file5851263060822Last Wednesday evening I played a recital with Soprano Cynthia Sanner. It was a privilege to play the repertoire she had chosen—some works were new to me and others I had played before.  I enjoyed looking at familiar pieces with new eyes and viewpoints and delving into the unfamiliar. The major highlight for me was Schumann’s Frauenliebe und Leben. I’ve blogged about Clara and Robert before ( Clara & Robert Sitting in a Tree  ) and these beautiful songs added a whole new layer to my understanding. The texts encompass the male view of women as expected for the time (especially the second which I have nicknamed, He Who Must Be Obeyed) but somehow Schumann manages to turn the tables on the text. I love the fact that Clara gets the last word in the piano solo which ends the cycle. What began as an accompaniment shines on its own in this coda, bringing us in a full circle.

I’m a sucker for Schumann’s codas anyway and this one initially struck me as an apology. I couldn’t quite figure out why. Later, as I practiced and we rehearsed, I thought less of the apology aspect and more about how the passage is hopeful in the first song and alone and vulnerable in the final rendition. Initially it looks forward and finally it looks back. As always, music deepens in rehearsals and performance and as I played the coda in performance last Wednesday I came back to the apology. Somehow right then Robert seemed to be saying, how sorry he was that that was all he had to give her, “but here is this beautiful music just for you and even though I’ll be gone one day, you will always have that.”

We also did a set of Schubert, including Death and the Maiden.  Certainly, I’ve played this song many times over the years. One morning as I began the piece, the clearest message popped into my head. Just do nothing in the introduction—keep it flat and irrevocable but never malevolent just as the song describes. It worked beautifully and I was reminded of something I have often told students. Sometimes doing nothing is the best something there is. (Also, on a different subject, did you know that Gretchen makes quite a wonderful cycling cadence?)

I had to take another, more bitter, kind of medicine though. I had gotten discouraged 2 weeks or so before the performance because none of my usual tricks (or some new ones) were really resulting in a fluent performance of some of the Dvorak songs. I had checked the tempi on 4-5 performances and there was quite a range so I remained hopeful that I could make the pieces work. I should have realized right then that my arthritis was really limiting me, faced reality, and started reconfiguring sections. But, I didn’t. I didn’t want to not be able to do what I used to be able to do—what everyone else could do. So I kept soldiering on. (the definition of insanity)

Well, at the first rehearsal they were at the top tempi or faster and I definitely couldn’t make them work. So, after I had the proverbial cow, I set down to make adjustments with the goal of maintaining the essence of Dvorak’s original passages. Throughout the rehearsals (ok, even on the day of the performance) I had to continually refine those adjustments. If I had accepted reality 2 weeks before, it would have been a lot less stressful, if harder on my ego.  I still don’t like it but I know it was necessary. More importantly the pieces worked.

I teach quite a few adult students with conditions that require them to make adjustments in octaves, leaps, etc. in order to be able to set the music free. I also mentor pianists who play with others in various song and chamber settings and help them to make decisions about adjusting scores within limited time frames. My end goal is always to help pianists to make needed adjustments that maintain the sound and character of the music without feeling guilty. So, why did I take it so hard when I was forced to down a dose of my own medicine?

 

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