Howard Riley: an aesthetics of imperfection

I would argue that improvisation as an art is informed by an aesthetics of imperfection. On this view, improvising musicians exploit the contingencies of the performing situation – the instrument, the acoustic, and their own capabilities – creating something out of apparently unpromising as well as promising circumstances. Age and infirmity are among these contingencies. (“Howard Riley,” by Andy Hamilton, International Piano Nov.-Dec. 2018, p. 89)

We have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us. (II Corinthians 4:7)

Riley is a jazz pianist, a “giant of contemporary piano improvisation, with a highly personal musical vocabulary” (Hamilton, p. 88). Now in his mid-seventies, he began experiencing symptoms of Parkinson’s Disease in 2011. Hamilton writes that since then, “Riley [has] pared down his approach, playing very beautifully and minimally” (p. 89).

His music is new to me and I haven’t heard much of it yet. There are some tracks on YouTube; most of them are from long ago, the 1960’s and 70’s, and the few of these that I have sampled so far are well worth a listen. I find only one that is fairly recent:

Piano solo @ Brookes, 29 Nov. 2012

Especially at the beginning as he walks to the piano and gets settled, one can see that he has become old. But much more than that, one sees and hears that he is still playing.

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I love Hamilton’s phrase “an aesthetics of imperfection.” It is entirely foreign to the carefully manicured perfection of commercial recordings, pasted together from multiple takes. It is equally foreign to the world of piano and organ competitions, where one wrong note in your performance means that you are done.

Church musicians know about “creating something out of apparently unpromising” circumstances. For most of us, it takes a long time to figure that out. In my experience, some of the finest music-making has come by surprise – a congregational hymn that takes wing, an anthem that was shaky right up through the final warmup but goes right in the service, and much of my playing at the organ and piano.

Today is the Feast of All Saints. The glorious company of patriarchs, prophets, apostles, martyrs, saints of all kinds, known to us and unknown, is a kaleidoscope of personalities, gifts, peculiarities (and some of them are quite peculiar), weaknesses and strengths. But they have this in common: none of them was perfect, not in this life. It seems that God works precisely through their imperfections – and ours – to manifest his glory to the world. Thus it is no surprise that Real Music happens in a similar manner.

Almighty God, with whom do live the spirits of those who depart hence in the Lord, and with whom the souls of the faithful, after they are delivered from the burden of the flesh, are in joy and felicity: We give thee hearty thanks for the good examples of all those thy servants, who, having finished their course in faith, do now rest from their labors. And we beseech thee that we, with all those who are departed in the true faith of thy holy Name, may have our perfect consummation and bliss, both in body and soul, in thy eternal and everlasting glory; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (BCP p. 488)

Isometric Rhythmic Practice

My organ and piano practicing is based on modified rhythms, which I described here and here, and demonstrated on YouTube here.

Today I learned a name for it: Isometric Rhythmic Practicing. The magazine International Piano’s regular column “Key Notes” by Murray McClachlan is an excellent focus on one or another aspect of piano technique, which of course applies to organ as well. In the current issue’s column, “Clarity,” McClachlan writes:

One of the most common methods for developing clear, strong articulation which many tutors have traditionally recommended over generations of pedagogy is ‘isometric rhythmic’ practicing… (International Piano, Nov.-Dec. 2018, p. 49)

McClachlan then describes the method, with an example from a Bach WTC prelude.

Armed with a name, I eagerly launched a DuckDuckGo search for “isometric rhythmic practicing” and found… almost nothing. References to isometric rhythm as a medieval compositional principle. Medical references of various sorts. Lots of references to Harold Blomberg’s “Rhythmic Movement Training.” Further down the list, materials about Rhythmic Gymnastics. Keyboard practicing references? Nope, though I found one reference to guitar finger exercises.

The name was not as useful as I had hoped. And if this method is so common as to be traditional “over many generations of pedagogy,” why is it that I have never overheard anyone else practicing this way, other than one of my students?

But in some further looking around, I turned up this: www.pianopractice.org

It is a web page maintained by Chuan C. Chang, which includes a link to a free download of his 300-plus page PDF book, “Fundamentals of Piano Practice.” His approach, based on the teaching of Yvonne Combe and behind that, her training at the Paris Conservatory in the early twentieth century, is not the same as isometric rhythms, but he does discuss “segmental practice” as an aid to overcoming what he calls “speed walls,” which are “conditions in which you can’t go above a certain speed, no matter how hard you practice. SW [speed walls] form when you practice incorrectly and create bad habits or build up stress” (p. 29). Segmental practice is helpful “because the shorter a segment, the faster you can play it without problems.” The shortest segment is two notes, and that is the basis of isorhythmic practice. If you can play a two-note group quickly and with ease, you can extend that to four-note groups and beyond.

Chang’s book looks to be fascinating. Besides the material on piano practice, he devotes space to choosing a piano [he shares my views concerning the digital pianos and their superiority over acoustic uprights, but not over the best of the acoustic grand pianos: pp. 184-195], and tuning your own piano, including discussion of historic temperaments. He recommends Kirnberger II for the beginning tuner because it is easier than equal temperament, and he notes that “once you get used to K-II, ET [equal temperament] will sound a little lacking or ‘muddy.’” (p. 227). He gives the “recipe” for Kirnberger II on page 228. Chang concludes with a long and well-annotated bibliography for further study.

I am going to enjoy reading this book.

[Edited 12/5/18 to add: Chang briefly dismisses my practice method as follows: "The literature lists numerous methods for improving technique such as the rhythm method (change the rhythm or accented note), tapping, etc. The biggest drawback with such methods is that they waste time because there are too many rhythms, etc., that you need to practice." (p. 58)

As expected, I am thoroughly enjoying the book. I disagree with quite a bit of what he writes, but have taken a few ideas from it, notably a reminder of how helpful it can be to practice short segments hands separately. Some of my disagreements stem from differences between playing the organ and the piano, and the literature for the respective instruments. Practice techniques that would be helpful for Chopin, Liszt, Rachmaninoff might be less useful for Bach and Buxtehude, and the coordination issues that one dodges by hands-separate practice are increased when one adds feet as well as hands, so (in my opinion) an organist needs much more work with hands/feet together than would a pianist.

I thoroughly agree with what he states is the thesis of the book: "If you don't make any progress [on a new piece being learned, or a specifically difficult passage] after a few days... it is time to stop and think of new things to do... if you don't make progress, you are doing something wrong -- that is the basic principle of this book." (p. 51-52)]

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Unrelated Afterword: Fear of Red Ink

I have been listening to some of my older organ and piano improvisations recently. Some are horrible; some are not so bad. But one thought that these improvisations provoked is worth mentioning, because I think it is a major obstacle to the musician who wants to improvise. I call it the “Fear of Red Ink.”

Back in undergraduate theory class, my harmony exercises were returned with lots of red ink, marking my mistakes. Lots of them. Dozens on every page. All circled in red ink, often with caustic remarks from the teacher (likewise in red ink). Most of them were parallel octaves and fifths which had entirely escaped my scrutiny in writing the exercises. Parallel octaves and fifths are Against the Rules, and rightly so in pre-twentieth century styles. The rule goes back at least to Fux’s Gradus ad Parnassum, which I revere, though we were not told that in beginning theory.

So, the pianist launches into an improvisation. Before the first phrase is done, a parallel fifth appears. The improviser stops, horrified that he has committed such a sin. He is more careful the next time, but this time a parallel octave shows up. Fear of Red Ink ensues, with painful memories of those first-year harmony exercises. The would-be improviser is likely to say “I can’t do this,” and gives up.

But with the broadening of horizons brought by harmonic and post-harmonic developments in the twentieth century comes greater freedom in the use of parallels. Vaughan Williams is filled with parallel fifths; it is a hallmark of his style.

So, my rule of thumb:

Ignore the Red Ink.

You can notice parallelisms when they happen, and if you wish, seek to do less of them, for in many styles they do genuinely weaken the contrapuntal structure. But you must not let them stop you or derail your improvised composition. You must press on.

One little trick that I use: when I accidentally play a parallel octave, I might turn it into the beginning of a passage in parallel octaves, doubling the melody an octave below, and similarly with fifths. Even though the initial parallelism was accidental, it sounds more or less like I planned it that way.

Cheating? Probably. But you must press on.

Spark Joy

The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing (2014)
Spark Joy (2016)

(Both books are by Marie Kondo, or "KonMarie," her nickname and how I think of her.)
KonMarie.com

I’ve done it. Close to a year of KonMarie, of decluttering and organizing. The last bits were this morning, and I am taking a few hours to celebrate.

The essence: surround yourself with things that spark joy. That means keeping some things, and disposing of a great many things – for me, somewhere between half and two-thirds of my possessions. Junk. Old files. Several hundred blank 3-1/2” floppies. CDs and cassettes that have been a part of my life, but no longer spark joy. Books. Lots of books.

I did it by the book, or rather books: I read the first one (frugally, from a library copy), then the second (likewise, a library e-book in this case – twice, once when I began and again in the last fortnight to gather courage for the Final Steps).

Here is a summary from her website:

Rule 1: Commit yourself to tidying up.
Rule 2: Imagine your ideal lifestyle.
Rule 3: Finish discarding first.
Rule 4: Tidy by category, not by location.
Rule 5: Follow the right order.
Rule 6: Ask yourself if it sparks joy.

Three of the categories:
Clothing, because it is easiest. For me especially, this was a no-brainer. I don’t have a lot of clothing and wear most of it regularly, so the whole process took less than an hour.

Books. This was scary. As per instructions, I took down all of my books. Every one of them. I piled them in the middle of the floor; this pretty much filled two rooms at home, and my office plus two tables in the choir room when I repeated the process at church. My wife was about ready to pull the plug on the whole enterprise, for she doubtless had visions of walking around piles of books for weeks and months, if not forever. But she has been after me for years to “get rid of some books,” as I reminded her.

Pick up a book. Hold it in both hands. Sense whether it sparks joy; if so, it goes in one pile. If not, the other pile. Sheep and goats at the last judgement. Like many people, I had trouble grasping the concept of “spark joy,” so (as per instructions) I started with something for which there was no doubt: my Ballentine paperback edition of “The Lord of the Rings,” which I have read maybe a dozen times. Joy flooded my soul as I held these little volumes, along with “The Hobbit,” given to me by my sister.

The Road goes ever on and on;
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone
And I must follow, if I can…

I got the idea.

From there it went quickly, more or less: two ten-hour days at home, one at my church office. Plus the physical labor of boxing up the discards and hauling them to the conveniently-timed Shelter House Booksale, three trips with my little Prius C filled to capacity.

The biggest challenge, once I got started, was avoiding the temptation to sit down and read. No matter how tempting, put it down and pick up the next book. Otherwise my wife and I would still be walking around piles of books on the floor.

And on it goes: Papers, with multiple trips to the recycling center. “Komono” (Japanese for “Other Stuff”) – a day when I almost filled the apartment complex’s dumpster all by myself.

Last of all: Sentimental Items. Personal letters, keepsakes, photos. It was for this that I re-read “Spark Joy,” for I have lived long and gathered many such things over the years. KonMarie suggests that this step is last because it is the most difficult, and one must hone one’s discernment before attempting it.

She is right.

But she is also right about the benefit: working through such things is a way of coming to terms with one’s past, and it is powerful. The recital program from my musical debut: a piece called “Off to Camp” in my first year at the piano. Working my way down the page of the annual programs from little pieces with the beginners to Beethoven sonatas as the finales of the group recitals my last two years of high school, and the senior recital with three of my friends. An official-looking paper from the county Board of Education, certifying me as a Third Class Musician (this in the eighth grade; there are many who would still give me that label). More recitals at college, in churches, at graduate school. Academic things that dangerously sparked pride, such as a National Merit Scholarship and later a perfect score on the GREs, which doubtless helped my admission prospects at the Choir College – as I wrote elsewhere, the dean who interviewed me was extremely dubious as to my prospects, since I was self-taught as an organist. He said so in my letter of acceptance, which I kept. Notes from choristers young and old. Going-away memorials when I moved from one place to another. The one that brought tears to my eyes most of all was a sheet of paper I had quite forgotten from the little Baptist church I served after undergraduate school, where I began as a pianist and left as an organist, and discovered Choral Conducting. I will quote part of it:

The following people send you $451.00 worth of good wishes as you move further in your music career. We have a few requests:
- That you never forget us
- That you send someone in the church your new address.
- That you will come back sometime. Remember the latch string will always be outside.

It was then signed by about sixty persons and groups (such as “The Choir” and several of the Sunday School classes), which was pretty much the whole congregation.

I mused on the fact that $451.00 was a lot of money for those people in that time and place, and how much they loved me.

If that doesn’t spark joy, nothing will.

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KonMarie tells us that we must thank our possessions before discarding any of them. That helped, especially with the books. I thanked each of them individually for what they had taught me, what they had meant to me. We should thank the things we keep as well, such as thanking our clothes as we hang them up at the end of the day or put them in the laundry. We should take care of the things we have, and always put them back into their proper place.

I get a little nervous about the theology of thanking the spirit(s) that reside in created things, and would prefer to thank the Maker, but I think of it in the way one considers the Holy Icons – in this sense, every created thing is a window into the divine and deserves an appropriate degree of respect. I have started greeting my little Prius with a bow every morning before I begin my commute and thanking it at the end of the day.

[The cellarer of the monastery] will regard all utensils and goods of the monastery as sacred vessels of the altar, aware that nothing is to be neglected. He should not be prone to greed, nor be wasteful or extravagant with the goods of the monastery, but should do everything with moderation… (Rule of St. Benedict 31:10-12)

I believe that KonMarie would be in full agreement with this. One final quote:

If you are uncertain whether to keep it, ask your heart.
If you don’t where to put it, ask your home.

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Afterword:

Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. (St. Matthew 6:21)

Be not overly attached to the things that "spark joy" in your heart. Respect them, use them well and with care, even love them. Above all, be thankful for them. But do not set your heart on them. That is not the path of life.

Sweet Hour of Prayer

It has been a long time since I have posted any music online.
Here is a piano improvisation on the Gospel song “Sweet hour of prayer,” from September 30. I played it twice that morning, at our 9:00 and 11:00 services: this is the earlier (and better) version. I considered posting both of them so that the listener could see how two improvisations on the same theme, played only a couple of hours apart, differ. But one is enough, and my (free) SoundCloud space is limited.

Singing the hymn elicited a lot of feedback, about equally divided between positive and negative. For some, it was profoundly moving, healing. For others, it was “like being in the Baptist church” (not usually a compliment from Episcopalians). One woman, who generally supports my musical choices, simply said (with disgust in her voice) “Please! No more of this!” She was no happier when I followed up by selecting “Jesus loves me” for the next week. For that one, she said afterwards “I almost walked out.” But the positive responses from others to both songs were equally strong.

I do not know if singing these two songs was the Right Thing To Do, given the divisions they awakened. In their defense, they did fit the lessons for the day, which was my primary reason for choosing them. Both of them appear in Official Episcopal Songbooks (though not our main book, the Hymnal 1982). And they represent a musical style almost never heard in this parish, a voice that in my opinion is worthy of our attention.

I can offer only one thought: with songs like these, both of them with simple three-chord harmonies, it is essential to respect them. The musician can easily trivialize them, which is fatal. With the piano prelude on “Sweet hour” (and the next week’s prelude, which included “Jesus loves me” alongside two other hymns), I wanted to establish the idea of taking these songs seriously.

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Yesterday I spent close to an hour at the music store, improvising on their Casio GP-500 hybrid piano, with headphones as I will mostly be playing in retirement. I enjoyed it every bit as much as playing the Steinway at the church (the one heard in this and all of my piano recordings). The session with the Casio brought clearness to me: given all the considerations involved, this is my piano of choice. I am ready to write a check and buy it. Except there is no place in our current living arrangement to put it, and I would have little time to play it.

Before his retirement, one of my dearest friends longed for a yacht. I think he wanted to live on one. As it came to pass, he was denied that wish by health conditions, but I think the dream helped him make it to the finish line of his career.

And so it is for me: the piano has become a symbol of retirement and freedom. Some days it seems so far away. But I recall the Word that came to me through a friend over a year ago: “You still have work to do here.” I believe that is still true.

Good services on Sunday: good choral singing, good hymn singing (yes, even “Jesus loves me”), Choral Evensong with Wm. Smith (which all by itself is enough to make my day). I played the organ well enough, including two pieces by Bach, one of them being a piece where I had fallen apart with the “yips” a year ago. I could feel them coming on in one passage, but by God’s grace it did not fall apart.

It was especially good to practice the big C minor prelude and fugue (BWV 546) over the past fortnight and play it for the evensong. I am glad that it is granted me to keep doing this sort of thing.

I will sing to the LORD as long as I live:
I will praise my God while I have my being.
(Psalm 104:34)

an Unequal Temperament

The clavichord needs to be tuned every two or three weeks, and it doesn’t take long to do it. I have taken this as opportunity to experiment with unequal temperaments.

Back in piano tuning school, we were taught to always tune in equal temperament, which has many advantages. It makes all of the keys equally usable, and is almost universal nowadays for everything except early music (up through J. S. Bach, maybe a little further – some extend the use of unequal temperaments on into the Classical era of Haydn and Mozart.)

Hermann Helmholz in his nineteenth-century book “On the sensations of tone” speaks ill of equal temperament, especially for the training of singers (see chapter 16 for an extended discussion of tempered intonation). For example: “The singer who practices to a tempered instrument has no principle at all for exactly and certainly determining the pitch of his voice.” (p. 326)

So when I tuned the choir room piano about six weeks ago, I decided to apply one of my clavichord tunings and see how it sounds. So far, so good: none of the choristers have yet complained, and I think that I prefer it to equal temperament. The “good” keys (C major, F and G major, etc.) are cleaner than they are in equal temperament, and the keys with two sharps or flats are almost as good. The keys with three and four flats and sharps are about like they are in equal temperament. The others? Not so much. The crunchiest is G flat major, as described below; it is barely usable, with D flat major about as bad. Is that too great a price for the improvements in the other keys? That is an open question.

For those who might be interested, here is my tuning plan, such as it is. On the clavichord, I don’t follow a plan, beyond making the fifths and thirds increasingly “noisy” as they move around toward the back side of the circle of fifths (that is, the G flat to D flat fifth, or maybe the D flat to A flat). The details differ every time I tune it, depending on whether I am in a mood that day to favor the sharp keys or the flat keys.

Tuning a piano is a bigger undertaking, so I was more careful:

The Foundation

Tune the A-440 from the tuning fork, then down an octave to the next A, the one on which you will base the tuning.

Tune the following intervals:
F-A pure (no beats. This is a considerably smaller major third than equal temperament)
A-E pure
C-E pure (that is, tune the C based on the E that you have just tuned)
Check F-C; should be about one beat
Check F-A-C triad; should be almost pure
Check A-C-E minor triad: should be pure or almost pure

Tune C-G pure
Check C-E-G triad; should be pure

Tune G-D, about 1 beat narrow
Check D-A (down a fourth from the D), should be about 1 beat wide; adjust D to balance the D-A fourth and the G-D fifth

Tune G-B pure
Check B-E, should be about 2 beats
Check G-B-D triad, should be almost pure
Check G-B-E minor triad (first inversion), should be clean but not pure.

Tune the F to F octave.

This completes the white notes for the temperament octave.

The Balancing

Now for the fun part: the black notes, which are a matter of tradeoffs.

Tune the following intervals:
F up to B flat, about 2 beats wide
B down to F sharp, about 2 beats wide
A up to C sharp, about 1 or two beats wide

Check the intervals from F sharp to A sharp, which will be fairly clean, and F sharp to C sharp, which will be noisy, 3 or 4 beats. Check the F# - A# - C# triad. This will be the worst in the temperament because of the fifth.

Adjust these three pitches (F#, A#, C#) to your satisfaction, checking the major and minor triads (most of them in one or another inversion) that they complete: B flat major, B flat minor, B minor, F# minor, A major, F# major. They will have varying degrees of cleanliness; which of them are better is up to you.

Take a deep breath.

Tune the B flat up to E flat (interval of a fourth), about 1 beat wide.
Check B-D#, should be fairly clean. Check B major, likewise fairly clean.

Tune the E flat down to A flat (interval of a fifth), about 1 beat narrow.
Check the A flat-C-E flat triad. It should be fairly clean. Adjust E flat and A flat to your preference.

Check A flat-D flat, compare with the F# - C# fifth, adjust the C#/D flat so that these two intervals beat at about the same speed, about three beats, checking the thirds from A to C# and A flat to C so that they are both acceptably clean (they will not be pure). This is a point where you could choose to favor the sharp keys over the flat keys by making A-C# cleaner than A flat – C, or vice versa if you would prefer to favor the flat keys. That may depend on what music you plan to play on the instrument before its next tuning. Check the other triads that include A flat and D flat.

Check all major and minor triads. The best way to do this is by going around the circle of fifths, starting with the C major triad and moving either direction (C-G-D-A etc. or C-F-B flat-E flat etc.). The triads should get increasingly “noisy” in a smooth progression up to the G flat major triad, then gradually smoother as you go on back down the other side toward C major. The minor triads should do likewise, starting with A minor.

It is up to you as to how extreme you make the temperament, and you can favor the sharp keys over the flats or vice-versa; the above is only a guideline, especially the latter part of it on the black notes. It is all a matter of tradeoffs.

The Rest of the Piano

From here, tune pure octaves as usual, up to the top and then down to the bottom. The one wrinkle for me was that the octave check intervals I normally use in equal temperament – chains of chromatic tenths in the treble, which should gradually increase in beat speed as one ascends – do not work at all. The chromatic thirds even in the temperament octave will have radically different beat speeds. Same for the low bass, where I likewise check with the interval of the tenth, also the minor seventh (or rather, minor fourteenth – the seventh plus an octave) which in the low bass beats slowly enough to be useful). But with the unequal temperament, about the only way to check the octaves is with the fourth and fifth that lie within the octave that you are tuning; are they what one would expect, given the degree of beating in those intervals in the temperament octave? Remember that the beat speeds will be faster as one goes up and slower as one goes down.

For further study

If these matters are of interest, you might look in a library for Owen Jorgensen’s book “Tuning the historic temperaments by ear” (Michigan State Univ. Press, 1991) which appears to be out of print.

Here is a discussion of the book in the excellent forum “Piano World.” Notice in particular the remarks by Bill Bremmer, an experienced piano technician. He gives a very different “recipe” for an unequal tuning, based on the Thomas Young Well Temperament (1799), which leaves the F-A and C-E thirds somewhat impure, but would make the more distant triads (F# major, C# major) significantly cleaner than the plan outlined above.

Also, here is a website that discusses historical temperaments, giving a good overview of the subject. The author (Kyle Gann) gives the pitches in cents, which shows the difference of each pitch from its equally-tempered equivalent (in equal temperament, each half step is 100 cents, with 1200 cents to the octave). This would be more useful than tuning-by-ear accounts such as mine if one is tuning with the use of an electronic tuner.

But I leave you with the lesson I have learned from all this: the precise details of an unequal temperament are of little importance, especially on instruments such as the clavichord and harpsichord which are easily re-tuned. I have tried to suggest some basic principles, and encourage those interested to experiment freely on their own instrument.

The details matter somewhat more on a piano, and quite a lot on a pipe organ, for which a change of temperament is a multi-day operation and definitely not to be undertaken lightly or as an experiment.

[Edited 12/18/18 to add: Here is an article from the excellent (and free!) online journal "Vox humana," describing one of the oldest extant pipe organs in the world. It is in the village of Rysum in North Germany, built some time around 1450 and little modified since then. Of interest for the topic of my essay is a playing of the triads of the circle of fifths in the organ's temperament, quarter-comma meantone. It is a brief sound file, 32 seconds, and a good demonstration of unequal temperament on an organ; the "distant" keys at the backside of the circle of fifths are quite dissonant. There are weeks when my off-the-cuff clavichord temperament is almost this extreme, but I would not do this to the choir room pianoforte. The whole idea of temperament is to make these "distant" triads and keys either equal to all the others (equal temperament) or cleaner in varying degrees than they are in meantone (unequal "well" temperaments).]

Hybrid Pianos, revisited

Two years ago, as I was exploring pianos with the idea of purchasing one for retirement, I concluded that I would probably end up with a hybrid piano rather than a traditional acoustic piano. But some questions remain. I wrote:

Can the best of the hybrids be the solo instrument for a piano concerto with the top-level orchestras of the world, and the top concert artists? Can they do the job for chamber music, again with world-class performers? Can they satisfy pianists whose career is on the line, and their fellow musicians, collaborators in music such as Schubert’s song cycle "Winterreise," the Brahms violin sonatas, Messiaen’s Quartet for the End of Time?

Here is a partial answer: a Casio hybrid piano in a Mozart concerto with chamber orchestra at the Berlin Philharmonie, one of the world’s great music venues. The clip includes some side-by-side playing, with one pianist at the Casio, another at the (acoustic) concert grand, trading off Mozart phrases. And an audience in the room to hear it.

Some observations:

- The Casio holds its own quite respectably, in my opinion. One can find disagreement with this in the comments to the YouTube clip.
- It is different in sound from the acoustic, but no more different in my opinion than two acoustic grands might be from one another.
- This was, of course, a made-for-YouTube commercial message from Casio. Not a real concert. One should remain skeptical.
- The Casio retails for around $5,000. A concert grand will set you back closer to $150,000-200,000.
- According to the Casio rep speaking at about the 1:20 mark in the video, it was the chamber orchestra's idea to do this. From earlier in the clip, it appears that the Casio was the piano in their smaller rehearsal hall. Casio rep: "[The orchestra] said 'You've got a wonderful instrument there. We want, together with you, to show it on the stage, and show our grand hybrid as a completely acoustic instrument, with all the other acoustic instruments in the orchestra.'" Very interesting, if all of this is true.

I think Casio has made their point: the instrument would be suitable for professional concert use. It would be even more suitable, and economical, for situations such as a choir room or the rehearsal room seen in the video.

Most aficionados of digital instruments would agree that the Casio hybrids are not the best of the bunch: the Yamaha AvantGrand hybrids are better, and Kawai has a new offering in the field that many people like; both of these are considerably more expensive. These pianos would surely do as well or better than the Casio in a similar side-by-side comparison with orchestra.

My thoughts have not changed from when I explored these things in 2016. Pending the circumstances in which we retire, I still hope to purchase the Casio, to sit alongside my clavichord.

[Edited to add: As soon as I posted this, I found a performance of Rachmaninoff with Casio hybrid and orchestra. It is another made-for-YouTube commercial message by Casio, but puts the piano in the situation where I doubted whether it could hold up: alongside an orchestra in "big" Romantic repertoire. I note that the piano is miked and amplified by a speaker facing out into the hall (you can see the setup briefly at the 43 second mark of the video). But it is a mike picking up the acoustic sound from the instrument, not a direct feed from the electronics. There is also a monitor speaker aimed toward the conductor. It is clearly a "real" performance, not something that has been heavily doctored up. My impression, best one can tell from the recording, is that I was right in my 2016 essay, that in this setting, a hybrid piano falls short of the "real thing." But not by much.

My question at that point was in regard as to whether a hybrid piano could accompany congregational singing as well as our Steinway, in the same manner in which the electronic organs all fall short of a good pipe organ in this task. I think that remains an open question. The hybrid pianos are designed to sound as closely as possible like a good acoustic grand from the perspective of the player, sitting at the bench. That is different from projecting sufficient sound into a large hall to balance an orchestra - or a vigorously singing congregation. You can always take a feed from the line out, send it into an amplifier and speakers, and make it as loud as you want. But that strikes me as cheating.]

I was glad when they said unto me...

I was glad when they said unto me: Let us go into the house of the LORD.

Here is a three-hour YouTube video of the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II at Westminster Abbey, 2 June 1953, as broadcast by the BBC.

If you click the “more” button in the YouTube description, you will find a description of the musical forces – including twenty trebles chosen by audition from parish choirs by the RSCM, who spent a month in residence at Addington Palace preparing to join the choristers of the Abbey, St. Paul’s, and St. George’s, Windsor: 182 trebles in all. With the ATBs and orchestral forces: 480 musicians.

And you will find the music list. Of particular interest to my friends who attended this summer’s RSCM St. Louis Course, the Hubert Parry anthem “I was glad” (22 and a half minutes into the tape), in its proper liturgical setting. It comes at the end of a twenty-minute procession (accompanied by part of Handel’s Water Music) as the Queen enters the abbey, with the “Vivats” as she and her attendants pass under the Rood Screen into the choir and chancel. The quieter section “O pray for the peace of Jerusalem” comes as she kneels for prayer. Since this is a television broadcast, they unfortunately lower the volume for the announcer to speak during the climactic ending of the anthem, as the Crown and other regalia are placed on the Altar.

Following the Parry, a bit of high-stakes organ improvisation, by (I think) William McKie, organist of the Abbey. [Correction: I see in the comments to the video that McKie was conducting the combined musical forces during the service; Sir Adrian Boult had conducted the orchestral music before and after the service. Osborne Peasegood (1902-1962), sub-organist of the Abbey, was organist for the service.] There is a bit of Parry’s hymn tune Laudate Dominum (O praise ye the Lord) near the end of it, and additional improvisation at various points, most notably near the end as the retiring procession begins, leading up to the fanfare and the National Anthem (God save the Queen). First-rate playing in the grand English cathedral manner.

There is much more of musical interest: first performances of anthems by Herbert Howells, William H. Harris, George Dyson; a newly composed Te Deum by William Walton, and anthems composed for the occasion by Healey Willan and Ralph Vaughan Williams.

RVW has a large musical part in this service: it is his setting of the Mass which is sung (the Credo and Sanctus from his G Minor Mass), plus his setting of the Old Hundredth Psalm Tune, arranged for this occasion (1 hour 53 minutes into the tape). This is a great masterpiece, one of my favorites of his works – but the greatest gem is a bit later, during Holy Communion: a short motet which RVW wrote for the occasion, “O taste and see” (2 hours 17 minutes). After all of the loud music and grandeur, an unaccompanied treble solo (sung by a small group of trebles, it sounds like), then the choir, quiet and unaccompanied. Ninety seconds and it is done. The effect in this context is stunning.

There is more even than this: some Stanford, and Samuel Sebastian Wesley, the Tudor anthem “Rejoice in the Lord alway,” an Amen by Gibbons, and “Zadok the Priest,” which has been sung at every coronation since Handel wrote it for George II. It is as essential to a British coronation as “I was glad” has become.

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Three impressions:

It is hard to overstate the impressiveness of the choir’s initial entrance in “I was glad,” the first vocal music of the day. Most of the congregation had been there for hours. A long prelude of orchestral music had preceded the procession. Already the leaders of church and state had walked down the aisle, the archbishops of York and Canterbury among them, and the Prime Ministers of the Commonwealth, followed by the Prime Minister of Great Britain, Winston Churchill, one of the heroes of the twentieth century. A brass fanfare, then the majestic introduction that begins the Parry. And then the choir sings.

The Coronation is above all else a sacred liturgy according to the use of the Church of England, in essence an Ordination, complete with Gospel, Creed, Offertory of Bread and Wine (handed to the Archbishop by the new Queen), Eucharistic Prayer, Confession, Communion. I wonder whether the next coronation will include such things, given the multi-cultural and thoroughly secular nature of modern Britain.

On this day, Elizabeth is a very serious and determined young woman. She came of age during the Battle of Britain and a war where it seemed that Britain might be destroyed forever; she knew that the post-war world was changing in ways that were unknowable, and that it was her responsibility to lead her people through it.

From her Christmas Message the previous December:

At my Coronation next June, I shall dedicate myself anew to your service. I shall do so in the presence of a great congregation, drawn from every part of the Commonwealth and Empire, while millions outside Westminster Abbey will hear the promises and the prayers being offered up within its walls, and see much of the ancient ceremony in which Kings and Queens before me have taken part through century upon century.

You will be keeping it as a holiday; but I want to ask you all, whatever your religion may be, to pray for me on that day - to pray that God may give me wisdom and strength to carry out the solemn promises I shall be making, and that I may faithfully serve Him and you, all the days of my life.

Scales (with an afterword on Modes)

My piano student figured out on her own how to play a C major scale. We had introduced the concept of thumb-turns in the context of something she was playing, and she took it from there. It showed up in one of her improvisations (complete with the correct right hand fingering, which I did not teach her). I pointed it out to her and told her it was important. We then worked out the left hand fingering; I emphasized that for now scales must be SLOW and steady, thinking about good tone and hand position; we added them to her practice routine, which now (I hope) begins as follows:

Prayer
Scales
Other Stuff

She returned for the next lesson with C major, one octave, hands separately, played slowly and accurately.

So far, so good.
For as long as she is a musician, she will be playing scales. As will I.

But I got away from them for a number of years in midlife. I was bored with them, and focused instead on the pieces I was trying to learn. Insofar as I was doing technical work at all, it was more from the Brahms “Fifty-One Exercises” than anything else.

Then I began to improvise.

Dupré’s course on improvisation begins with the harmonization of the major scale, then minor. I spent a long time with this, in all keys. Scale in the soprano. Scale “en taille” (in the tenor). Scale in the pedals, or the left hand bass. It was a grind, but over the years since then it has proven increasingly worthwhile that I spent the time on this.

After Gerre Hancock published his book on improvisation, I found that he too began with scales, in a considerably freer approach. Unlike Dupré, Hancock encouraged creative harmonization in any style that takes your fancy in the moment.

That finally made it fun to play scales. When I am practicing free (non-hymn-based) improvisation, I often begin with a few scales – harmonized or contrapuntally oriented (or best of all, both), and let them lead me in whatever direction the ensuing music wants to go. Even when the work at hand is preparation to improvise on a specific tune, I might begin with the scale for the keys I hope to use in the improvisation before beginning to “learn the tune” (playing it in unison, and taking it from there).

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Afterword:
Much more could be said about scales. I content myself with a final observation:

Play in and with the Modes.

Work with them in the same manner as major/minor: the scale in the soprano, chords harmonizing each note of the scale, up and down, slowly. Later, the scale in an inner voice or the bass. Do it in as many keys as you can. This remains for me a work in progress. If you ask me to knock out a quick harmonized scale in F sharp Mixolydian with subsequent improvisation, the results would likely be less than professional. But I am working on it.

The secret is to think “Where is Do?” In the above case, Mixolydian has the keynote on Sol, so Do is on B. Five sharps. It also helps – a lot – to notice that Mixolydian is Major with a flat seventh degree. So I can think “F sharp major” and play E naturals. All four of the Modes have near neighbors that are helpful in this manner:

Dorian – like natural Minor, with raised sixth degree
Phrygian – like natural Minor, with lowered second degree
Lydian – like Major, with raised fourth degree
Mixolydian – like Major, with lowered seventh degree

A benefit of this sort of work is that one soon gets a feel for the mode. What chords make a good cadence? What chord combinations work well, which ones not so much? What chords work well with specific scale degrees?

And: What is the characteristic ethos of the mode? Mixolydian has a sober dignity to it that I love: Lydian is the most joyful of modes, even more than Major: Dorian is like Minor but with greater strength and a yearning that comes from the raised sixth degree: Phrygian is strange, something all its own. To explain it I commend to you the magnificent Third Tune of Thomas Tallis (the Third Mode being another name for Phrygian), and the Fantasia on this tune by Vaughan Williams.

That brings me to another benefit of work with the modes: you might start sounding like Vaughan Williams. Or Herbert Howells.

I suspect that these composers got their “sound” in part from long exposure to the Modes – for RVW, it was his work with folksongs; for Howells, his work with the Tudor Church Music project. I can imagine them playing around at a piano with these things, finding the characteristic harmonizations and melodic patterns.

When are you going to direct a Course?

One of our teen choristers asked me this on Sunday. She was not the first; another asked me late in the week at Todd Hall. He was insistent: “You are good. You ought to be doing this stuff.” Yet another asked the same question during our pre-course rehearsals in June.

I would love to have the opportunity. But for a variety of reasons it is not going to happen, and that is fine with me. For one thing, it is more satisfying to participate as a singer. I learned this partly from the year when I was half-of-an-organist, assisting Br. Vincent. But that is selfish; a better reason is that there are better people available, among them our own Kristin Lensch, long-time treble housemaster at the Course and this year the adult housemaster; she most certainly should be directing Courses, and not just this one. The number of people who could do this work well is not large, perhaps in the dozens, but it is sufficient without me.

For another, these days we have some choral experiences right here in the parish that are comparable to what we achieve at the RSCM Course: for example, our evensong in May.

The work that lies ahead for me is the same as it was at the end of last summer: finding a way to bring the skills home from RSCM to the parish choir, and building on them. I do wish we could have a week of intensive daily rehearsals, especially morning rehearsals when everyone is fresh, here at home instead of only at the Course. It would be good to see what we could then accomplish.

But what we have is one rehearsal a week. Thus, a resolution: make the most of the time that we have, and seek to make every rehearsal as good as the RSCM rehearsals at their best.

There was a time when I was more ambitious. I wanted to be organist/choirmaster at a notable parish or cathedral with a strong RSCM program, regular choral evensongs, choral settings of the Mass at Sunday Eucharist. Directing a few RSCM Courses would have been a culmination to that sort of career. Playing some organ recitals here and there would be good, too, and to be known and respected by other organists, part of the Inner Circle, the people that matter. Thankfully, none of these things have come my way, not even close.

What has come instead is that, little by little, we have right here in our little Midwestern parish developed a strong RSCM program, and we will soon begin our nineteenth season of First Sunday Choral Evensongs. And I have learned to play the hymns tolerably well, and even to improvise a little, something I never expected.

The three choristers who asked me about directing a Course have given me a gift: their esteem. It means the world to me that some of them think sufficiently well of my work as a choral director to say such things. With God’s help, I must live up to it, and be the director they think I am.

God's a-gonna build up Zion's walls

And I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. (Revelation 21:2)

Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God; and are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner stone; in whom all the building fitly framed together groweth unto an holy temple in the Lord; in whom ye also are builded together for an habitation of God through the Spirit. (Ephesians 2:19-22; see also I Peter 2:5)

Great day! Great day, the righteous marching,
Great day! God’s a-gonna build up Zion’s walls.
(spiritual, which we sang in an arrangement by Warren Martin)

Thirty years ago, I thought the repertoire was the most important aspect of the RSCM Courses, and it was. I thought that the skills I learned from the music directors were important, and they are; I was granted a solid background at the Choir College for which I am grateful, but the Courses have taught me much more. But it took me many years to learn what is most important and best about the RSCM Courses: the people.

It was a delight to chat with the other adults over breakfasts and dinners and suppers in the dining hall; to take an evening “field trip” to a local ice cream shoppe; to talk at length with two of my best friends in a manner that doesn’t happen in our normal routines; to share in a three-hour Lebanese dinner with “a few” (twenty-six, that is) parents and choristers after Sunday Mass.

It was a joy to see Mario again, whom I first met when he was a young tenor at the Course, his voice newly changed. He is now in college and attending this week as an adult participant, and it was good to stand by him in the tenor section for part of the week as we did so many years ago. I did not think our paths would cross again.

It was good to sing under Michael Messina, and to be reminded that we first met long ago at one of the Charlotte RSCM courses for boys, where he was organist and I was there with choristers. I had forgotten this, as I had forgotten that it was that week when I first encountered the Short Service of Orlando Gibbons. It has been important to me ever since, possibly my favorite setting of the Evening Canticles.

It was a joy to accompany my student HMB in the talent show, the two of us playing the beginning and ending of “Rejoice in the Lamb,” a project of her devising after last summer’s Course.

It was a very great joy to see Mike and Tom and Bryn do the real work of the course – looking after the young people as proctors. I remember all three of them from their childhood, and it fills my heart with joy to see them all grown up and strong and intelligent and creative and full of integrity.

It was a joy to look to the right and see the front row of trebles in the Decani, many of them from our choir at home, and all of them singing with full commitment and delight. Or right in front of me in the Cantoris, two of our teen girls, grown into intelligent choral musicians of whom any choir would be proud. Or the young choirmen among whom I stood, six of them from our parish either now or when they were younger.

For the greatest joy is singing with these people, young and old. Parry’s “I was glad”. The Sicut cervus of Palestrina, one of the great choral masterpieces of all time. Anthems with connections to two of my teachers long ago at the Choir College.

I wish it could ever be so. One of the teen boys asked me “Why can’t we do this all year?” He is right to ask, but it is not simple.

O God, whose days are without end, and whose mercies cannot be numbered: Make us, we beseech thee, deeply sensible of the shortness and uncertainty of life… (BCP p. 489)

Somewhere in St. John of the Cross, we are admonished to flee from the temptation to cling to anything in this life. As soon as we clutch a moment in our arms and say “I want this to last forever,” it turns to ashes.

One of our trebles has moved to another state far to the east, and the Course was our last farewell to her and her family. It was hard, and will remain hard. One of the long-time adults was absent for reasons that are not clear to me, and I wonder when I will see her again. One of the former proctors is now a deacon and in a faraway place; he has missed two Courses in a row and again, I wonder when I will see him again. Soon enough, it will be me that is absent.

Reflecting on these things, the passage from Ephesians came to mind. How is it that we are “fitly framed together,” and what does that mean?

There are many ways, including the Holy Sacraments and Prayer. Another, and among the most powerful, is singing together. The more we do this, the stronger the bond. I hear and see it not just in the Courses, but in our choirs at home, and the Sacred Harp group that meets in our choir room, and the Skipperlings and the Family Folk Machine.

As in an earthly building, some of the most important ties for the architecture of the whole are those that, once formed, leap across the miles or the decades. No act of friendship, no song sung or played together, is in vain. The Spirit is at work in them, patiently knitting us into a whole that, until its completion, is known only to God. "I go to prepare a place for you," He says. He prepares the place by preparing us, for we are that place. Every song, every conversation between friends, every field trip for ice cream – each builds or strengthens a tie. If you will, these things are the connective tissue the binds the Body of Christ into one, the mortar and connecting rods and flying buttresses that join us into “an holy temple… an habitation of God through the Spirit.”

And so through all the length of days
thy goodness faileth never:
Good Shepherd, may I sing thy praise
within thy house for ever.
(Henry W. Baker, from “The King of love my Shepherd is”)

We sang well. There were many moments through the week that were especially fine: the first time in rehearsal when we really got rolling on “I was glad,” any time we sang the Sicut cervus, the moment when “Great Day” finally clicked.

More than any of these: “The King of love my shepherd is.” The opening hymn for the Mass, our director called early in the week for a “descant competition” for its tune St. Columba. Any chorister or adult who wished could compose a descant for the hymn. Only two took him up on it, both of them from our parish: Jean and Caleigh. We sang both descants, with Jean’s on the second stanza and Caleigh’s at the end. They fit their respective texts perfectly, the one calm and beautiful, the other more adventurous. When it came time for the hymn in the liturgy, I was quite undone: the organ, the large acoustic, the trebles’ strong clear line soaring into the space, all bound up in my affection for these two musicians. “Cling not to these things!” I remind myself. Music more than any other art lives in the moment, eluding every effort to bind it. But it lives in the Mind of God forever.