About the Composer

Anyone who has studied music at a conservatory or college level has taken an ear training class typically called “Musicianship.”  This is where we train our ears to recognize intervals and chord qualities, learn how to perform melodies and rhythms accurately at sight and practice writing down musical examples upon hearing them.  I wonder if, bogged down in the details of teaching those various skills, we’ve lost track of what musicianship really is, and why we would use that name for such a class, as opposed to just, say, “Ear Training” or “Sight Reading”.

I have occasionally seen the class referred to simply as “Solfège.” This reveals a common misunderstanding:  solfège is just one of many tools used in musicianship training—not an end, but a means. We don’t offer the class with the goal of teaching solfège; we use solfége to teach musicianship. It seems the purpose of teaching these skills—musicianship—has been lost.  (More on solfège here.)

Musicianship is about training the student not just to be a player of an instrument, but to be a musician. The best way to do that is to take the instrument away.

So, we teach sight singing. Students are expected to be able to accurately perform melodies and rhythms at sight. One goal—the obvious one—is to master the skill of reading music, which can then applied on the instrument. But are we seeing the larger, but less obvious goal?  Learn to be musical without an instrument. The instrument is basically a machine. It only makes music if the player knows how to make music. As long as the player depends on the instrument to make music, it’s the tail wagging the dog.

This is why, with true musicianship in mind, I rarely touch the piano in my classroom. Almost never. When students sing inaccurately, I correct them by singing accurately myself, showing them the mistake, which in some cases might be an error of intonation that cannot be demonstrated on the piano. When performing sight singing exercises, my students learn how to find any pitch they need relative to the pure “A” offered by a tuning fork. If a teacher sits at the piano, playing along with their students while they sing, they may learn what intervals and triads sound like, but unless they can do it without the crutch of an instrument to lean on, that’s poor musicianship. Musicianship means being able to do this without an instrument.

Similarly to sight singing, we require students to perform rhythm exercises. Again, there is an obvious goal of bringing them to proficiency in reading, but with rhythm, too, there is a larger, less obvious goal: to learn to feel the silent pulse and keep it consistent.  Sometimes there is silence in music. My beginning students have a very hard time with this. They can’t stand even a beat of silence and rush to the next sounding note. Musicianship means “hearing” the silence as well as the notes.

We talk about “ear training”, which is what happens when students learn to recognize and identify musical elements such as intervals and chords, but are we training them to use their “inner hearing”? If you ask a group of students to perform a melody, stop singing at a certain point, continuing the melody in their heads for a measure, will they be together, both rhythmically and tonally? That’s inner hearing, and that’s musicianship.

Training in dictation, which is the ability to write down melodies or rhythms as heard, also has a hidden but important benefit when it comes to musicianship. Typically, students are required to write down a melody or rhythm upon some fixed number of hearings. Now, at an advanced level, this is as it should be, but one has to ask what is the basic purpose of this in the first place? The ability to write down music upon hearing it has many practical applications, to be sure, but a larger purpose is served by practicing this in musicianship class.

The real skill that’s being developed here is musical memory. Not only is the student required to recognize intervals and rhythms, he or she is required to remember them for long enough to write them down coherently and legibly. Dictation is really a memory skill more than anything else, so at the beginning levels, dictation should take the form of memory exercises. It’s also an analytical skill.  Students should learn to recognize patterns and shapes early on, before being asked to write anything down. This is why, rather than having students just write as they’re hearing, I ask them not to even pick up their pencils until we have discussed the form and they can sing it back from memory. This is a stepping stone to becoming able to comprehend larger-scale forms. Musicianship means musical memory and an ear for form.

One day recently, my class was having trouble pulling together to sing a melody as a group. One of my students complained that it was much harder to sing with other people. You may have guessed that this was a student who had mastered the melody. By performing in a group in multiple, or even one part, even the strongest students are put to the test. Can they listen to each other and respond to each other’s strengths and weaknesses? Along with musical memory, sharp inner hearing and the ability to make music without an instrument, that’s musicianship.

If you’re the kind of person who follows people on Twitter, and a reader of this blog, you’re invited to join me there as well. I’ve been posting for a while, but haven’t made a lot of noise about it. See you there, I hope!

Long story as to how and why, but within a few days of the Berlin Wall opening on November 9th, 1989, I was on an overnight train from Budapest to Berlin to check out the scene.  Then I was removed from the train in the middle of the night at the Hungarian/(then) Czechoslovak border.  The Velvet Revolution in Prague wasn’t scheduled to happen for another week, and I found out they were actually still serious about the whole “transit visa” thing.  So I hung out with the border guards until the next train came through on the way back to Budapest.

I did end up making it to Berlin in January, just barely in time to still experience the surreal border crossing choreography that was still in place for Westerners wishing to travel from East Berlin into West Berlin:  Coming in from within the Eastern Bloc, you arrived  in East Berlin’s Lichtenberg station and took the Ost S-Bahn to the massive transit hub at Friedrichstraße.  You got off the train and went down below the platform into a labyrinth of long lines and passport control only to come back up just one platform over in the same station, where you were effectively now in West Berlin and could board a West Berlin-bound S-Bahn.  It was very strange.

During that visit I was able to join the throngs of people hacking at the wall with whatever tools were available.  It was one big party all along the wall, which we followed from Checkpoint Charlie to the Brandenburg Gate.  By then the gaps in the wall were substantial enough that one could peek through and see the vast empty space that had once been Potsdamer Platz, which in its time was one of the most bustling spots in Europe, and leveled in World War II.  Now it was nothing but a field of mud and grass that was overrun by — wait for it — bunnies.

That Summer, as part of the reunification process, the Ostmark  (East German currency tied to the East Bloc economy) had just been discontinued, and East German citizens were required to exchange them for West German Marks before a certain date, or risk being left with worthless currency.  (I still have a handful of Ostmarks. Shhh…. don’t tell the Stasi.)  While official reunification still had not occurred, Germany was effectively now one country.  The bizarre in-between status of that period is best illustrated by what happened to me as I made preparations for a return trip in July:

Having learned my lesson from the Czechs before, I dutifully went to what was left of the East German embassy in Budapest for a transit visa to get through East Germany to West Berlin.  After waiting for what seemed like an oddly long time, given that the place was deserted.  There seemed to be a complication, so  I inquired.  The bureaucrat behind the window was smiling, almost giggling:

“Vell, Mister Kaulkin, ze problem is, you are reqvired to have a trenzit visa in order to cross East Germany into Vest Germany.  However, zair iss no longer a border betveen East Germany and Vest Germany, and so zair is no such thing as a trenzit visa!”

His advice?  ”Don’t vorry about it.”

John Adams’ newly remodeled web site now includes a blog.  Am I the last person to realize this?

Posting has been consistent for the past week or so.  The name “Hell Mouth” promises a lot.  I hope he’ll have time to stick with it.  Interestingly, he has enabled comments.  Brave, brave man.

Well, now I have Lithuania to add to the list of countries whose folk music to be obsessed with. In a discussion with my teaching colleague Arkadi Serper about what folk music traditions might have influenced Stravinsky’s ear in his youth, I brought up the amazing vocal music of the Caucasus region, particularly Georgian table songs.  Arkadi agreed, and then went on to alert me to several others from within Russia and the former Soviet Union, including Lithuanian sutartinės.

Sutartinės are little polyphonic vocal gems performed by two, three or four singers.  Melodies generally consist of little repeating figures, usually syncopated and containing only a few pitches.  Counterpoint is derived in different ways, depending on how many parts there are.  What interests me so much about this tradition is that the very specific counterpoint rules that it follows results in very beautiful combinations of intervals, including lots of parallel seconds.  If written down and presented to highly trained singers, these would be a real bear to put together, but peasant women have been singing them in this one little corner of Lithuania for centuries.

There’s quite a bit written about this, so I won’t go into more detail about the theory stuff.  The following audio examples come from a Lithuanian folklore web site, where you can also see a transcription corresponding to each one.

A dvejinė is a two-part sutartinė consisting of two short repeating sections.  In this example, the second part is sung concurrently with the first, but a faux canon is achieved by delaying the second part’s entrance.  Listen

This three-part example, or trejinė is closer to what we think of as a normal canon.  There are two sections, only one is longer than the first.  The second voice enters after the first voice has sung the first section.  The third voice enters after the second has completed the first section.  Here’s where it gets really interesting. (Steve Reich, are you listening?)  Since the second section is slightly longer than the first, voice one is still on the last part of the second section when voice three enters.  The result is a constant shifting, such that the harmony and texture are slightly different with each iteration after all three voices have entered.  It’s hard to explain…. Listen

Here’s another trejinė that’s structured a little differently.  Listen

In the keturinė, or four-part sutartinė, two pairs of singers take turns singing a repeating two-part passage.  In this example, as seems to be typical of these pieces, the two parts are offset by seconds, making for some interesting harmonies.  Listen

The harmonies and rhythms that occur in these pieces certainly make one wonder if Stravinsky was familiar with this tradition as he developed his unique sound.  The phasing technique that Steve Reich is famous for is also a component here.  I wonder if he knows this music.

This was originally part of the previous post. I’m separating it out here because it deserves its own URL for posterity.

Seán Deibler, 1947-2009

My college teacher, mentor and great friend ever since then, Seán Deibler passed away on August 19th. Most of what is important enough to me to write about on this blog can, in one way or another, be traced back to my 24-year association with him. He was a conductor, a singer, a clarinetist, a composer, a teacher, a motivational speaker, a clown, a therapist… The list goes on, and what’s really exceptional is that he was phenomenal at all of the above.

Seán conducted the choruses and taught musicianship at the University of the Arts when I was an undergraduate there in the 1980’s. He also founded and conducted both the Choral Arts Society of Philadelphia and the Music Group of Philadelphia. He allowed me to sing in the former, which meant I got to perform and record with the Philadelphia Orchestra as well as the likes of Riccardo Muti, Charles Dutoit, Erich Leinsdorf, Jessye Norman. I did not sing with Music Group, but in 1996 Seán gave me the honor of using hard-won grant money to commission my chorus/orchestra piece Cycle of Friends which was given a stunning premiere by The Music Group.

Seán spent most of the 1970’s studying conducting, chamber music and pedagogy at the Franz Liszt Academy in Budapest. When he returned he became a prominent pioneer in bringing what’s known as the Kodály Method to the United States and was a sought-after clinician for many years. He made frequent guest conducting appearances in Hungary and around Europe throughout his career, and was a great ambassador for American music there. Likewise, he generously performed the work of living Hungarian composers with his groups in Philadelphia, and in 1998, he received the Medal Pro Artibus, Artist of Outstanding Merit for promotion of Hungarian music abroad by the Hungarian Ministry of Cultural Arts.

Like many of my fellow students, I became friends with Seán during those four years of the Late 80’s. He was very generous with his free time and spent many hours with us individually and in groups of various sizes. Just hanging out, listening to music, talking about music and everything else. I dare say I learned more about music (and everything else) sitting across the table from Seán at Day’s Delicatessen or Little Pete’s than in any classroom. When it was time to figure out what to do after college, Seán had many suggestions, composers he knew at this or that graduate school, but ultimately I ended up doing exactly what he had done: studying in Budapest, Hungary at the Franz Liszt Academy.

Please read Seán’s obituary that was published in the Philadelphia Inquirer. Also, in 1989, Seán made a rare appearance as a baritone soloist and performed a work of mine on my senior recital, which was recorded on video. Here he is in his prime.

Well, I’ve let this blog languish for so long, I’m not sure I can resuscitate it.   In the past I’ve come out of such lulls by throwing together bullet lists of little catch-up items.  So, let’s try that…

Composing
I haven’t done much composing since my string quartet work City Walks was premiered in May, but I’m now starting a new project, which will be a piece for the Slovenian new music ensemble MD7.  I had the privilege of hearing this group play in there home base of Ljubljana when I was there in 2007 visiting there resident conductor Steven Loy, a partner-in-crime going back over 20 years.  This is an unusual ensemble consisting of flute, clarinet, trombone, percussion, piano, viola and cello − a combination that promises a lot of possibilities.  The goal is a premiere in Ljubljana next summer, and hopefully more performances in the future, as they’re cooking some international travel plans. Also on the stove are plans for a Bay Area premiere as well.

Learning

This summer I spent a stimulating and fun three weeks attending the Summer Kodály Institute at Holy Names University right here in Oakland. The Summer Institute offers an intensive three weeks of solfège, conducting, pedagogy and chorus for music teachers who are interested in learning the Kodály Method or, as in my case, already know it and wish to brush up.    I took advanced solfège and conducting, both with the amazing Judit Hartyányi, who’s head of the music education department at the Liszt Academy in Budapest.

The solfège part was a wonderful refresher, both on my own musicianship skills and my way of teaching.  I was reminded of the importance of memory development and inner hearing, which I’m now applying heavily in my current teaching roles.  It was also fun to brush up on choral conducting, although I have no particular aspirations (or talent) in that area.  I got to prepare an old favorite of mine, the chorale “The Blessed Son of God” from the Vaughan Williams Christmas cantata Hodie, and conduct it on the final concert.   (I’m told it went well.)

If nothing else, the Kodály Institute reinforced my conviction that, by and large, music conservatories in this country are only scratching the surface when it comes to musicianship training.   All I can do is sigh.

Teaching
This summer, partly inspired by the Kodály Institute, I finally hung out my shingle and launched my private teaching studio.  I’m offering both composition and a combination of musicianship and theory.  Typically, those interested in the former need help with the latter as a prerequisite, so they get a little bit of everything.    I’m in the planning stages of offering classes in sight reading that will be of interest primarily to choral singers.  Nothing to promise yet, but this might get started as early as the beginning of 2010 here in the East Bay.

In addition to my position on the preparatory musicianship/composition faculty at the San Francisco Conservatory, as of this Fall, I’m now also filling the exact same role at the Crowden School in Berkeley.  Crowden is a very unusual place: the students, grades 4 through 8, all play a string instrument and they spend about 2 hours a day on music.  Two hours!   I thoroughly enjoy working with the kids at both places, and since I’m teaching the very beginning level, I can hope to be setting a strong foundation in musicianship for all of them.

There’s nothing new about the use of orchestral instruments in rock music, but this is particularly lovely. Founded last year, the Magik*Magik Orchestra’s elegantly stated mission is to “simplify the collaborative process between independent rock musicians and classical artists.” Here they join indie rock artist John Vanderslice in a classroom at the San Francisco Conservatory where founder and Artistic Director Minna Choi recently earned her master’s degree in composition.

I admire Minna’s restraint as an arranger here. Note the use of a sole bass drum as the entire percussion battery. The singers add color and depth without ever pulling focus from the front man. Enjoy!

Composer John Corigliano has just launched a strikingly beautiful new web site. Check it out of course for it’s complete information on performances and recordings, etc., but stick around for the pictures from his amazing art collection.

I’m thrilled to have just stumbled across this picture montage and interview excerpt of my former S.F. Conservatory composition teacher Conrad Susa discussing his beautiful orchestral work The Blue Hour. It was prepared by music journalist and long-time Conservatory faculty member Scott Foglesong for this article about a concert of music by Conrad and another beloved former teacher Elinor Armer that took place last year.

I’m particulary fond of this passage in Scott’s article:

Conrad Susa’s music is of a fashion some writers may call accessible, a reprehensible term deserving a lifetime Sour Grapes Award on behalf of twitchy academic composers everywhere. Forget the term, and forget everything some well-intentioned sap has told you about contemporary music.

One is not required to understand the music, or appreciate it. It’s perfectly OK simply to enjoy it, let it be what it is and refrain from labels, -isms, -ibles, cubbyholes and pigeonholes. Susa offers the notion of “a transfiguration of an ordinary moment. And it puts a halo around a time of day and makes it blessed, something is conferred on it, or it confers something.”