Grey Clouds.

Franz Liszt was 70 years old when he wrote Nuages Gris (Grey Clouds.) His music of this period was not discussed among his friends and acquaintances, mainly because it was creepy and strange. The late works of Franz Liszt deal with despair, death and retrospection; by comparison with his earlier works and the output of most romantic composers, they seem very deconstructivist. Gone are virtuoso passages thick with notes, now every note and rest are carefully weighted in a direct, stark language. Thirty years before Schoenberg’s attempts at harmony in fourths, tone rows and atonality were being hailed as “new”, Liszt was using all of these techniques. Nuages Gris and pieces like Les Jeux d’Eaux à la Villa d’Este also foreshadowed the impressionism of Debussy and Ravel.

Nuages Gris is based on a single melodic line, which is formed out of a G minor chord with a jarring C# which never acquires any traditional harmonic logic (such as being part of a viiº/V) or is resolved as a melodic ornament. Although this melody is integral to the piece, this does not mean that there is any development or variation; it is simply repeated as a kind of ostinato. Then follow tremolos in A and Bb in the lowest register which Liszt specifically blends together into a single minor second using the pedal. In the right hand we have an augmented chord which descends chromatically (the first of these with a harmonic suspension in the highest voice. This descending passage also has no development or variation. When it dies out, we come back to an idea similar to the first melody, always containing the same C# within the G minor chord. The first melody is now used as an accompaniment to a naked, poignant phrase in the right hand after which we arrive at a passage with three levels. In the lowest register we are back to the Bb-A repeating ostinato and in the middle we have augmented chords moving chromatically. In the highest register we have a slowly rising chromatic scale in octaves, floating ever higher. The piece ends abruptly with two mysterious arpeggiated chords which offer no harmonic resolution.

According to those that knew him (and the letters of Liszt himself,) Liszt was in a state of profound depression. He had seen his best friends and acquaintances (including two of his children) pass away one by one. He was nearly blind and fell down a flight of stairs on the year he wrote Nuages Gris, which led to a quick deterioration of his usual good health. He was always troubled with insecurity about his music –yes, Liszt was insecure, something which is usually overlooked when talking about him– always obsessed with the shadow of Beethoven and Wagner. By the accounts of many that knew him, he was drinking much more than usual. As Liszt told one of his biographers: “I carry with me a deep sadness of the heart which must now and then break out in sound.” This is evidenced by the fact that he didn’t seek to publish most of the music he composed in this period. He wrote for himself.

Nuages Gris is a strange little piece that, to me, expresses profound sadness. Not the kind of romanticized sadness of much of his earlier music, but a more honest, darker side to his personality. The fear of death, sickness, a yearning for the past, an uncertainty for the future both in his life and in music, these are unsettling subjects which are all at the heart of a very uncomfortable piece of music.

Happy birthday to me!

I was born this day, 28 years ago. How am I celebrating? I’m out-of-town for a week, sorely missing my very pregnant wife. It’s seven in the morning and I’m in a hotel lobby, waiting for my ride to rehearsal. I’ll spend the day practicing  repertoire I haven’t played before because I’ll be accompanying some recitals with singers this weekend. It sounds kind of bleak but would I rather do something else with my life?

No, I would not.

Embraceable You

Embraceable You is one of my favorite Gershwin standards. It’s a beautiful song, simple in its structure but very finely crafted. At first glance, there are many things about Embraceable You that don’t immediately click. Take the lyrics for example:

Embrace me,

My sweet embraceable you.

Embrace me,

You irreplaceable you.

Just one look at you — my heart grew tipsy in me;

You and you alone bring out the gipsy in me.

I love all

The many charms about you;

Above all

I want my arms about you.

Don’t be a naughty baby,

Come to papa — come to papa — do!

My sweet embraceable you.

It’s not so much a consonant rhyme as it is just ending each verse with the same word. The great thing is that the whole accentuation is set up so that the biggest accent falls four syllables before the end of the verse, which is quite uncommon. The rhyming scheme is arranged so that not only the last syllable matches up but, almost every time, the last four syllables rhyme.

The melodic line is also pretty unconventional. Almost every time, it’s a small scale that rises, followed by a big (even dissonant) downward leap; first it’s a fifth and before the repeat, it’s an octave leap. This strange downward leap at the end of every verse keeps delaying the resolution, which makes the rising half step in the final two notes all the sweeter. The upward scale starts on the sixth, something that gives it a very jazzy feel and later became usual in many jazz standards. Three notes ascending scalewise over a I-vii7/V7-V7 (GM7-C#dim7-D7) progression. The melody is also a bit lopsided, in every verse the last word (“you” and “me”) get’s its own beautiful, very long note.

Harmonically it has a very basic structure: I-V-I (GM7-D7-GM7) with a short section (just one look at you my heart grew tipsy in me) with the vi (Em) which repeats to the beginning. We get a big sub-dominant (CM7) before the ending (Don’t be naughty…) which, as usual for the IV, is pretty well suited for a fermata, and at the very end we get the sequence I7(V7/IV)-iv-V7-I (G7-Cm7-D7-GM7). What I love about these last four chords is the way they build up on the sub-dominant from before, taking that CM7 and instead of resolving giving it its own dominant and turning it into a minor IV right on the accent of the last verse (on “embraceable”), which adds a bit of wistfulness and sadness to the very end.

The beauty of this tune, and its curse for many amateur performers, is that Gershwin fills it with embellishing chords. The very basic I-V-I is very highly ornamented and in some cases, some of the chords are substituted for others.

This:

GM7 – D7 – GM7

turns into this:

GM7 - C#dim7 – D7 – Am7 – F7 – D7 – GM7

The D7 is preceded by its own dominant (which is why usually an A chord is also added before the C#dim7, to make a sort of A7b9) and then the D7 is spread out into four chords to match the melodic rising line in the third verse (Embrace me, you irreplaceable…)

Because of the very basic harmonic structure and the lopsided way the melodic line is built, this piece is very suited for long freestyle improvisations and rearrangements. In some cases, like in the version by the Bill Evans Trio or by Wynton Marsalis, it’s nothing but one huge improvisation.

One of my favorite versions of Embraceable You is the piano etude by Earl Wild. What’s great about playing it is the way the technique matches up with the  music. He adds a ton of arpeggios all around the melody, so all those circular movements with very little finger action almost make it feel as if you are embracing the piano.

Accompanying a guitar.

At the school where I work, four guitarists are graduating this year. That means that they’ll be playing four graduation recital-exams, which means four different guitar concertos that I’ll be accompanying. We just had the first one a couple of days ago; I played the piano reduction of the Concierto de Aranjuez by Joaquín Rodrigo, probably the most famous guitar concerto out there apart from the Vivaldi concertos for mandolin.

My previous experience accompanying a guitar was limited to the electric guitar, playing jazz and works by Steve Reich. Playing an orchestral reduction, already overloaded with notes from an inept arranger just taking the whole orchestra and smooshing it into the piano part, alongside a guitar –which is not the loudest of instruments– is damn near impossible to get right. Also consider that when Rodrigo wrote the Concierto de Aranjuez he wasn’t as skilled at orchestrating with a guitar soloist as he was when he wrote his later works for guitar and orchestra.

One would think that the guitar and the piano are at least similar in that they are both instruments very suited for polyphonic writing, but the kinds of things that are very idiomatic for the guitar (open chords, fast repeated notes, parallel-moving harmonies and motives, fast repeated chords, a detached articulation on fast passages) are the things that are most difficult to do technically on the piano –this goes both ways, just ask a guitarist to play a fast scale (especially in legato) or a quick passage in octaves. That means that there are all sorts of passages in these concertos which the guitar can play with no problem at all while the pianist gets screwed –not to mention the obvious problem of having to do it in super-pianissimo. A typical example of this is the very beginning of the Concierto de Aranjuez. That’s a passage that every single guitarist can play –and usually does play, all day, much to the annoyance of guitar teachers everywhere (the piano equivalent is the first section of the third Rachmaninoff concerto.) After the guitar finishes, the pianist gets to repeat the whole thing, except that it is on a whole different level of difficulty for the piano.

Accompanying a guitar has all sorts of little idiosyncrasies that you don’t normally encounter as an accompanist. The very mechanic of playing the instrument means you have to get used to the slight delay that comes with plucking the string; any pianist that has played with bowed instruments has experienced the annoyance of trying to be together with the soloist in a passage in pizzicato, imagine that for every single note on the guitar. There’s the issue of volume, which is just a matter of stepping down on the una corda and playing at a level in which you can clearly hear the guitar at all times (or amplifying the guitar.) The problem here is being able to hear the guitar at all, not because of it being too soft (we encounter that all the time with instruments like the double-bass and the flute) but because of all the noise it makes. You have to get used to the twang from the slapping strings and the zipping noises the wrapping on the low strings makes every time there’s a change of position, and the little clicks and plunks the strings make on the frets whenever they let go or press down on a string. I’ve seen that most guitarists are so used to all this noise that they don’t seem to hear it themselves (I must admit, after a few rehearsals I kind of got used to it), but when you sit up close to a guitarist for the first time it’s hard to keep your ear on the actual music coming out.

There is some classical music out there for guitar and piano, but not a lot of it. I can understand why, in my view they’re two instruments that do not compliment each other at all. Instead of shoring up each others’ weaknesses, they’re amplified. When put together, the guitar sounds softer and weaker than it really is and the piano sounds louder and harsher. Both instruments’ lack of a real legato is exposed and everything sounds much clunkier than it normally would. Even the tuning differs slightly, sounding uneven throughout the register. When played together, the guitar’s range appears severely limited, while the differences in sound quality in the piano’s different registers are very noticeable.

I enjoy accompanying the guitarists as a personal challenge to my skills as a pianist and as an opportunity to grow, although I’m usually left disappointed at the way our two instruments sound together. Perhaps there’s a composer out there that can make the combination work, I’m always happy to listen to and to try out new music.

Parangaricutirimícuaro

Parangaricutirimícuaro is the name of the last piece in Carteles, by Miguel Bernal Jiménez. The word parangaricutirimícuaro is used in Mexican culture as a tongue-twister:

“El rey de Parangaricutirimícuaro se quiere desparangaricutirimicuarizar, aquel que lo desparangararicutirimicuarize buen desparangaricutirimicuarizador será.”

This word takes us back to the home state of Miguel Bernal Jiménez, Michoacán, where there is a very small town called San Juan Parangaricutiro –made famous by the eruption of the volcano Paricutin. This town is affectionately known as Parangaricutirimícuaro (the ending “cuaro” is  of purepecha origin and is very common in place names from Michoacán.)

At the beginning of the piece there is an expression mark that, as far as I know, isn’t present in any other work for the piano: forte populachero. The word populachero is difficult to translate because its meaning depends very much on its context. Populacho literally means a mob of people; it implies common, simple people (as in “the common man”.) Populachero in music refers to popular, not very high-brow music. With the festive, noisy character of this piece, the title referring to a very small farming town and the indication populachero, this piece makes me think of a small-town celebration of some sort, maybe a parade, a fair or a dance.

The piece is in an A-B-A form, as the first piece in Carteles, Volantin. The “A” is made up of a fast, swirling run on top of a constant tremolo of fourths in the bass –this passage makes me think of the parangaricutirimícuaro tongue twister. It reminds me a bit of some passages from Stravinsky’s Petrushka. Not literally, but in the character; they’re both setting the scene for a popular celebration and the music expresses a sense of expectation and of a lot of things happening at once.

The “B” has elements of music that you would normally hear at a small-town fair in Mexico. A fast corrido (which has a rhythm very much like a march), a bass that mimics a tuba, and a section that is very reminiscent of Mexican marches (some of which are very similar to the John Phillip Sousa marches) which are very common in Michoacán because of the traditional town bands –I talked more in-depth about these in my post about the fourth piece in Carteles, Huarache. Just as in Huarache, the accompaniment and the melody are almost always in different tonalities –most of the time a minor second apart– to give the illusion of the bands being extremely out of tune (which is pretty normal in a Michoacán town band.)

So you can hear for yourself how this sounds in real life, here is the band from Galeana, Michoacán. Galeana is about the same size as San Juan Parangaricutiro so this is probably what you would find in any small town in Michoacán. They’re playing the Marcha de Zacatecas, one of the most popular marches in Mexico.

The “B” section from Parangaricutirimícuaro contains quotes from the middle section of this march; also note the tuba line, very similar to the way the left hand plays in all of section “B”. Here is something with a tempo more approaching the work by Miguel Bernal Jimenez (quarter=144), La Basurita:

Note the repeated notes in the melody, these are very common in this genre. In Parangaricutirimícuaro, at the beginning of the “B” section, the repeated notes have tenuto markings to stress their importance and to make the dissonance really stand out.

One of the things I love most about Carteles is the way it evokes popular music from Mexican everyday life. The pieces are very well crafted and carefully constructed but they have an element that is very populachero. This makes them a lot of fun to play and very easy on an audience (despite being quite dissonant at times.) Even though Miguel Bernal Jiménez is best known for Tata Vasco, his Concertino, and several masses, I think that his best compositions are his small-scale secular works, such as Carteles, which I highly recommend both to listen and to play.

Erin go bragh!

In the United States, St. Patrick’s  is a day where everyone finds a little Irish in themselves, wears green, and then gets completely drunk. One would think that we don’t have cause to celebrate St. Patrick’s day here in Mexico, but we have our own Irish heroes: El Batallón de San Patricio (Saint Patrick’s Battalion) also nicknamed Los Colorados Valientes (The Courageous Redheads.) This battalion of Irish soldiers was not happy shooting their fellow Catholics in the Mexican-American war, so they deserted the United States’ army and fought for the Mexicans.

You can find a street named after their leader Major John Patrick O’Riley in practically any Mexican city (which looks very out-of-place beside the hundreds of Juarez, Aldama, Allende, Villa, Zapata and Hidalgo streets.) Their story is quite an interesting one, read all about it:

Wikipedia page for the battalion.

Wikipedia page for John Patrick O’Riley.

Batallón de San Patricio, the Irish heroes of Mexico.

Musical tribute by folk singer David Rovics:

Hechicería

Hechicería (Sorcery) is the seventh piece in Carteles, a group of eight short pieces for the piano by Miguel Bernal Jiménez. This piece is divided into three distinct sections: Ostinato, Piú mosso, and Largo. Throughout the whole piece the main melodic line is in a very clear E Phrygian mode; in each section of Hechicería Bernal Jiménez treats the E Phrygian modal scale with a different harmonization.

The Ostinato is made up of four phrases and four measures of introduction. These introductory measures set up a 6/8 rhythmic motif that, combined with the naked fifth in the bass and the constant repetition, gives the music a ritualistic, ceremonial character.

The first phrase of the Ostinato is formed by a single motif which is basically an ornamented E-B fifth. The peculiar thing about this motif is its rhythm; by subdividing the first dotted quarter note in four, the rhythm is more like a 2/4 with an accelerated, bouncy second beat. We saw something similar happen with the rhythm in Huarache, except that in that case, the time signature was 2/4 subdivided to give the illusion of a clumsy 6/8 time. That bouncy repeated note on the second beat is very typical of Mexican melodies in binary time signatures. An example of this type of melody is in the dance Los Matlachines:

Note how the rhythm of the melody is virtually identical to the rhythm in Hechicería. Most music in this genre and from this part of Mexico is in 6/8 time, so something very interesting and unique happens when a melody in binary rhythm is shoehorned into 6/8 time, which is what happens in Hechicería –this kind of polyrhythm is quite common in Mexican music, mostly dating from the adaptation of Spanish melodies into indigenous dance rhythms and vice versa.

With the time signature being so ambiguous, the second phrase of the Ostinato, which is in a very clear, unmistakable 6/8, has a much more powerful effect. Here there is a whole-tone scale superimposed on the pseudo-dominant chord of the E Phrygian mode.

The third phrase of the Ostinato is a repetition of the first, with the left hand accompaniment changing registers and playing with various possible subdominant chords for E Phrygian (mainly the IV  and II with several different alterations) but always returning to the E-B fifth drone.

The last phrase of this section moves the main motif to the left hand, with the right hand descending in long notes spanning two measures. The right hand rhythm forces the left hand into two measure groups. This gives insight into the intended phrasing and grouping for the Ostinato. This whole section forms an arc that starts in mf, steadily rises to forte sonoro and then gradually fades out into a pianissimo fermata. The closing sets up the very dissonant subito fortissimo that initiates the Piú mosso section of Hechicería.

The Piú mosso preserves the original ceremonial character of the piece, now with repeating, dramatic descending E Phrygian scales which mirror the repeating motif from the previous section. These lead into a four measure phrase that mirrors the forte sonoro from the first part of this work. Then, we repeat the descending scales and, once again, fade out into a pianissimo fermata.

All of the Piú mosso is accompanied by a hammering, explicitly accentuated G# right in the middle of the melody in the left hand. This kind of accompaniment is very percussive, particularly because of the constant minor seconds it forms with the melodic line. The final Largo retakes the forte sonoro phrase from the first section, but adds a short glissando between the notes and fades out into a subito forte E in octaves. The melody is now harmonized in a bizarre chorale, in which all the voices form dissonances with the theme, all moving with it in the same direction.

The constant repetition in this piece, the violent G# in the second section and the droning E-B perfect fifth throughout give me cause to identify this piece with music more typical of the northern regions of the country, such as the indigenous music of the Apaches and the Tarahumaras or the more popular Matlachines. This music uses mostly percussion instruments, various drums, scrapers and rattles. In the case of the Matlachines, sometimes it also incorporates a melodic line. In this example, the melodic line is also very similar rhythmically to the original motif from Hechicería:

More important is what the dances of the Matlachines convey. They are ceremonial, intended for religious events honoring the Virgin of Guadalupe, holy processions during Easter or reenacting the story of Moctezuma. They are divided into various fast and slow sections, each with its own repeating motif, much the same as the structure of Hechicería. The E-B drone reminds me of the chapareque, a musical instrument that is specific to the Tarahumaras. It is only capable of playing a fifth which, much like a jaw harp, is altered by using the mouth as a resonance chamber.

Witchcraft and magic are all a central part of Mexican folklore. It is impossible to go to a market without a stall selling limpias (to cleanse you of the evil eye, hexes or curses that may be on you.) The catholic religion, full of ritual and ceremony, and the unique blend of Catholicism and indigenous religions that is practiced in Mexico, is also central to our culture. I see Hechicería as a work that is quite a bit darker than the rest of Carteles but that is not so much about witchcraft as it is about rite and ceremony; a sort of ritual that casts a spell on the listener.

As most of the music from Carteles, Hechicería is somewhat lighthearted and not really technically difficult. It has elements which are unmistakably Mexican without specifically quoting Mexican music. The use of Mexican folklore and the internal logic of the music are of a very high level; the composer is mostly known for his sacred works, but the craftsmanship present in these little pieces makes me think that his best work is in his, sadly underplayed, secular music.

Success in life through musical education.

A couple of years ago I wrote a short snippet on how playing the piano can positively affect brain development. There are many scientific studies that show that musical education is linked with a better academic performance, higher IQ and increased memory. The piano can also be a catalyst that ignites in a child a curiosity for the fine arts and culture.

While all that is very good, I find that a musical education has a deeper effect on each person. Playing a musical instrument teaches children lessons that are essential for a successful career and emotional maturity.

The most important of these skills is learning how to learn. The learning strategies acquired in the practice of a musical instrument are very different from the ones typically learned in school. In the classroom, a student is expected to receive information from his teachers and then to repeat it during examination; most of the learning is done using this same linear approach: a source gives the student information, the student memorizes this information, and then the student repeats this information for testing. Learning to play a musical instrument is anything but linear, particularly the piano which deals more in learning to coordinate a myriad of very simple concepts and actions.

I wrote before about teaching concepts in webs as opposed to chains. Musical education is especially suited for this, since it forces a student to use several different kinds of memory simultaneously while engaging in a physically demanding task to produce a result that communicates at an emotional level. That is another important insight that musical education teaches: progress is not always linear.

The way we achieve results when practicing a musical instrument can differ wildly from one case to the next. Sometimes we advance steadily, building on a piece every day. At other times, we try repeatedly with no results for a very long time before we achieve a breakthrough. Other times, we can play something with hardly any practice at all for no perceivable reason. Understanding that progress can occur in many ways gives students emotional maturity; it is part of learning how to learn and finding creative ways to get over obstacles in their path.

Learning a piece of music teaches kids to pursue long-term goals. Performing a piece of music in public is all about achievement. At the beginning you start without the ability to play a particular piece. A student has to sit down with his instrument and make the conscious decision to learn that piece of music and perform it. As we all find out sooner or later, there is a point where the repertoire gets too big and too complicated to do this right away,  it requires time, planning and discipline. A good music teachers shows his students how to set goals, break them down into bite-size steps and organize a schedule; most importantly, he teaches them to stick to it. These kinds of project management skills easily translate into academic life and business.

Even the most inspired musician has days when practicing is a chore, but learning to work even if you don’t feel like it is an important lesson that most parents strive to teach their children and that all musicians must learn at one time or another. The reason it is so effective within the framework or musical education is because it is not explicitly said to the students. It is something everyone learns eventually; almost every musician has had the embarrassing experience of the disastrous public performance due to insufficient practice –not being able to finish a piece, followed by pity applause and general self-loathing (and the resolution to never let it happen again.)

Performing in public can be very stressful. Learning a musical instrument and preparing for lessons puts pressure on students. Coping with pressure is part of a musician’s daily routine. Not only coping with it but having grace under pressure is an important part of playing for an audience. A person that has learned to relax in public, or at least give the illusion of confidence, has obvious career and social advantages over people who have never done this.

Even with sufficient practice, you can’t always play at your best. There are just too many factors in play to be able to control. Anyone can have a bad day but it is important to get back on the horse and try again. Giving a great performance after a bad experience on stage is an amazing feeling that almost every musician has experienced; musical education gives children the tools to more easily recover from their mistakes and to not give up.

The process of learning a musical work is built on criticism. Acquiring the maturity to deal with criticism, both external and from within, is a basic part of a musical education. Practice time is mostly spent listening and criticizing yourself and it’s easy to go overboard. As I wrote in the post about Richter’s pink plastic lobster, even the most accomplished and famous musicians get nervous and feel like they can’t play. Once a music student learns to accept that everyone feels like this sometimes, and that it’s temporary and just in our minds, the ripple effect it has in their lives is a beautiful thing to behold. A music lesson is also largely based on criticism; you practice and present your work to a teacher, that will mostly criticize it and attempt to show you how to make it better. Music students learn to accept criticism as feedback that helps them evolve. Realizing that criticism is what helps you grow helps students excel in every area of their lives.

Learning a musical instrument is about so much more than learning to play a particular tune. Even if only for a short while, a musical education gives children a framework in which they can acquire and practice all the skills that are the mark of a mature individual with relatively few consequences. Even if the child does not have an especially good ear or musical talent, the learning process is as important for his development and growth into an adult as the actual level of skill acquired.

Pordioseros

Pordioseros is the sixth piece in the set of short piano works Carteles by Miguel Bernal Jimenez. A pordiosero is a beggar. The word comes from the expression “por Dios” or “por el amor de Dios” which means “by God” or “by the love of God”, a common phrase used by beggars asking for charity on the streets.

In the 40′s and early 50′s there was a realist movement in Mexican cinema which tried to show the plight of lower-class Mexico in the aftermath of the Revolución (the Mexican civil war) almost in the way of a documentary. One of the most outstanding films of this era is Los Olvidados (it was released in the United States as “The young and the damned”) directed by Luis Buñuel. The style of music in Pordioseros is very evocative of the scenes and soundtracks from these kinds of movies.

This music also owes a lot to Claude Debussy. There are many elements here that remind me of his sixth Prelude:  Des pas sur la neige (Footsteps in the snow), the most outstanding of which is the ostinato in the left hand, alternating the same motif in one tonality and a minor second higher. Both works express a sense of profound sadness, exhaustion or loneliness. The use of the whole tone scale in the melodic line and the Dorian mode in the main theme is also very much in the style of Debussy.

The piece is in a simple two-part form. The second part is a variation and development of the first, with an additional line accompanying the main theme and ending in D minor instead of G minor. Each section ends with a very unique bell-like effect, in which the left hand plays an open minor chord in the bass –this piece requires the pianist to be able to stretch the minor 10th while playing the chord’s fifth to get the right effect– while the right hand plays the chord’s major third  in the very highest octave of the piano. The rhythm of this section is very open to interpretation. I’ve heard it played mechanically, trying to reproduce the exact proportion: sixteenths-triplets-eights-fourths; I think that is the wrong approach. Bernal Jimenez writes molto ritenuto and ppp in this section. When I play it, I interpret this rhythmic motif as a gradual slowing down effect and not as three distinct rhythmic groupings (4-3-2). A mental image that helps me here is that of an actual pordiosero saying “Una limosna por el amor de Dios…” The rhythm, the harmony, the ghostlike effect of the register and the descending minor seconds all make me think that this phrase should give the effect of weakness and supplication.

In the end, I believe that is the most important element of this work. Finding something in our lives that allows us to relate to the suffering and pain that is being expressed. Pordioseros is the emotional center of Carteles and one of my favorite Mexican works for the piano.

Happy 200th Birthday, Chopin!

Chopin didn’t write any symphonies or operas; he also barely wrote any chamber music. He gave few public performances. In an age where composers were expected to write huge symphonic works and pianists were expected to tour and display their virtuosity in piano duels and transcriptions to be taken seriously, Chopin was widely regarded as a genius without doing any of those things. His treatment of the piano was revolutionary as was his harmonic technique. Rubinstein said it best:

Chopin was a genius of universal appeal. His music conquers the most diverse audiences. When the first notes of Chopin sound through the concert hall there is a happy sigh of recognition. All over the world men and women know his music. They love it. They are moved by it. Yet it is not “Romantic music” in the Byronic sense. It does not tell stories or paint pictures. It is expressive and personal, but still a pure art. Even in this abstract atomic age, where emotion is not fashionable, Chopin endures. His music is the universal language of human communication. When I play Chopin I know I speak directly to the hearts of people!

His creative output was almost exclusively limited to a single instrument, the piano. He was musically daring and explored many musical genres and forms, both pure and programmatic. The symphonic poem, the operatic aria, the string quartet, the program symphony and the mass, there are elements of all of these in his works for the piano. In the romantic sense, he also expressed all dimensions of human emotion, sometimes all contained in a single Mazurka. He changed the way the piano would be played forever; he took music from his native Poland and turned it into works of high art. He made music of intellectual depth and great expression while maintaining an almost universal appeal. His music also has the gift of sounding spontaneous and almost effortless although he painstakingly crafted every single measure, rewriting it over and over until it was perfect.

For us pianists, Chopin is one of the Gods, he is the essence of our instrument. He gave the piano a voice, and he had a gift for creating unique, interesting and expressive melodies that speak to the heart. We pianists are lucky that he chose the piano, he is ours alone. Happy 200th birthday, Chopin!

Chopin was a genius of universal appeal. His music conquers the most diverse audiences. When the first notes of Chopin sound through the concert hall there is a happy sigh of recognition. All over the world men and women know his music. They love it. They are moved by it. Yet it is not “Romantic music” in the Byronic sense. It does not tell stories or paint pictures. It is expressive and personal, but still a pure art. Even in this abstract atomic age, where emotion is not fashionable, Chopin endures. His music is the universal language of human communication. When I play Chopin I know I speak directly to the hearts of people!