Seymour Bernstein: a discovery

A couple of months ago, in trying to glean some advice from the internet about how to play certain piano pieces, I came across a book called With Your Own Two Hands: Self-Discovery Through Music, written by a pianist named Seymour Bernstein, who is a well-known piano teacher living in New York.  Although the title sounded a little corny, I bought the book anyway, through Amazon Marketplace--a used hardback from a private library collection for about $30.  I devoured the book in a few days, while marking, it seemed, almost every page with little purple stickers, meaning to come back to try to digest some of the passages later.  

A couple of months passed, and out of the blue I read somewhere about a recent documentary made by Ethan Hawke, called "Seymour: An Introduction".  I finally put the two together and discovered that along with many other people I had just been introduced to a great pianist and a great piano teacher.  I missed the film when it was screened at IU Cinema, and have not been able to stream it on-line (iTunes won't have it available until January 2016).  But after watching the many video clips on YouTube of his piano playing and the Q & A sessions given by him and Ethan Hawke about the film, I feel like saying that we've just been introduced to a living legend and a national treasure.  (He was born in 1927.)  On one of the videos Seymour recalled having met an old Viennese lady when he was in his 20s, at a retirement home in New Jersey where he once played some pieces by Brahms, and the lady telling him that he played better than Brahms himself.  She said she heard Brahms play when he came over to Hanover to play at Clara Schumann's funeral!  Now who, if not a living legend, could boast of a connection, though tenuous, like that in this day and age! 

One of the things that struck me about his book and his many recorded conversations is how rare and precious a good mentor and pupil relationship is.  Encountering a truly inspiring mentor in one's life, in whatever pursuit one is engaged in, is a gift of the gods.  The true mentor opens your eyes to something, gives you a momentary glimpse into a world rich and with unfathomable depth, and shows you clues about how to get there. Seymour Bernstein in this sense becomes a mentor to all those in whom his books and recordings strike a receptive cord.  My discovery of Bernstein through a random internet search was pure serendipity, like Ethan Hawke's meeting Bernstein at dinner at a friend's house, which led to his documentary, an unexpected find of a treasure trove.  

With the release of this film, his 1981 book is now selling for about $100 used and $350 to $680, like-new.  That was something I didn't expect when I purchased the book!

Here are some links to reviews about this documentary.  If it shows in your neighborhood, don't miss it.

http://www.newyorker.com/culture/richard-brody/a-portrait-of-the-artist-as-an-older-man

http://www.npr.org/2015/03/20/394270834/seymour-a-loving-portrait-of-an-acclaimed-classical-pianist

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/13/movies/review-seymour-an-introduction-is-a-lesson-in-perseverance.html?_r=1

Opera 101, Re-broadcast

[The following post is for people who may be interested in finding out more about western operas.  If you're well versed in this subject, please read no farther.]

For opera newbies out there, me included, I'd like to bring your attention to a new series of video podcasts this summer by Nicolas Revels of the San Diego Opera Company in which he introduces some of the basic elements of operas.  (Hat-tip to Marija for first telling me about this podcast a couple of years ago.)    

Opera for most people is an acquired taste, like bitter greens that take a little getting used to.  In addition to its unfamiliarity, there are several obvious reasons why it is not a more popular form of music theatre than, say, Broadway Musicals in the U. S.-- e.g., the fact that live operas are not readily available unless you live in big cities, that they are sung in languages other than English about 90 percent of the time, that opera singers do not normally enjoy the same cachet as pop idols, except in their own rarefied world, and that operas can be interminably long, and so on.  It was not until the Metropolitan Opera started showing opera productions live in HD at movie theaters that I got exposed to this musical/performing art form, just a couple of years before we moved from Gainesville to Bloomington. 

Luckily for me, Bloomington's IU School of Music happens to be one of the hot beds, and the best schools, for opera studies in the U.S.  Each year they stage seven full-fledged opera productions at the IU Musical Arts Center.  As a result, since moving to Bloomington, though a small town, I've been to see several live opera performances, by semi-professional opera students with all the accompanying fanfare and pageantry  of live orchestra, gigantic movable sets, dramatic lighting, and period costumes, etc.  I can't say that I've now become a bona fide opera buff; my knowledge about operas is in truth minuscule--barely scratching the surface. But I have caught the opera bug. 

I hope that the following introductory podcasts about operas by Nicolas Revels may perchance become the entry point to the world of [western] operas for some, who perhaps think it not to their taste, while providing, for others, an opportunity to dig a little deeper into the subject.  I don't know if there will be more podcasts in this series coming, but the followings are what have already been broadcasted -

1. Summer School for Opera Fans

2. Words and Music

3. What is an Aria?

4. I've Heard this Before!

5. The Duet

6. How do you say "I Love You" in music

7. Homework?!!

By the way, the schedule for the 2014 Met Opera Live in HD season is out; you may catch a few of the performances "live" in the movie theaters near you this Fall!

Make it Sing

For the last month and a half I've been laboring to coax my clunky, plodding piano keyboard and my aching, rheumatic fingers to cooperate to produce a singing-like quality for a piece of music that I have been trying to learn and commit to memory for our yearly recital.  It was the second movement of Mozart's piano sonata No. 16, K545 -- a perennial favorite for piano novices.

Three days before the recital I went with my teacher to the place, the Fellowship Hall of one of our local UU chuches, where we are to perform for our family and friends.  I was fortunate to have the opportunity to test out the piano there beforehand; it turned to be even more unresponsive in certain keys than the one I have been practicing on.  In order to make some of the notes heard, I had to put more weight on my left hand -- basically unlearn the habit I've gradually acquired during the many weeks of practice, that is, to play softly and velvety with my left hand and let the melody sing from my right.  If there was any consolation, my teacher told me that it was something that most concert pianists had to go through, that is, having to make adjustment of their playing according to the idiocyncrasy of the pianos at the venues where they are to perform. 

As usual, I was the last person on, being the only adult in the group of elementary school children.  While waiting for my turn, I worked myself up with mounting stage fright and cold sweat; I walked up to the piano with something like the resignation of a prisoner walking up to the guillotine.  It was over in a flash though and I pretty much got through the piece relying on auto pilot.  I counted 7+ mistakes on the whole but it was not completely disastrous considering that my fingers were trembling the whole time. 

Here is a YouTube video of Yuja Wang, the amazing flying fingers from China, playing the entire sonata when she was in elementary school.  More about her, here.

Where are my 'tatatoes'?

I did my first piano recital, that is, in public, today along with the other students of my teacher.  I played Prelude 1 in C by Bach from Book I of the Well-Tempered Clavier.  I ran into several rough spots but, overall, did not embarrass myself (too) badly in front of all these grade school kids and their families.  On the surface the piece may not look so difficult to play, but to play it well is not a simple matter.  It's like trying to achieve the precision quality of Glenn Gould and the hypnotic quality of Philip Glass, while at the same time to sound as serene as possible, in short, it is a very tall, or next to an impossible order.  My teacher, to help me get into an even rhythm, used to count aloud while I played, "one tatato, two tatato, three tatato, four tatato, one ..."  They got so drummed into my head that lately I dreamed about them at night.  Here is the video of my recital; for the professional pianists out there, my advice is to skip this to save the suffering of your ears.  

Satyagraha

[Guest post by Greg]

While Judy and I do not catch the Met simulcast opera performances as often as SP, we were looking forward to seeing the Met's recent revival of their acclaimed 2008 production of Philip Glass' Satyagraha—whose subject is the larger-than-life figure of M.K. Ghandi.

The music of that opera—from the CBS recording—is a longstanding favorite of mine. It is beautiful and has an unusual emotional intensity that stands out independently of the language and any narrative associations. So I was really looking forward to seeing the production. I confess I enjoy a good deal of Philip Glass' music, so I was totally ready.

Judy was looking forward to it with some trepidation—thinking about what four hours of solid Glass might do to a person. She brought earplugs just in case we started going mad. (In truth, Judy and I have been to numerous live performances of Glass music over the years, and she always has enjoyed them and been impressed in spite of herself.)

And so to the Met's Satyagraha performance: Earplugs not needed! We both loved the show and were deeply impressed with the opera. Judy said afterward that Philip Glass had finally truly won her over, and when he took his bow at the end, she had felt true respect for what he had accomplished.

Here is a rather passionate review of the the production (originally mounted in 2008). Well worth reading and it will give you some idea of what the opera is all about—in lieu of going:

  NYRB review of the show

It explains a lot about the idea of the opera and how it works—useful given its non-traditional nature. It is also a super-glowing review—which is rather lovely, because, in the end, I think what the reviewer most wanted to do was communicate enough of the ideas and the experience so that when he tells you he burst into tears at the end, you will understand him. Personally, I cried three and a half times, but maybe I don't count because I cry for everything—I cried twice when we went to see the Broadway musical, Wicked. But it wasn't just me this time. I am authorized to tell you that Judy also cried during the performance and teared up again later over dinner just talking about a certain moment of the piece. So that should tell you something. The opera operates on an emotional level with no traditional plot line—it picks up just enough pieces of narrative structure to touch on and build off of certain emotions. (Probably this makes it a sort of love it or hate it opera. We loved it.) It all makes some kind of brave wonderful sense, because Ghandi is such a big subject—to drop him into an opera plot would somehow smallerize him. Instead, by staying at some level of abstraction above simple storytelling, the opera manages to be a moving meditation on Ghandi's achievement and its lasting importance.

There were also some very imaginative and clever moments of stage design. Moody and compelling and exultant. Creative use of humble materials: newspaper, sticks, baskets, packing tape and set pieces that look like corregated iron. Some unusual larger-than-life puppets get into the act at various points in the show to mysterious effect.

The opera is sung in Sanskrit—which really seems the ideal language for Glass music. This means that no one hearing the opera understands what is being sung, but you know everything you need to know by the way the singers sing and their expressions and by knowing the setting. And in fact what they are singing is not directly related to the scenes they are enacting anyway—but are instead meditations from the Bhagavad Ghita. It is a genius, universalizing move for this opera and a nice challenge for the vocalists.

This is an enduring opera and likely to be the centerpiece of Glass' musical legacy—I would stake my operatic reputation on it. Far be it from me to recommend that you catch the encore broadcast (December 7th, 6:30pm), but you might want to check it out. You are well advised to read the scene synopses carefully, because you cannot reliably infer the biographical setting of the scenes from what you will see on stage.

"A masterpiece of musical and visual art." —New York Post

"Spectacular . . . [the music] frequently ravishing" —Associate Press

"A masterwork of theatrical intensity and integrity . . . Image after image is etched indelibly on the memory, in its masterly fusion of the aural and the visual." —The Times of London

"A thing of wonder . . . the whole thing serves as a monumental affirmation of human dignity at a time when many have begun to question its very existence-and for that, we must be infinitely grateful." —The Guardian

"Glass's theme is Gandhi and here -- arguably more than in any of his other stage works -- his style finds a soul-mate in the opera's central character. . . The result is an atmospheric, visually imaginative show." —The Financial Times

  NY Times review (includes some visual-spoiler images and video).

The negative bits: There are two downsides both of which have to do with the broadcast of the opera, not the stage performance: 1) the between-acts host was not doing a great job (I don't know why the Met thinks it makes sense to give this job to opera singers -- because MCs and singers both vocalize? Really?) and 2) the Met camerawork was (again!) too busy and spends entirely too much time pulled in too close for a stage production—it is a problem not unique to this simulcast, but shows up more in this show because most of the action on stage is in the service of building an overall impression or making a scenic tableaux. It seemed clear that no one thought to tell the camera people that this is not a business-as-usual opera and to frame some idea for them about how they should approach it. (But see UPDATE below.)

UPDATE: J and I went to the encore performance and are convinced the footage had been edited in various places. This notably improved the camera work problem I noted above -- alternate camera feeds replacing the badly chosen ones during the live broadcast.

At the Junior Prom

Ms. Douglas & her prodigies

I went to a piano "recital" at my piano teacher's house yesterday with some of her other pupils; I was the newest, having started my first piano lesson a little over four months ago and the oldest, or, I should say, of the granny-age, member of her class.  Everyone performed bravely, with some hiccups here and there, received polite applause from the classmates and encouraging remarks from the teacher.  Here is an abridged, i.e., before things started to go south, clip of my piece, At the Junior Prom -