"...the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature..." -Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2.
Why do people write plays? Or operas?
Why do people perform these plays or operas?
Why do people go and watch other people perform these plays or operas?
I think the reason is clearly stated by our most dear Hamlet; because, plays hold a "mirror up to nature", up to us, so that we can see ourselves and watch ourselves from outside - something we don't get to do on a daily base.
And the people who don't like plays or movies or operas or musicals, who find them "boring" or a "waste of time"; they are the people who don't want to "waste time" facing themselves. The spotlight of theater hasn't lit up their souls just yet.
Plays are spectacular slices of life and succulent specimens of human nature. Even if the play is about witches, vengeful spirits or merchants trading money for flesh, we can always find some of ourselves in it. Actually, the context and what you find from yourself in it doesn't really matter, what really matters is if the play can take you into its world and make you believe in witches or spirits from the world beyond. The same also applies to novels and movies.
But what is it that makes theater so different from the plain book or the movie? Why did I wait at -5 degrees Celsius at 9.30 am on a Sunday morning in front of the theater to get seats to Hamlet, a play I've already read -and analyzed- thoroughly? Why did I walk in the pouring rain, coughing and sneezing, to the theater, to see a guy play Hamlet? Why were all those people there, instead of at home, watching the movie?
What makes theater superior to movies and books is the fact that it is live. That's what has always amazed me; that someone, 20 meters down the row, is on the stage, talking to, or singing to lots of people, creating a pocket-sized universe on that enormous stage. Someone, just like you and me, is up there, doing something called "acting" (how crazy would it sound to a stranger when you told them about how on Planet Earth people got up on stages and pretended to be someone they're not), inviting you, and, if successful, drawing you into their own, little world.
And the splendor! The costumes, the exaggerated actions and expressions, the intoxicating tragedy or comedy... Plain theater can only take it so far, and that's where operas come in. The music, combined with the "live" factor and the splendor, provides the audience with an addictive dose of drama that cannot be obtained anywhere else. I have not seen a scene more epic and glamorous than Don Giovanni's last scene;
Il Commandatore's statue spurs to life, the orchestra screams the D minor chord, the lights fade, the angels of death come onto the stage-Il Commendatore lifts his white, cold arm, and sings "Don Giovanni!"...
So I will see Don Giovanni for the fourth time. And I will go to Hamlet or any other play if I have the chance, even if I'd read it before. And I will be amazed again and again at how those people on the stage perform and manage to envelope the hundreds of people in front of them into their own fictional world, and I will, at some point, forget that I'm watching a play or an opera-and I wouldn't mind it. Because getting out of this cramped up monochromatic world of ours and leaping into Denmark's "prisons" or Don Giovanni's castle every once in a while is not such a bad idea.
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Ah, Sweet Dissonance
I, IV, V, I
I, Ic, IV, I
BORING.
These are chord progressions typical of the Baroque and Classical Eras in classical music. These are what the moving bass line is made out of and what the melody is based on in compositions from these eras and there is nothing wrong with them, except the fact that they are terribly boring. With the rise of the Romantic Era, composers could take more liberty in their compositions and "dared" to change these chord progressions, followed by the 20th century musicians who completely denied the sense of key or tonality. Now listening to music from the late Romantic era and the 20th century, the dissonances are something I look forward to, and I like to be surprised by unexpected chords rather than predicting and humming the next chord in my head when I'm listening to a symphony.
To understand what I said in the previous paragraph, you'll need a crash course in music history:
Music originated from Africa, with the use of percussive instruments made out of simply animal skin stretched over a surface.
The first recognized "era" is Medieval music; the most basic element of medieval music were Gregorian Chants, simply, homophonic ("single sound") songs sung by males.
Next comes the Renaissance, where composers started to take these Gregorian chants and popular folk songs and fit them into Masses. Instrumental music gained more importance, but still pieces were not written specifically for instruments. They accompanied the singers in typical dances, an "estampie", for example.
Around the year 1600, the Baroque era is claimed to have started. In architecture, the buildings from the Baroque era have extravagant decorations and sizes; and the music doesn't fall behind in this race of exaggeration. It is the Baroque era which hosted the famous musicians Vivaldi, Bach and Handel. Operas, symphonies, simply instrumental music gained great importance. It was at this time which Bach wrote his pieces for the harpsichord and basically invented the key system we use today: he wrote the Well Tempered Clavier.
Later set as the year of Bach's decease, at 1750, the Classical era commences. The music of the Classical Era pulls away from the extravagance of the music from the Baroque era; it is lighter in texture. For example, there is a main melody line over chordal accompaniment, a moving bass line, referred to as "basso continuo". Also, the use of keys and contrast in music, mainly instrumental music, gained importance. Mozart, Beethoven and Haydn lived and composed in this era.
Then followed the Romantic Era, starting at roughly around 1820. The music from the Romantic Era hosted some unexpected chord changes, it was a revolt against the Classical and Baroque era molds. It put more emphasis on emotion and expression in the music rather than it sounding good or it being expected. With the invention of the "pianoforte", now shortly referred to as the "piano", composers could now use a wider range- both in sound and volume. Chopin, Tchaikovsky, Liszt and Schumann are only a few of the romantic, emotional and expressive composers of the time.
And finally came along 20th century music with its clashing dissonances and a total defiance of previous stereotypes and accepted facts regarding composition, featuring Stravinsky, Prokofiev and Debussy.
When substances change phase, their energies, their movements, and their entropy changes. Just like an act of melting or evaporating, as music moves from Gregorian Chants to 20th century, its "entropy", its state of disorder, increases. People start to defy the previous accepted facts about music and they add something more of themselves into it. Every next "movement" or era is an act of defiance against the previous one. The Baroque gave more importance to instrumental music, Mozart managed to get away from the fixed forms and some chord progressions, Chopin focused on emotion rather than proper chord progressions and Stravinsky set off a riot when the Rite of Spring was first performed. Music changes, and for me, it changes for the better.
So after listening to pieces written by late-romantic and 20th century composers, Vivaldi's Four Seasons does not really interest me. I prefer clashing dissonances and unexpected harmonies over predictable chord progressions and commonplace blocks of "music". I look for and want to hear those dissonances because that is what gives the music its "acid". Yes, Vivaldi's Four Seasons, especially Winter, is very famous and it relaxes you and is a treat for your ears, but it is just that. It doesn't excite you, it doesn't provoke you, it doesn't make you tilt your head, rewind, and think "What did I just listen to?" .
Perhaps an example would help things get clearer.
Take the first chord in Eine Kleine Nachmusik by W. Amadeus Mozart. A G-chord, with the G, B and D all there. Now take the first chord of Igor Stravinsky's Rite of Spring, Part I, "Augurs of Spring", starting from the bottom: Fb, Ab, Cb, G, Bb, Db, Eb; ah, sweet dissonance! I would prefer this intoxicating ring of dissonance, Stravinsky, and the C and Db in one chord (a semitone apart), over a neat and clear G chord any day.
I, Ic, IV, I
BORING.
These are chord progressions typical of the Baroque and Classical Eras in classical music. These are what the moving bass line is made out of and what the melody is based on in compositions from these eras and there is nothing wrong with them, except the fact that they are terribly boring. With the rise of the Romantic Era, composers could take more liberty in their compositions and "dared" to change these chord progressions, followed by the 20th century musicians who completely denied the sense of key or tonality. Now listening to music from the late Romantic era and the 20th century, the dissonances are something I look forward to, and I like to be surprised by unexpected chords rather than predicting and humming the next chord in my head when I'm listening to a symphony.
To understand what I said in the previous paragraph, you'll need a crash course in music history:
Music originated from Africa, with the use of percussive instruments made out of simply animal skin stretched over a surface.
The first recognized "era" is Medieval music; the most basic element of medieval music were Gregorian Chants, simply, homophonic ("single sound") songs sung by males.
Next comes the Renaissance, where composers started to take these Gregorian chants and popular folk songs and fit them into Masses. Instrumental music gained more importance, but still pieces were not written specifically for instruments. They accompanied the singers in typical dances, an "estampie", for example.
Around the year 1600, the Baroque era is claimed to have started. In architecture, the buildings from the Baroque era have extravagant decorations and sizes; and the music doesn't fall behind in this race of exaggeration. It is the Baroque era which hosted the famous musicians Vivaldi, Bach and Handel. Operas, symphonies, simply instrumental music gained great importance. It was at this time which Bach wrote his pieces for the harpsichord and basically invented the key system we use today: he wrote the Well Tempered Clavier.
Later set as the year of Bach's decease, at 1750, the Classical era commences. The music of the Classical Era pulls away from the extravagance of the music from the Baroque era; it is lighter in texture. For example, there is a main melody line over chordal accompaniment, a moving bass line, referred to as "basso continuo". Also, the use of keys and contrast in music, mainly instrumental music, gained importance. Mozart, Beethoven and Haydn lived and composed in this era.
Then followed the Romantic Era, starting at roughly around 1820. The music from the Romantic Era hosted some unexpected chord changes, it was a revolt against the Classical and Baroque era molds. It put more emphasis on emotion and expression in the music rather than it sounding good or it being expected. With the invention of the "pianoforte", now shortly referred to as the "piano", composers could now use a wider range- both in sound and volume. Chopin, Tchaikovsky, Liszt and Schumann are only a few of the romantic, emotional and expressive composers of the time.
And finally came along 20th century music with its clashing dissonances and a total defiance of previous stereotypes and accepted facts regarding composition, featuring Stravinsky, Prokofiev and Debussy.
When substances change phase, their energies, their movements, and their entropy changes. Just like an act of melting or evaporating, as music moves from Gregorian Chants to 20th century, its "entropy", its state of disorder, increases. People start to defy the previous accepted facts about music and they add something more of themselves into it. Every next "movement" or era is an act of defiance against the previous one. The Baroque gave more importance to instrumental music, Mozart managed to get away from the fixed forms and some chord progressions, Chopin focused on emotion rather than proper chord progressions and Stravinsky set off a riot when the Rite of Spring was first performed. Music changes, and for me, it changes for the better.
So after listening to pieces written by late-romantic and 20th century composers, Vivaldi's Four Seasons does not really interest me. I prefer clashing dissonances and unexpected harmonies over predictable chord progressions and commonplace blocks of "music". I look for and want to hear those dissonances because that is what gives the music its "acid". Yes, Vivaldi's Four Seasons, especially Winter, is very famous and it relaxes you and is a treat for your ears, but it is just that. It doesn't excite you, it doesn't provoke you, it doesn't make you tilt your head, rewind, and think "What did I just listen to?" .
Perhaps an example would help things get clearer.
Take the first chord in Eine Kleine Nachmusik by W. Amadeus Mozart. A G-chord, with the G, B and D all there. Now take the first chord of Igor Stravinsky's Rite of Spring, Part I, "Augurs of Spring", starting from the bottom: Fb, Ab, Cb, G, Bb, Db, Eb; ah, sweet dissonance! I would prefer this intoxicating ring of dissonance, Stravinsky, and the C and Db in one chord (a semitone apart), over a neat and clear G chord any day.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
The Left Hand
In one of his poems, the Turkish poet Orhan Veli said:
"I got drunk,
And I remembered you again;
My left hand,
My unpracticed hand,
My poor hand!"
Although this poem may seem to be written on a whim and not tell of much, it tells the truth.
Today, I tried playing the third movement of the Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven. Towards the middle of this movement, the right and left hands change place; so instead of the usual left hand accompaniment and the right hand singing the melody, now the right hand sets off with the sixteenth alberti bass accompaniment, and the left hand takes the lead!
Only, it wasn't that easy.
It is expected that people who play the piano and are right-handed to somehow have better use of their left hands compared to other people. Well, that is not entirely true. The piano is actually set for the weakness of the left hand and the strength of the other one (well, except some of Chopin's pieces, maybe). So the pianists actually need to put their left hand in the background, and whether that requires more muscle control or less, is up for discussion.
So we boast about being the "superior species", but we can't even use one of our hands when a cheetah has no preference over whether it should kill with its left or right claw.
I think the reason why Beethoven and Chopin have included the left hand dominantly in their pieces is, first of all, they are composers from the romantic era, so they could do almost anything and get away with it (I mean, the man put a choir into a symphony!), but most importantly, that they wanted to do something different. When you want to play a Chopin piece, a waltz, a mazurka, or a nocturne, you need to practice the left hand separately, get it set, and then add the beautiful right hand melody and embellishments.
Our left hand seems useless sometimes. We may regard it as a vulnerability against other animals or creatures, or we may simply see it as a weak limb, liability. However, when it comes to real life, we definitely need it and we actually use it more than we think. If we took out the left hand from any piano piece, the melody and the chords would still be there, yes, but it just would not sound right. Our left hand is like the double bass in an orchestra or a bass guitar in a band; you don't notice it when it is there, but when it is gone, you miss it and the music feels empty.
That is, if you are right-handed. If you are a leftie, well, that's a whole other story.
"I got drunk,
And I remembered you again;
My left hand,
My unpracticed hand,
My poor hand!"
Although this poem may seem to be written on a whim and not tell of much, it tells the truth.
Today, I tried playing the third movement of the Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven. Towards the middle of this movement, the right and left hands change place; so instead of the usual left hand accompaniment and the right hand singing the melody, now the right hand sets off with the sixteenth alberti bass accompaniment, and the left hand takes the lead!
Only, it wasn't that easy.
It is expected that people who play the piano and are right-handed to somehow have better use of their left hands compared to other people. Well, that is not entirely true. The piano is actually set for the weakness of the left hand and the strength of the other one (well, except some of Chopin's pieces, maybe). So the pianists actually need to put their left hand in the background, and whether that requires more muscle control or less, is up for discussion.
So we boast about being the "superior species", but we can't even use one of our hands when a cheetah has no preference over whether it should kill with its left or right claw.
I think the reason why Beethoven and Chopin have included the left hand dominantly in their pieces is, first of all, they are composers from the romantic era, so they could do almost anything and get away with it (I mean, the man put a choir into a symphony!), but most importantly, that they wanted to do something different. When you want to play a Chopin piece, a waltz, a mazurka, or a nocturne, you need to practice the left hand separately, get it set, and then add the beautiful right hand melody and embellishments.
Our left hand seems useless sometimes. We may regard it as a vulnerability against other animals or creatures, or we may simply see it as a weak limb, liability. However, when it comes to real life, we definitely need it and we actually use it more than we think. If we took out the left hand from any piano piece, the melody and the chords would still be there, yes, but it just would not sound right. Our left hand is like the double bass in an orchestra or a bass guitar in a band; you don't notice it when it is there, but when it is gone, you miss it and the music feels empty.
That is, if you are right-handed. If you are a leftie, well, that's a whole other story.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Names to Fit
On Friday, I did not wake up at 6:30 in the morning to get dressed up and go to school to "learn" and "have fun", really to be tested all the time. Instead, I woke up at 7:40, with butterflies fluttering in my stomach, my fingers waiting anxiously to embrace my piano for the final time before we got in a cab in the rainy, humid morning to take place in a piano contest.
Each grade was assigned a specific piece before hand, ours was a Kuhlau Sonata, and we got to pick another piece, which could be anything at all... as long as it did not exceed three minutes.
We got there a little early, and sat in the cafeteria of the relatively small school. While my mom and I were waiting for my name to be called, students would come and go, some there for the very same competition, with their sheet music in their hands, some with their fathers making them follow him around, some in haste, trying to get copies of the criteria before he/she got called in. And there were some who came with their teachers. This was the last day of the competition, so it was grades 10, 11 and 12 for piano and guitar, and most of these competitors had their valued tutors and "supporting" parents with them. Their tutors were giving them advice, speaking to them with such hurtful ambition and speed, speaking the way a boxing coach speaks to his athlete, telling him how to beat up his opponent so badly that he faints, just before the bell authorizing violence chimes among the halls of gambling, ambition, and money. The parents on the other hand, were a whole new kind. Some sat by, chatting with their children, as my own mother did, actually, she played a game on the iPad while I studied for my French test, while some were worse than the tutors; parents instructing their children, and their children frantically practicing the hard passages of their pieces on the plastic coffee table they sat in. One father was dressed up in a suit, his son also dressed up in a black shirt with black suit pants and black, shiny shoes, lead his son around the cafeteria. The boy didn't look up.
Finally, I was called up, along with fifteen other students, and they took us up a floor, where we continued to wait.
When I had four or five people remaining to go before me, we started talking to each other. I sat next to two very, very different people.
One of them could not afford to but a piano, so she had a keyboard at home on which she would practice the passages and parts of pieces, and then she would play her pieces on the piano at her school every day.
The other one's name was Idil, named after the famous Turkish pianist Idil Biret. Her parents bought her a piano when she was born. She played the piano since she was 4-5 years old; but she hated it. She told us that she did not enjoy it at all and that "she did not have anything to do with it." I had the opportunity to listen to both of my new friends. The first girl played quite well, but you could tell she could use a little bit more practice. The second one, Idil, could not play very well, it was as if she was sight reading the pre-determined repertoire right there, and, it was not that hard to sight read. The jury stopped her at the middle of her first piece, asking her to commence with her second piece which she chose. She came out of the room, happy that it was over, while I went in the room, excited to see the piano, the people, and to cross something off my bucket-list.
And today is mother's day. A day only for the most patient -well, most of the time- , most loving, most encouraging creatures on the face of earth. They are indeed special, all parents are, but when they try to change the course of their children's lives, when they try to make their lives into the life they've always wanted to have but couldn't, they become more ambitious, almost to a degree which could hurt their children... But sometimes, they do help them, some become great pianists, great doctors because of their parents' push, but some always look up to their parents, not in the good way, and to everyone around them, walk with their heads down, always trying to live up to their name, while they fail to realize for their whole lives that it is their names who should fit them, not the other way around.
Each grade was assigned a specific piece before hand, ours was a Kuhlau Sonata, and we got to pick another piece, which could be anything at all... as long as it did not exceed three minutes.
We got there a little early, and sat in the cafeteria of the relatively small school. While my mom and I were waiting for my name to be called, students would come and go, some there for the very same competition, with their sheet music in their hands, some with their fathers making them follow him around, some in haste, trying to get copies of the criteria before he/she got called in. And there were some who came with their teachers. This was the last day of the competition, so it was grades 10, 11 and 12 for piano and guitar, and most of these competitors had their valued tutors and "supporting" parents with them. Their tutors were giving them advice, speaking to them with such hurtful ambition and speed, speaking the way a boxing coach speaks to his athlete, telling him how to beat up his opponent so badly that he faints, just before the bell authorizing violence chimes among the halls of gambling, ambition, and money. The parents on the other hand, were a whole new kind. Some sat by, chatting with their children, as my own mother did, actually, she played a game on the iPad while I studied for my French test, while some were worse than the tutors; parents instructing their children, and their children frantically practicing the hard passages of their pieces on the plastic coffee table they sat in. One father was dressed up in a suit, his son also dressed up in a black shirt with black suit pants and black, shiny shoes, lead his son around the cafeteria. The boy didn't look up.
Finally, I was called up, along with fifteen other students, and they took us up a floor, where we continued to wait.
When I had four or five people remaining to go before me, we started talking to each other. I sat next to two very, very different people.
One of them could not afford to but a piano, so she had a keyboard at home on which she would practice the passages and parts of pieces, and then she would play her pieces on the piano at her school every day.
The other one's name was Idil, named after the famous Turkish pianist Idil Biret. Her parents bought her a piano when she was born. She played the piano since she was 4-5 years old; but she hated it. She told us that she did not enjoy it at all and that "she did not have anything to do with it." I had the opportunity to listen to both of my new friends. The first girl played quite well, but you could tell she could use a little bit more practice. The second one, Idil, could not play very well, it was as if she was sight reading the pre-determined repertoire right there, and, it was not that hard to sight read. The jury stopped her at the middle of her first piece, asking her to commence with her second piece which she chose. She came out of the room, happy that it was over, while I went in the room, excited to see the piano, the people, and to cross something off my bucket-list.
And today is mother's day. A day only for the most patient -well, most of the time- , most loving, most encouraging creatures on the face of earth. They are indeed special, all parents are, but when they try to change the course of their children's lives, when they try to make their lives into the life they've always wanted to have but couldn't, they become more ambitious, almost to a degree which could hurt their children... But sometimes, they do help them, some become great pianists, great doctors because of their parents' push, but some always look up to their parents, not in the good way, and to everyone around them, walk with their heads down, always trying to live up to their name, while they fail to realize for their whole lives that it is their names who should fit them, not the other way around.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Murphy's Law? Maybe.
Yesterday, I performed at a concert. And until the moment I got up on the stage (I was the last to go, by the way), I practically lived the statement "Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong".
The concert was organized by my piano teacher and she wanted her students to give a concert. She asked me if I would play in it. I said, "Gladly!". She asked me if I had anything to do that Tuesday night, May 7th. I thought about it for a while, and the date rang the bell: math exam, Ding! Luckily, the test was on Tuesday, so I didn't have any studying to do that night. Anyway. She told me that the rehearsal would be at 18:00. I told her that I come from school around 17:00 and I could easily make it... Haha.
So Tuesday came rolling, I took the painfully hard calculus exam, and was excited the whole day for the concert that night. I got on the bus, and because of the people who took the bus that day, I realized that I would be dropped off 3rd from the last.
But that was just the beginning.
The road we normally take was unusually and incredibly crowded and a jogging turtle could have passed us for a while there.
When it was finally my turn to get dropped off, the bus driver "forgot" I was in the bus and missed the turn which lead to my street. I had to ride along in the bus until he dropped off the remaining three people.
I finally got home, ate some stuff so fast I couldn't taste it, fixed myself an outfit, splashed on some makeup, and we were getting in a cab at 18:10.
Oh, what's that?
Some people tried to take charge and are running around yelling shallow slogans with banners in their hands, so the police closed off a street.
Some genius city planner decided to work on the asphalt in one of the main arteries at the place I was going to, so bye-bye free flowing traffic!
It took us 30 minutes to go somewhere we would've gone in 10 minutes any other day.
Now, I don't want to commit any logical fallacies or anything, but, if all of these weren't Murphy's Laws alive in flesh and blood, what were they?
Of course, I would not notice the jammed traffic every other day when I did not have a concert to get to.
I would not care so much if the bus driver had forgotten to drop me off any other day. So maybe, just because today I had somewhere and some event I had to get to, because I searched for misfortunes all along the way, I noticed these stuff.
Nonetheless, something, maybe a decision I made or maybe the fluttering of a butterfly's wings on the top of a skyscraper in Shanghai caused me to be late to that concert. I don't know what was at work that day, but that chaotic afternoon was far from normal... Murphy's Law? Maybe.
The concert was organized by my piano teacher and she wanted her students to give a concert. She asked me if I would play in it. I said, "Gladly!". She asked me if I had anything to do that Tuesday night, May 7th. I thought about it for a while, and the date rang the bell: math exam, Ding! Luckily, the test was on Tuesday, so I didn't have any studying to do that night. Anyway. She told me that the rehearsal would be at 18:00. I told her that I come from school around 17:00 and I could easily make it... Haha.
So Tuesday came rolling, I took the painfully hard calculus exam, and was excited the whole day for the concert that night. I got on the bus, and because of the people who took the bus that day, I realized that I would be dropped off 3rd from the last.
But that was just the beginning.
The road we normally take was unusually and incredibly crowded and a jogging turtle could have passed us for a while there.
When it was finally my turn to get dropped off, the bus driver "forgot" I was in the bus and missed the turn which lead to my street. I had to ride along in the bus until he dropped off the remaining three people.
I finally got home, ate some stuff so fast I couldn't taste it, fixed myself an outfit, splashed on some makeup, and we were getting in a cab at 18:10.
Oh, what's that?
Some people tried to take charge and are running around yelling shallow slogans with banners in their hands, so the police closed off a street.
Some genius city planner decided to work on the asphalt in one of the main arteries at the place I was going to, so bye-bye free flowing traffic!
It took us 30 minutes to go somewhere we would've gone in 10 minutes any other day.
Now, I don't want to commit any logical fallacies or anything, but, if all of these weren't Murphy's Laws alive in flesh and blood, what were they?
Of course, I would not notice the jammed traffic every other day when I did not have a concert to get to.
I would not care so much if the bus driver had forgotten to drop me off any other day. So maybe, just because today I had somewhere and some event I had to get to, because I searched for misfortunes all along the way, I noticed these stuff.
Nonetheless, something, maybe a decision I made or maybe the fluttering of a butterfly's wings on the top of a skyscraper in Shanghai caused me to be late to that concert. I don't know what was at work that day, but that chaotic afternoon was far from normal... Murphy's Law? Maybe.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Symphony of a Thousand
On Tuesday, we went to listen to Mahler's Eighth Symphony, more commonly known as the "Symphony of a Thousand."
The story is that Mahler originally wrote this symphony for a thousand people to perform it, but it was only done once with a thousand people on the night of its premiere in 1910, Munich.
The one we went to was "only" four hundred people on stage; one orchestra (which had two harps, so imagine the size) and three choirs, plus the soloists standing at the front and some part of the brass section in one of the aisles between the seats of the audience because they couldn't fit on the stage.
Still, it was no different than a quartet who's been together for twenty years playing their favorite piece; everything was right, and even in that chaos and in that heap of people, instruments and stands, nothing stood out and everyone managed to listen to each other.
Of course, the conductor played a big part in all of this "staying together" and synchronization.
But the most important thing to do when you're performing with an orchestra, especially with a 300-people one, is to listen to every single instrument and voice. Looking at the director, in my opinion, comes later.
The most amazing thing I observed at one point midst the screeching dissonances, chromatic notes and "themes" to be heard once and never again, was how the huge violin section could pull off such an awesome crescendo; it sounded like one person was playing the whole thing. Playing the right notes and the rhythms is something, but doing a perfect crescendo in unison is another.
The Symphony of a Thousand by Mahler, put together by the Bilkent Symphony Orchestra and three choirs, was surely an amazing experience, one that I would be terribly sorry to miss. Once again, I realized how actually listening to people make the music there and then, with little flukes and perfect nuances is much, much, much more different than downloading the piece from torrents.com and listening to it with cheap headphones.
The story is that Mahler originally wrote this symphony for a thousand people to perform it, but it was only done once with a thousand people on the night of its premiere in 1910, Munich.
The one we went to was "only" four hundred people on stage; one orchestra (which had two harps, so imagine the size) and three choirs, plus the soloists standing at the front and some part of the brass section in one of the aisles between the seats of the audience because they couldn't fit on the stage.
Still, it was no different than a quartet who's been together for twenty years playing their favorite piece; everything was right, and even in that chaos and in that heap of people, instruments and stands, nothing stood out and everyone managed to listen to each other.
Of course, the conductor played a big part in all of this "staying together" and synchronization.
But the most important thing to do when you're performing with an orchestra, especially with a 300-people one, is to listen to every single instrument and voice. Looking at the director, in my opinion, comes later.
The most amazing thing I observed at one point midst the screeching dissonances, chromatic notes and "themes" to be heard once and never again, was how the huge violin section could pull off such an awesome crescendo; it sounded like one person was playing the whole thing. Playing the right notes and the rhythms is something, but doing a perfect crescendo in unison is another.
The Symphony of a Thousand by Mahler, put together by the Bilkent Symphony Orchestra and three choirs, was surely an amazing experience, one that I would be terribly sorry to miss. Once again, I realized how actually listening to people make the music there and then, with little flukes and perfect nuances is much, much, much more different than downloading the piece from torrents.com and listening to it with cheap headphones.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
The Quiet Prodigy
He was born in a small village in Warsaw, in 1810.
He was the second child and the only son of Justyna and Nicholas.
His first piano teacher was his big sister, and he gave his first concert at the age of seven.
He traveled to Paris, hoping he would stumble upon more opportunities as an aspiring musician, with a handful of his native soil in his pocket, in 1830.
But he was gone for good, because the rebellious Poland army was pulverized by the large and powerful Russian army, just a couple of weeks after his departure from Poland. Coming back home, returning to his homeland was, henceforth, not possible.
His lover broke up with him by writing a novel in which the female character (symbolizing herself) left the male character (our musician) for someone else, and sending our musician the novel.
He gave little less than 30 concerts in his short-spanned life. He was not a big-hit back then, as he "failed to fill the concert hall"; he was too quiet.
Compared to Liszt's and Berlioz's mighty compositions spilling over with fortissimo's and hammered chords, he was simply too soft for the audience in Paris.
His life was ended prematurely by a demanding disease, most probably tuberculosis.
He was the second child and the only son of Justyna and Nicholas.
His first piano teacher was his big sister, and he gave his first concert at the age of seven.
He traveled to Paris, hoping he would stumble upon more opportunities as an aspiring musician, with a handful of his native soil in his pocket, in 1830.
But he was gone for good, because the rebellious Poland army was pulverized by the large and powerful Russian army, just a couple of weeks after his departure from Poland. Coming back home, returning to his homeland was, henceforth, not possible.
His lover broke up with him by writing a novel in which the female character (symbolizing herself) left the male character (our musician) for someone else, and sending our musician the novel.
He gave little less than 30 concerts in his short-spanned life. He was not a big-hit back then, as he "failed to fill the concert hall"; he was too quiet.
Compared to Liszt's and Berlioz's mighty compositions spilling over with fortissimo's and hammered chords, he was simply too soft for the audience in Paris.
His life was ended prematurely by a demanding disease, most probably tuberculosis.
This man is Frederic Chopin.
Most of his works are for the solo piano, and he is my all-time favorite composer.
Why, you ask?
It's because of the feelings inside his pieces, locked in tightly by the staves and the written, simple notes, waiting to be released by an understanding and passionate pianist.
Every single time I play his Nocturne No. 20 in C-Sharp major, I find something different in it, another feeling, another thought.
And every time I listen to this incredible piece of work, it takes me to a different place, stirs up different memories, different emotions.
His piece called Adieu, a waltz in A-Flat Major for the piano, conveys the emotions of farewells and goodbyes and departures better than any painting I've seen or any novel I've read. It is hard to keep your eyes from brimming with tears, to stay standing behind the sand bar the waves of memory build up in your mind. It is hard not to feel, it is hard not to live the music.
Frederic Chopin, the quiet, emotional, master of the Romantic Era, quite different from his fellow composer friends, manages to prove everyone who thinks that music can only express so much wrong. Now, if you will listen to his waltz L'Adieu, you will understand what I mean. The silent prodigy makes up for the lack of volume in his pieces with overflowing feeling and just simple, plain, beauty.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
My First TEDx Event
...I walked up on the stage, the spot lights glaring at me, my friends, family, anxiously waiting for me to begin, people experts in their fields looking at me as if they were saying "What journey could an 11th grade student possibly have to tell?"...
The microphone, check. Hair, check. Piano at the right place, check. Sheet music, check. Confidence, check.
I will never forget last night, the night of February 27th, 2013. It was my first TEDx conference, and even my first experience at public speaking. Until last night, the biggest assembly I've ever talked to was my 40-people committee in MUN conferences. Last night, I talked to 150 people and soon, the whole world will be able to watch my talk named Life in A Major.
The theme of our TEDx event was A Journey to Tell. I talked about my journey through music, how I started playing the piano, my wonderful teachers, how I played and what I played on the piano, and I ended my talk with a full performance of Alla Turca Jazz by Fazıl Say. Now, I said full performance because my whole talk contained bits and pieces of piano, me re-enacting my first concert, playing pieces from different genres, showing how you can experience and live the music on a Chopin piece...
I wasn't worried about playing the piano in front of a crowd, in the end, I do that all the time. What worried me was the speaking. Towards the end of the speaker's talk before me, my legs had started shaking and my hands were trembling. Suddenly, the esteemed psychiatrist's talk was over, I was called to stage, and I was standing there, with the lights closed, while my friends from the organizing team pushed the piano to center stage. That's when it hit me: this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I should make the best of it, and then I knew that no one could tell my journey through music better than me. I wasn't nervous anymore, just excited; excited to be there, excited to be sharing my journey with this many people, excited to have this opportunity.
So I was carried away in the graceful hands of my "story to tell" and my passion for music, until I played the last chords of the Alla Turca Jazz, and the audience started to applaud. With the blink of an eye, the event I've been preparing so hard for for the last month was over...
Yes, it really was over, but when I sat back at my seat, our principle who helped me a lot with my talk smiling at me, my fellow speaker friends and classmates hugging me, I saw my two best friends sitting at the back, applauding vigorously, another speaker, vice president at TAI (Turkish Aerospace Industries) shook my hand and told me over and over again that I was very good, I was happy, of course, and proud of what I had accomplished. I still had some doubt until the coffee break, in the end, they were my friends and they weren't going to tell me that I did horribly, but when I was exiting the hall, quenched, to get a drink, one of my friends from the organizing team came up to me and told me that the esteemed psychiatrist who talked before me loved my talk and told them that he enjoyed it very much. That, and the numerous amount of hugs and congratulations I got from both my friends and people that I've never met before in the coffee break, was enough for me to be satisfied with what I've done. I would do it again and again, if I could, because I've never experienced anything better than doing and telling what you love for people who are willing to watch and listen.
Get up on stage and perform an excellent talk, check.
Be happy for yourself, check.
The microphone, check. Hair, check. Piano at the right place, check. Sheet music, check. Confidence, check.
I will never forget last night, the night of February 27th, 2013. It was my first TEDx conference, and even my first experience at public speaking. Until last night, the biggest assembly I've ever talked to was my 40-people committee in MUN conferences. Last night, I talked to 150 people and soon, the whole world will be able to watch my talk named Life in A Major.
The theme of our TEDx event was A Journey to Tell. I talked about my journey through music, how I started playing the piano, my wonderful teachers, how I played and what I played on the piano, and I ended my talk with a full performance of Alla Turca Jazz by Fazıl Say. Now, I said full performance because my whole talk contained bits and pieces of piano, me re-enacting my first concert, playing pieces from different genres, showing how you can experience and live the music on a Chopin piece...
I wasn't worried about playing the piano in front of a crowd, in the end, I do that all the time. What worried me was the speaking. Towards the end of the speaker's talk before me, my legs had started shaking and my hands were trembling. Suddenly, the esteemed psychiatrist's talk was over, I was called to stage, and I was standing there, with the lights closed, while my friends from the organizing team pushed the piano to center stage. That's when it hit me: this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I should make the best of it, and then I knew that no one could tell my journey through music better than me. I wasn't nervous anymore, just excited; excited to be there, excited to be sharing my journey with this many people, excited to have this opportunity.
So I was carried away in the graceful hands of my "story to tell" and my passion for music, until I played the last chords of the Alla Turca Jazz, and the audience started to applaud. With the blink of an eye, the event I've been preparing so hard for for the last month was over...
Yes, it really was over, but when I sat back at my seat, our principle who helped me a lot with my talk smiling at me, my fellow speaker friends and classmates hugging me, I saw my two best friends sitting at the back, applauding vigorously, another speaker, vice president at TAI (Turkish Aerospace Industries) shook my hand and told me over and over again that I was very good, I was happy, of course, and proud of what I had accomplished. I still had some doubt until the coffee break, in the end, they were my friends and they weren't going to tell me that I did horribly, but when I was exiting the hall, quenched, to get a drink, one of my friends from the organizing team came up to me and told me that the esteemed psychiatrist who talked before me loved my talk and told them that he enjoyed it very much. That, and the numerous amount of hugs and congratulations I got from both my friends and people that I've never met before in the coffee break, was enough for me to be satisfied with what I've done. I would do it again and again, if I could, because I've never experienced anything better than doing and telling what you love for people who are willing to watch and listen.
Get up on stage and perform an excellent talk, check.
Be happy for yourself, check.
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