On Getting the Sense of It
Yesterday afternoon I spent 5 hours on the road driving from Palm Desert CA back to Sedona. It’s a remarkable drive.
For one thing, the ‘bones’ of the landscape are laid bare to the eye due to the lack of vegetation. Bear in mind, I was driving through the northernmost reaches of one of the greatest Deserts of the world.
Punctuating the low lying, flat, former basins are rugged, eroded mountains, which have been thrust skyward by the Pacific plate’s assault on the North American plate.
So it’s an epic landscape. There for the eye to see is geologic, climactic and ecologic history stretching from the most recent rainfalls back millions of years.
As I drove I struggled with the ‘sense’ of it. I tried to visualize the laying down and building up of the various strata, and the tremendous upheavals that stood ancient layers of rock almost vertical from the way they were formed.
I felt huge slabs of rock breaking free of high cliffs and embarking on a relentless process of reduction, ultimately being born aloft as sand and deposited in huge heaps where wind currents collide.
So it occurred to me that on one of my trips I will carry a camera, document the adventure, and pass it all on to you in a newsletter.
No, it’s not violin playing, but anything that inspires or excites can be relevant to music making. And that, after all, is what we are about here.
Incidentally, one of the things we talked about at the master class over the weekend was how to get the ‘sense’ of music.
I think there are many similarities between getting the sense of a landscape and getting the sense of a piece of music. First, you have to know what’s there, in literal terms.
Sometimes players don’t realize they are distorting the music in the process of ‘getting their hands on it.’ Perhaps they are not reading rhythms accurately, or are distorting the flow of time unconsciously.
After repeating the mistake, even once, it can become habit, and the mind tunes out any further investigation.
It’s like my looking out of the window as I drive, seeing a mirage, and then reporting to you that a lake has formed in a good part on the Sonoran Desert.
With music, which is, after all, quite abstract, this is much easier to do.
So my first concern is really learning the paper. That is, paying close attention to every rhythm, dynamic, articulation mark, and then placing all of these in a consistent, reliable flow of time.
Once you’ve gotten that far you’re ready to start drawing some conclusions as to the sense and meaning of the music. Sometimes ‘feeling’ indications are supplied through words and phrases placed in the score itself.
Yet sometimes the music is so abstract, and the expressive markings so minimal, that one has to test various hypothesis before finding the one that resonates most strongly with one’s own nature and the likely intentions of the composer.
The music of Bach can be this way. Just listen to Milstein play the unaccompanied fugues, particularly in his early recording, as opposed to the way Hillary Hahn plays them. There is a completely different sense of purpose to the two interpretations.
Yet now I’ve gone beyond the intended scope of this newsletter. My intention was merely to remind you to look closely at the page, to account for the execution of each note and rhythm before entering into the realm of interpretation.
All the best,
Clayton Haslop
P.S. My Bach and Kreisler for Violin Artistry course takes you through the entire process of getting specific and consummate control over two great pieces of music.
