M-I-C-K-E-Y...
For any of you who attended the Bobby McFerrin/Cantus concert at Orchestra Hall last Friday, you know what I'm talking about (for those of you not fortunate enough to attend, it was a lyric from the audience-sing-along encore).
McFerrin has always been a think-outside-the-box musician, and his concerts never disappoint. There are a few things you can count on (a lump-in-the-throat beautiful version of "Blackbird" and, if you're lucky, a laugh-out-loud funny 7-minute musical condensation of "The Wizard of Oz"), and then there was the new element, the collaboration with Cantus, which yielded moments of utter spontaneity that were surprising to the performers as well as the audience.
Two observations (from my vantage point in the soundbooth in the back of the Hall - where there was a gaggle of standing-room-only audience members taking it all in): first, how utterly relaxed he is onstage. I've certainly seen many other performers with a very comfortable stage presence, but McFerrin's is different - you don't get the fleeting moments of tension or expressions of super-conscious thinking. I'm thinking a lot of it has to do with the fact that what he does on stage is so improvisatory in nature, even if it's planned out. If you're always making it up, it's hard to mess it up. Backstage I asked him if he put a lot of thought into what sounds (consonant and vowel combinations) he used for different registers or patterns. He looked at me quizzically, then told me no, not at all, just what came out at the moment.
It reminded me of the notion of the limitation we classically-trained types are always dogged by, on some level; the fact that what we do is written out, dictated to us, in a way. Yes, there are those few who have incorporated improvisatory skills into classical performance (a skill that used to be commonplace back in the day - and organists still have it as a regular part of their training), and yes, there is of course room for individual turns of phrases that may change night to night, but the fact is that we can't mess with a Brahms Symphony on the spot. We can't even really change a Brahms Intermezzo on the spot - it then ceases to be Brahms. It's a limitation within which we find infinite freedom, but a stricture no less.
It also reminded me of an article I read in a recent Gramophone magazine, an interview with pianists Martha Argerich and Stephen Kovacevich, two artist I admire a great deal, to whom performing is not a relaxing prospect at all:
Argerich: "...one doesn't choose to be a performer...It's not your free choice...Maybe you want to learn and move closer to music, and, yes, to what you love - but that doesn't mean that you enjoy the performing."
Kovacevich: "It's a kind of torture as well, sometimes."
The other post-concert thought was about the amount of audience participation - a lot! - McFerrin had us chiming in for everything from the theme to "The Beverly Hillbillies" to the Bach-Gounod "Ave Maria" (there were some lovely voices in the audience!) and, most notably, one song where he had us accompanying him on a series of pitches. He taught us the pitches by standing at a particular point onstage, singing a pitch, and having us repeat it. He moved over a foot or so, sang a different pitch, had us sing it, etc. He taught us 4 pitches, then proceeded to leap around stage on those four points, and the audience sang the pitch corresponding to the point, as taught.
What was surprising then was the fact that at a certain point, he started moving beyond those four points, up to nearly an octave lower and an octave higher than the original pitch set, and the audience kept in the same mode (and no, it wasn't a major scale). It was completely unconscious, simple, and I unthinkingly sang along.
It wasn't until I left the concert that it even occurred to me that he'd taught us 4 pitches out of a pentatonic scale, and we just went along with it and what came naturally. The music-analysis part of my brain was completely shut off, because I so instinctively knew what he wanted that I didn't need to analyze. And neither did anyone else in the audience - they just sang along, naturally, with what sounded right to their ears.
Which to me goes a long way to show that the natural, unconscious and automatic understanding of the organization of pitch and rhythm that is the basis of music is absolutely instinctive. It's inborn and innate within us. And what's more powerful than that?
McFerrin has always been a think-outside-the-box musician, and his concerts never disappoint. There are a few things you can count on (a lump-in-the-throat beautiful version of "Blackbird" and, if you're lucky, a laugh-out-loud funny 7-minute musical condensation of "The Wizard of Oz"), and then there was the new element, the collaboration with Cantus, which yielded moments of utter spontaneity that were surprising to the performers as well as the audience.
Two observations (from my vantage point in the soundbooth in the back of the Hall - where there was a gaggle of standing-room-only audience members taking it all in): first, how utterly relaxed he is onstage. I've certainly seen many other performers with a very comfortable stage presence, but McFerrin's is different - you don't get the fleeting moments of tension or expressions of super-conscious thinking. I'm thinking a lot of it has to do with the fact that what he does on stage is so improvisatory in nature, even if it's planned out. If you're always making it up, it's hard to mess it up. Backstage I asked him if he put a lot of thought into what sounds (consonant and vowel combinations) he used for different registers or patterns. He looked at me quizzically, then told me no, not at all, just what came out at the moment.
It reminded me of the notion of the limitation we classically-trained types are always dogged by, on some level; the fact that what we do is written out, dictated to us, in a way. Yes, there are those few who have incorporated improvisatory skills into classical performance (a skill that used to be commonplace back in the day - and organists still have it as a regular part of their training), and yes, there is of course room for individual turns of phrases that may change night to night, but the fact is that we can't mess with a Brahms Symphony on the spot. We can't even really change a Brahms Intermezzo on the spot - it then ceases to be Brahms. It's a limitation within which we find infinite freedom, but a stricture no less.
It also reminded me of an article I read in a recent Gramophone magazine, an interview with pianists Martha Argerich and Stephen Kovacevich, two artist I admire a great deal, to whom performing is not a relaxing prospect at all:
Argerich: "...one doesn't choose to be a performer...It's not your free choice...Maybe you want to learn and move closer to music, and, yes, to what you love - but that doesn't mean that you enjoy the performing."
Kovacevich: "It's a kind of torture as well, sometimes."
The other post-concert thought was about the amount of audience participation - a lot! - McFerrin had us chiming in for everything from the theme to "The Beverly Hillbillies" to the Bach-Gounod "Ave Maria" (there were some lovely voices in the audience!) and, most notably, one song where he had us accompanying him on a series of pitches. He taught us the pitches by standing at a particular point onstage, singing a pitch, and having us repeat it. He moved over a foot or so, sang a different pitch, had us sing it, etc. He taught us 4 pitches, then proceeded to leap around stage on those four points, and the audience sang the pitch corresponding to the point, as taught.
What was surprising then was the fact that at a certain point, he started moving beyond those four points, up to nearly an octave lower and an octave higher than the original pitch set, and the audience kept in the same mode (and no, it wasn't a major scale). It was completely unconscious, simple, and I unthinkingly sang along.
It wasn't until I left the concert that it even occurred to me that he'd taught us 4 pitches out of a pentatonic scale, and we just went along with it and what came naturally. The music-analysis part of my brain was completely shut off, because I so instinctively knew what he wanted that I didn't need to analyze. And neither did anyone else in the audience - they just sang along, naturally, with what sounded right to their ears.
Which to me goes a long way to show that the natural, unconscious and automatic understanding of the organization of pitch and rhythm that is the basis of music is absolutely instinctive. It's inborn and innate within us. And what's more powerful than that?
posted by Sarah at
8:00 AM
2 Comments:
That sounds really interesting, I'm bummed I missed it!
He was recording in a studio I was working at and I had to run a tape to his home in MPLS. He answered the door and we only had a brief conversation, but I'll never forget it - because he sang everything. :)
One of the best musical experiences I ever had was at a McFerrin performance here in Dallas several years ago. He did the Bach-Gounod Ave Maria (search in You Tube for several versions of this) and it made shivers go all over you! He is one phenomenal musician. His way with the audience is nothing short of amazing! And as you say, sooooo relaxed and seemingly having a really wonderful time himself!
Bill in Dallas
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