A few heartening quotes and observations

A quote from the liner notes of one of Gabriela Montero’s albums:

“Nothing repeats itself; I could never play back an improvisation unless I heard it and learnt it by ear.”

Observations from a Greg Sandow review of Billy Joel’s “Fantasies & Delusions” that perhaps could have been a bit more generous:

“[Billy Joel]‘s not at ease with musical notation, so he plays his pieces into a computer, then has a copyist write them down. He thinks Chopin “writes in difficult keys,” though no classical musician would find them hard.”

“Mr. Joel can’t play his music himself because his piano technique, sensational for rock ‘n’ roll, isn’t good enough for classical work.”

It’s very heartening to me to find that one can be magnificently gifted and also have limitations. And most reassuringly, can state them out loud and absolutely without apology in Montero’s case.

I’m also heartened by Joel’s apparent opinion that Chopin “writes in difficult keys.” I’m not Horowitz, and I hate B and Bb. Period. Ugly shapes on the hand, ugly shapes in the mind. I know that some beautiful music is written in those keys, but that fact isn’t going to stop me from disliking them. Knowing that cod liver oil is good for me doesn’t make it taste any better.

C#, Ab, A, E, Eb, and D. Much easier, with nice space for a sometimes inconveniently long middle finger to distinguish itself from the rest of the hand. I began studying classical piano at the age of ten and stopped when I went off to college, so this may not qualify me to speak as a “real” classical musician, but it’s pleasant to me to learn that even a pianist and composer as gifted, prolific, and culturally significant as Billy Joel may also have groaned inwardly when he saw those two flats staring back at him like beady little possum eyes from the left side of the staff. One more flat — just one more! — would have made all the difference!

Most classical musicians probably have keys that they prefer, and I can’t be the only pianist who prefers keys the 1-3-5 chord for which follows the natural shape of the human hand. I think it’s more likely that, not having come out of a conservatory, Billy Joel’s musical pedigree never taught him that one doesn’t admit to disliking certain keys out loud.

I also feel that I should apologize to any readers I have (if any). I didn’t intend for this series of articles to become personal to me in any way, but now that I’ve become more personally invested in music-making again, things seem to be heading in that direction.

Classical improv and Gabriela Montero

Having just discovered her, I’m still on Cloud Nine:

Improvising on Billy Joel

Improvising on Edith Piaf

Spontaneous tango!

Rachmaninoff turned into a tango

Happy Birthday (She must be getting tired of that one.)

Two lovely podcasts from EMI

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star

Her own website

A lovely article at the LA Chamber Orchestra website

Montero’s entire appeal is very interesting in a classical music arena, where audiences have gotten used to the soothing comfort of having heard something a dozen times and hence never being surprised. Unfortunately, I think that a large portion of the classical audience is composed of people who dislike being surprised, even pleasantly. And to be fair, many classical pieces are complex enough that they require repeated listening to reveal some of their most subtle secrets.

But the fascination with an improvisational musician consists of leaning forward and eagerly awaiting the unknown to come. What’s she going to do this time? is on the mind of just about everyone listening to Montero’s improvisational wanderings. Certainly operatic cadenzas can have some of that appeal, but even they have gotten a bit staid over the years; they all have an identical run-up lately, like a long-jumper approaching the sandpit with those long, one-two-three loping steps. Part of the beauty of Franklin’s rendition of “Nessun dorma” was hearing a familiar old warhorse aria done with a new approach, including a never-before-heard final cadenza and that equally unfamiliar, magnificent little arpeggio between the first and second repeats of the title phrase. Finally! A new way to sing it — and not by a piker but by one of the most respected voices of our time. (I’ve also recently discovered that pop singer Michael Bolton, who has quite a good voice, has recorded a CD of some well-known Romantic arias. I’m very anxious to purchase a copy and listen to new interpretations by an excellent singer who brings a whole new tradition of styles with him. I doubt that I’ll hear the one-two-three run-up in the cadenzas from him, or at least I hope I don’t.)

And Montero’s extended improvisational riffs finally expose the lack in the modern ethos of classical music through inviting people to hear it in the present moment, to sit forward a bit and await amazement at a new way of hearing. It may offend purists who prefer the comfort of predictability, but it will bring in entire new sections of society who like to be surprised — the same sort of people who see the newest movies on opening weekend, so as to avoid being “spoiled” for major plot twists.

Unfortunately for musicians, this means of making a living is a lot more work since the music cannot be treated as a commodity anymore (and even popular music is terrible that way). Music has become akin to software, where a company can pay its programmers to write something once, and then sell it a thousand times. But to keep this fascination level up, one must be endlessly inventive … and live. It’s not easy. The bar has been raised.