what artist has not been inspired by music or the sounds of nature?   The poet or author uses words to portray sounds in our environment.  In The Turn of the Screw, author Henry James describes the sound of approaching carriage wheels on a gravel driveway.  The visual artist creates an image of what a sound feels like or changes that occur with sound over time.  I took interest in several works of the Italian Futurist movement, such as Carlo Carrà’s Rhythms of Objects and Giacomo Balla’s Abstract Speed and Sound where sound and speed or changes in time are depicted in shape and color. 

Carlo Carrà  Rhythms of Objects from the blog “Avanguardie”  http://futuravanguardie.blogspot.com/2010/02/rhythms-of-objects-carlo-carra.html

 

Giacomo Ball  Abstract Speed and Sound from the website “Art to be Seen” at the Tate Modern http://www.comeacross.co.uk/arttobeseen/2009/08/08/futurism-at-tate-modern/

 

The filmmaker, working in both sound and image, uses music to convey a particular emotion in the film.  Some abstract films have sought to represent music visually, Disney’s Fantasia being the most popular example, where shapes and colors float by or appear with every note. 

Getting back to the science of sound for a minute, I want to discuss the distinction between sound as a time-based phenomenon and a physical object that exists in space.  Sound originates from the physical vibrations of some object, whether a guitar string or a vocal chord.  These vibrations cause small changes in air pressure.  These pulsating changes in air pressure, in turn, vibrate the eardrum in sympathetic movement.  So, sound is a physical phenomenon as much as a temporal one.  Edison’s phonograph succeeded partly from his understanding of sound as physical vibrations, rather than something that was strictly time-based or temporal.  Most of us have experienced sound in a physical way.  Who hasn’t felt the rattle of bass from a car stereo?   Perhaps, then, sound is more accurately thought of as physical changes that occur over time.  And, while time-based, sound may be used to create a physical representation. 

What is it that the artist, the filmmaker, the audio engineer and Edison all have in common?  I believe they are all seeking to contain time, albeit with different methods and different aims in mind.  Edison succeeded in creating a physical representation of sound in the literal sense, while Carrà and Balla created abstract representations.   It is often said that the artist captures a feeling or mood, but I think they also encapsulate time much like the sound engineer does.  What other possible representations of sound, or time, can we imagine?  Are there other ways of putting time in a bottle?

 

Time Perception and Music

Do different types of music change the way we perceive time?  When you listen to a piece of music, does time seem to pass quickly or slowly?  With such a slippery issue as time perception, there are a lot of factors to consider.  Tempo, rhythm and instrumentation are just a few of the technical aspects that come to mind.  But what about other factors, like familiarity?  When I listen to piece that I know very well, time seems to fly by -- especially if it's a piece I really like.  Then there's the whole issue of style:  many people may feel time flies by when they hear their favorite song on the radio but would be bored to tears if they had to listen to three and a half minutes of Bach. 

I'd like to focus here on just a few technical aspects of music in comparing what I call different musical "spaces".   I define a "space" mainly in terms of rhythm, but in the broadest sense.  I'll get back to this idea later.  First, I want to illustrate a point.  When I listen to piece of music, I think about the composer's intent.  Did the composer intend to write music that would cause time to fly along or music that would make time seem to stand still?  Two extreme examples that come to mind are John Cage's 4'33'' and Rimsky-Korsakov's Flight of the Bumblebee.  Cage's piece is four minutes and thirty-three seconds of silence (or whatever sounds occur in the performance space).  This would certainly feel like a long four and a half minutes to sit through.  On the other hand, Flight of the Bumblebee is a piano piece that races along at break-neck speed and may cause time to pass more quickly.  While a rather simple example comparing a piece that has a lot of notes with one that does not, it does illustrate the fact that music can affect the way we experience time.

Getting back to this idea of "space" in music and how it may affect our perception of time, I'd like to focus on a composer's use of sustained notes, rests, multiple note runs and rhythmic pulse.  I believe a composer can use these and other tools to create a particular type of space thereby portraying a certain mood or tone.  He or she may even manipulate our sense of time.  Now, this is as basic a concept to a composer as the color of paint is to a painter.  But how these "spaces" affect our perception of time is what I'm really interested in -- can time perception be affected at all?  One of my freinds remarked that music in general seems to make time slow down for them perhaps because they enjoy each musical phrase as it occurs and so become more deeply engaged in each moment that passes. 

To get more specific, let's compare two pieces of music:  the first example is Mozart's Symphony No. 40 in G Minor, the Molto Allegro.  Mozart sets up a space right off the bat with a strong pulse and an exciting melody from the strings that has tremdous momentum.  The momentum never really calms down until the end.  Mozart's space, for me, causes time to pass rather quickly.  Maybe it's because of the driving pulse, the rhythmic melody or both.  At the same time, I'm fully engaged because I love the piece so much.  My enjoyment and involvement with every moment must also be a factor.  Try listening to the sample below and ask yourself how time is moving:

 

Mozart_ SymphonyNo40_mvt1

Mozart's Symphony No. 40 in Gimor, Molto Allegro, London Festival Orchestra

 

The second example is Aaron Copland's Quiet City for trumpet and orchestra.  Copland's use of long sustained notes in the strings beneathe intriguing trumpet phrases, both long a short, create a space that is more open and still.  In waiting and wondering what will happen next, time seems to slow down.  At the same time, an engaged listener will be fascinated by Copland's use of harmony in the strings and unexpected rests and phrases from the trumpet.  In being fully engaged, one may find Copland's space creates a "fast" time as well.  So, our mental state as listeners and the degree to which we're engaged with a piece that is also a factor.  Listen to the piece and consider the sense of space: is time "fast" or "slow"?

 

QuietCity_AaronCopland

Aaron Copland's Quiet City, Armando Ghitalla, Trumpet

 

Needless to say, there are no concrete conclusions to be drawn here.  The issue of time perception and the composer's ability to "shape" time is one that can be debated ad nauseum.  However, I believe it's an issue worth exploring.  A quick Google search for "time perception" yields several interesting articles on the subject worth reading.  I enjoyed this article from the Stanford Encyclopedia of Pilosophy, "The Experience and Perception of Time".   Although music is mentioned only in passing, I hope someone will further explore the connection between music and time perception -- who knows what we'll discover?  Are there benefits to perceiving time differently?  That may be the first question.

Chopin Mazurkas and Scott Joplin (part 4)

What sparked my interest in comparing a Chopin mazurka with a Joplin rag?  One of my students was working on a mazurka and I had been heavy into the Joplin rags at the time, practicing several of them religiously.  I was struck by Chopin's simple but engaging structure (given that Chopin's famous works tend to be more flowery and virtuosic) and it immediately called to mind Joplin. 

In trying to figure out why both pieces grab me in a similar way, the only conclusion I can draw with any confidence is that Chopin's Mazurka in F-sharp minor and Joplin's "Weeping Willow" rag are both, at the heart, dance pieces (or, at least, pieces born out of the dance idiom).  Well, that's nothing new;  music inspired by dance goes as far back as music goes.  Beyong that, the left hand of both pieces have a similar lock-step rhythm, low-register bass notes (often the root of the chord) on the downbeat and mid-register chords on the upbeats, a structure which is found in all sorts of music from broadway showtunes to country/western to swing jazz.  The right hand, by contrast, enjoys a more "free" structure in both cases, 8th and 16th note melodies with the occassional syncopated rhythm (more syncopation found in Joplin, but Chopin does have it).  Harmonically, both pieces stay pretty steadfastly grounded to the V7-I cadence (although Chopin's is in a minor key V7-i) while Jopin does inject some lovely harmonic color (I7 and the minor IV). 

So, both pieces engender that toe-tapping urge and carry us away with a great melody.  To me, that's where the similarities end.  There's something special about the Joplin rags that I can't put my finger on.  Maybe it's the historical context, coming in at the end of the 19th century when industrial America was just beginning to forge a musical identity (jazz was in its infancy).  Maybe it's the inventiveness of his combined use of syncopation and melodic whimsy while staying true to the two-step dance form.  In any event, he had something new.  It wasn't a rehash of old melodies or the worship of old forms (although he certainly made use of common harmonic progressions).  It was new music for a new era. 

Interesting to speculate that Joplin, having grown up in the 1870's and 80's would have most likely studied Chopin's piano works.   The Chopin influence in Joplin's works is certainly conceivable.  However, I feel and I think most would agree that Joplin had a unique spark (I'll leave the praising of Chopin's well-documented genius to others). 

Chopin Mazurkas and Scott Joplin (part 3)

I wanted to explore similarities between Chopin's mazurkas and Joplin rags. In my previous post, we took a look at Chopin's Mazurka in F-sharp minor. 

Listen:

13 Scott Joplin - Weeping Willow

Claudio Colombo performing, 2010 Claudio Colombo

 

Image from Ragtime Classics, 2003, Alfred Publishing Company, Inc.

In Scott Joplin's "Weeping Willow" (subtitled "A Ragtime Two Step"), one of my favorites, we have the four-bar intro followed by the familiar Joplin rag structure: 2/4 time (hence "Two Step") with the right hand pounding out a harmony-rich and wonderfully catchy melody.  The left hand, meanwhile, is busy with its "stride" style: low-register bass notes on beats 1 and 2 (downbeats) and mid-register chords on the 'ands' (upbeats).   It's a typical Joplin structure but, as with any piece composed in a particular style, the "Weeping Willow" is, once you've heard it a few times, unmistakeably recognizable.  From the standpoint of rhythm, the left hand stride grounds the piece and gives it that lock-step back-beat while the right hand is free to pontificate in the form of quarter, eighth and syncopated sixteenth-notes.  Like the Chopin Mazurka, the "Weeping Willow" exudes a dance-inspired and dance-inspiring rhythmic vitality that, even our modern, over-saturated ears can detect.   

Next, we'll draw some more comparisons and maybe even a few hypotheses (just for fun).

Chopin Mazurkas and Scott Joplin (part 2)

I was checking out some of Chopin's mazurkas (his short piano pieces inspired by Polish dance) and found they reminded me of Jopin's rags.  I started thinking about how I might go about comparing them. 

Listen:

5-01 Mazurka No. 1 in F-Sharp Minor, Op. 6, No. 1

Vladimir Ashkenazy performing, Deutsche Grammophon, 2009

Image from Oeuvres completes de Frederic Chopin, Kindworth, 1880 (via imslp.org)

Take Chopin's Mazurka in F-sharp minor:  3/4 time as in a waltz beginning with a left-hand accompaniment pattern in quarter notes, beat 1 of the measure is the root of the chord in the lower register, beats 2 and 3 are the chord in the middle register-a typical Chopin left hand, found in many of his waltzes and nocturnes.  The harmony starts out with the typical V7 - i (minor) cadence, and then does an interesting descending chromatic pattern buts ends back in key (looking at the first strain only).  The melody is charming yet melancholy (with the right tempo) made up of an eighth-note triplet paired with dotted eighth-sixteeth figures which rhythm repeats itself in various sequences.  The beat is strongly pronounced throughout and almost makes you want to dance (if you knew how to dance a mazurka).

In my next post we'll look at Joplin's "Weeping Willow" rag...