Accompaniment masterclasses — “Works and plays well with others”

This came up while I was reading this post on accompanist masterclasses at Erica Sipes’ blog Beyond the Notes. (I always feel wrong when I don’t put the full ‘s after anything when using the possessive, but I force myself to do it anyway. Makes my eyelid twitch, though.)

It hit me while I was reading her post that the whole idea of masterclasses and workshops for piano accompanists seems to be nonexistent, or at least I’ve never heard of it from my isolated little non-musical universe (which doesn’t make my impression all that trustworthy, I know).

I keep thinking of the article The Juilliard Effect: Ten Years Later that occasionally surfaces in online discussions, and one throwaway line that struck me immediately when reading it but that often goes unremarked upon: “They were among the 44 instrumentalists who graduated in 1994, excluding pianists, who generally follow a distinct career path of their own.”

The bread and butter of a working pianist is going to be accompaniment, mostly for all those kids who anticipate rocketing to clarinet stardom. It’s very ironic that an instrument that is so perfect for accompaniment, and so often used for it, is so often practiced and taught to one person in a room, alone.

Of course, this ability to stand on its own is what makes the piano the perfect accompanist; most pianists will earn their daily bread playing the ultimate standalone instrument in a supportive role behind others.

I just think that a masterclass or workshop like this, rather a whole series of them, is probably vitally and badly needed at most music schools and conservatories and should be required, especially at the top ones like Curtis and Juilliard where all the pianos students think they will be the next André Watts.

That’s why it needs to be required, because having been in my early twenties some time ago *whistles vaguely* I can guarantee you that far too many kids would see such classes in the schedule and think, “Oh, I won’t need to know that.” I wonder how many of Sipes’ experienced adult students sit there and soak up what she has to say while thinking to themselves, “I wish I’d had the opportunity to take classes like this twenty years ago — and the brains to realize I needed to.”

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So yes, it’s going nicely.

This is what I’m provisionally calling the “Brass Bottom Rag,” because it’s in Bb. It wants to come out, and I might as well let it. It’s fairly unremarkable but it’s fun and I’m enjoying myself, although I do need to get over a sticky bit.

“If you play this piece fast, I will hunt you down.”

I think that would have been the last step in Scott Joplin’s progressively more and more impatient tempo markings.

The reason I’m thinking of this is because my head has finally and inevitably been hijacked by a ragtime demon that insists on playing rags in my brain 24/7. It was bound to happen. This is the piano style that my dad got obsessed by after “The Sting” came out, and we listened to it constantly when I was a kid, especially after he found out that Joplin had written an opera. I love this stuff, and it means my childhood and time spent with my dad, and I was bound to finally get taken over with it. I thought it would come as a result of a few Haendel arias, but it seems to have sprung up of its own accord. (I’m still planning on doing the Haendel arias in ragtime style, though.)

Fun, but tiring.

And as someone who likes ragtime and tends to dislike stride — “I played the whole piece in 14 seconds! I r smrt and gud peeAAAAAAAAnist!” — I’m cringing at the thought of how these pieces could conceivably be brutalized by playing them at the typical egotistical breakneck speed of stride, which is how Joplin’s music was mangled by East coast pianists within his lifetime. (Fast boogie? Fine with me. Fast stride? Please, you’re just playing ragtime at the wrong tempo.)

I may have to use Joplinesque tempo markings on my own pieces. “Play this piece at a leisurely speed, or I will trank you personally.”

Meh.

Still sort of meh this weekend. I’ve got two good aria intros, but nothing’s shaking loose on them. Have messed around a bit, and I’d like to work on “Confusa si miri,” but I can’t get it in gear. It’s in 3/8, and I’d love to move it into 3/4 and then split everything into 16th notes. That’ll give me 12 notes per measure, and then I can play with hemiolas, which are always good fun.

But … it’s not coming. I cannot think in 4-beat notes naturally. My brain insists on feeling triplets when I have to fan a beat out into multiple notes.

Maybe I can put it into 5/4 or something. I haven’t done that yet, an oddball time signature. I don’t know. I’m just in a bit of a turnout at the moment.

I was listening to the G Major prelude from book 1 of the WTC and thought it was a cute thing to play with, but then realized that I’d already done it with “Con raucio mormorio,” the last variation. *sigh* I’ll keep chewing on it.

Rum-pum-pum-pum-paaaaah!

Done the transcription of “Confusa si miri.” A fun one. Now, to listen to a bunch of Bach and Buxtehude preludes and see what rattles loose.

Here‘s what I’m working with — not the recitatif, just the intro which starts 27 seconds in. It’s so dramatic and fantastic, and heavy sounding. I’ll probably someday want to go back and do something with it again.

Oooh oooh *jumps up and down*

Ooh, a Buxtehude version of one of the next arias! Oooh oooh oooh …

*bounces up and down in chair while making hand gestures like Wallace when he talks about going to the moon to find cheese*

“I know! I’ll go where there’s Buxtehude!

In other words, here. All those crunchy preludes … This one looks like really fertile ground.

Update: You know what I should do — I should listen to all the preludes in the WTC. I like them better than the fugues anyhow, although that probably verges on heresy coming from a lover of classical music. I think there’s a part of me that never forgave him for putting them in the wrong order, although that might not have been him; I’m not enough of a Bach specialist to know. But if it had been me, I’d have put them in order of key signature, not tonic, and have advanced in order of the circle of fifths. C Major, then A minor, then G Major, then E minor, etc. This C Major, then C minor, followed by the D’s nonsense just drives me nuts.

I have the Zhu Xiao Mei CDs and like them well enough; I really should just reorder the stupid things in iTunes and listen in their proper order, that which is ordained in Nature and cozy for the universe, as opposed to this heathen way that causes the edges of the universe to creak and my eyelid to twitch.