Music Lesson (A Quick Rant/Addendum to the Last Post)

I'm always blown away by the epiphanies my love of music allows. As previously mentioned in the blog, I've been playing with a couple of trio mates, and working with them has taught me so much. Also as mentioned, I've been doing some studious work on a piece that Sam and I will most likely be playing this year.

Over the past couple of days, I've thought frequently about chamber music as a lesson in diversity and acceptance. The artfulness of chamber music is that it creates a relationship between two or more very diverse instruments (in this case the cello--an incredibly expressive, lyrical instrument--and a piano--which, in comparison--is an exceptionally clunky and percussive musical tool), bringing all the different sounds and tambres and instrumental designs--as well as the personalities of the musicians themselves--together to create a beautiful whole. The best composers and chamber musicians know when to highlight each instrument's positive qualities in a soloistic line, when to create pairings or groupings of instruments, creating a sort of musical dialogue or history, or when to involve all the players to really send the music message of togetherness home.

Let's look at my last post's musical selection, the Andante Movement from Rachmaninov's Cello Sonata in G minor, Op. 19.

The piano introduces the initial musical material in an eight bar phrase. Accompinamental 16th notes weave in and out of major and minor tonalities, hinting at the kind of longing and reprieve we'll hear throughout the work. The melody is perfectly Rachmaninovian: repeated Bb's descend a fifth and return to themselves in a kind of humble invocation or request. It's a tender 8-bar introduction, a voyage into the world the cello will sing about in measure 9. I find it so fascinating that the piano doesn't finish the musical thought before the cello comes in to take it up, note for note. The two different musical personalities are speaking the same words, layering their voices on top of each other (0:55-1:27 in the youtube clip).

The trick is to make the cello and the piano sound similar.  Each of the musicians have to be so conscious of the sounds they can create on their instrument, as well as their partner's instrument, in order to create the one long line of melody Rachmaninov composed.  You really have to converse, actually talk about the sound world you both want to create together, and then experiment until you get as close to the ideal sound as you both can.  It takes a lot of patience, a lot of humility, and so much love to make even four bars of music beautiful and meaningful.

And then, there are times when you have to understand the differences between your instruments, and love the fact that different from is not inferior to.  Looking at these measures (31-36) illuminates the idea a little bit better.

The cello part is full of rippling triplets written in direct conflict with the piano' right hand eighth-note octave and 16th note left hand arpeggiations.  Each line creates a different sound and feeling, none in harmony with any other.  It's not a really conflict, but the parts aren't really working together.  It's like the piece is growing up.

We do find some resolution.  The initial musical theme returns in the piano in m. 41, in octaves, the cello playing a wavering triplet figure underneath.  The two instruments switch musical material at m. 49.  It's like they're speaking each other's words again, but with more understanding.  I don't know to explain it, but it's matured and it's beautiful.

It's the idea of "We are completely different instruments, we've gone on a journey, and now we can say the same thing and say it together."

Also, as my best friend has written, with regard to his musical experiences, "You take in as much as you put out. You take and you share. You make and partake. And you do all of this simultaneously."

I love chamber music.  It keeps my life full and harmonious.