Brendel thoughts #1
Alfred Brendel joins the Orchestra tonight as part of a "farewell tour" that caps a distinguished 60-year career. Listening to rehearsals over the last several days, I was struck by a couple of observations which I thought I'd share over the course of the next few days.
Thought for today: why do some instrumentalists vocalise when they play? All players, to varying degrees, make occasional sounds as they ply their craft (and sometimes a loud exhalation can actually help produce the desired sound). Mr. Brendel falls into the category of performers whose "singing" is audible not just to those orchestra members close to him, but to the audience as well.
Conductors, in rehearsal, will sometimes sing how they want something to be played in lieu of trying to explain the desired effect (it's a remarkably efficient way of getting across a point), and sometimes in performance I catch myself humming those very same sections under my breath as the orchestra plays (I trust a first stand string player would tell me if it became loud enough to be distracting!). Part of it, I think, is getting swept up in the moment, and part of it is how external the creation of sound is to a conductor - produced by a mass of other people, not ourselves - and how we occasionally give in to the primal need to participate in some way with that resonance.
That might explain the vocalising of conductors, but what about pianists? I wonder if part of the issue is not the nature of the piano itself, a percussion instrument that, despite its "sustaining" pedal, produces sound that, after the finger-strike, decays immediately. Yes, the best pianists can make the instrument sing, but that is an aural illusion; each note fades exponentially to time, so different from a string or wind instrument that can sustain a pitch as long as a bow or breath will bear. Maybe singing at the keyboard is an attempt to make up for the limitations of the piano.
The other thought I had is how, when we are deep in the music, musicians are communing with something other that our conscious selves. In the best moments of music-making, we are not thinking coherent thoughts, or at least nothing that one could put words to. Instead, we are carrying on a profound discourse with others and the innermost part of ourselves. And when we are so engulfed in this state of musical being, it seems natural to let our voices, the original musical instrument, to lend its sound.
Thought for today: why do some instrumentalists vocalise when they play? All players, to varying degrees, make occasional sounds as they ply their craft (and sometimes a loud exhalation can actually help produce the desired sound). Mr. Brendel falls into the category of performers whose "singing" is audible not just to those orchestra members close to him, but to the audience as well.
Conductors, in rehearsal, will sometimes sing how they want something to be played in lieu of trying to explain the desired effect (it's a remarkably efficient way of getting across a point), and sometimes in performance I catch myself humming those very same sections under my breath as the orchestra plays (I trust a first stand string player would tell me if it became loud enough to be distracting!). Part of it, I think, is getting swept up in the moment, and part of it is how external the creation of sound is to a conductor - produced by a mass of other people, not ourselves - and how we occasionally give in to the primal need to participate in some way with that resonance.
That might explain the vocalising of conductors, but what about pianists? I wonder if part of the issue is not the nature of the piano itself, a percussion instrument that, despite its "sustaining" pedal, produces sound that, after the finger-strike, decays immediately. Yes, the best pianists can make the instrument sing, but that is an aural illusion; each note fades exponentially to time, so different from a string or wind instrument that can sustain a pitch as long as a bow or breath will bear. Maybe singing at the keyboard is an attempt to make up for the limitations of the piano.
The other thought I had is how, when we are deep in the music, musicians are communing with something other that our conscious selves. In the best moments of music-making, we are not thinking coherent thoughts, or at least nothing that one could put words to. Instead, we are carrying on a profound discourse with others and the innermost part of ourselves. And when we are so engulfed in this state of musical being, it seems natural to let our voices, the original musical instrument, to lend its sound.
Labels: conductors and conducting, random thoughts, singers and singing
posted by Sarah at
3:13 PM
5 Comments:
I trust a first stand string player would tell me if it became loud enough to be distracting!
Nah, we wouldn't. We'd just make fun of you behind your back...
Re: "Maybe singing at the keyboard is an attempt to make up for the limitations of the piano."
This caught me feeling a little territorial about my instrument so I had to comment.
Music is just another language, a way of expressing ones self through a medium. As someone becomes closer to their instrument it becomes more of an extension of themselves, and a very natural way to 'talk'. I think singing along while playing makes for more natural sounding articulation, since you should really be 'talking' to the audience through your instrument.
In other words, I don't think it has anything to do with making up for limitations of the piano.
Cheers
Ed
but nevertheless, if your instrument could "talk" the way you wanted it to, why the necessity for singing along (and I've noticed that it is mostly the pianists who are the biggest vocalisers!). FYI, piano is my instrument, too, (or at least, it was - refer to Sam's post "Sarah's Story"), so I am, in a way, territorial about it too...
I don't think singing along is a necessity - I think it's more the player getting carried away and the piano and his voice become one. Also I think piano players are the biggest culprits because their mouth/face is completely free.
Personally I don't sing along while playing - but I do make rhythmic noises without realising (I've been told), especially when playing polyrhythms. It helps me keep track of where I am in the bar.
Listen to some jazz double bass solos and you'll hear them muttering sometimes too. An example is Ray Brown's solo on 'Bag's Groove' off the album 'Night Train' by the Oscar Peterson Trio. Great album by the way! One of my favs. I don't think he's trying to make up for the limitations of the double bass....
I remember performances by Rudolf Serkin, both in recital and playing concertos, when he not only sang, grunted and exhaled loudly, but he also stamped his left foot in rhythm at times. It could be intrusive on the actual music, especially with Bach.
Glenn Gould also famously or notoriously sang along with his playing, and also was known to conduct the orchestra from the piano bench during concerto performances, annoying the conductor on the podium, I suspect.
And I suspect both of these great pianists' performance behavior reflects "all of the above" in your post and the comments, actually -- wanting to make up for the piano's shortcomings with the voice, being carried away by the music, etc. My instrument was the piano, also, and I found myself in complete sympathy with them. However, it can be rather annoying if the pianist is singing fortissimo and drowning out the piano! I hope Herr Brendel was not guilty of that....
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home