After Tom Manoff’s review of James Whitbourn’s Luminosity, the CD stayed at number 1 the Amazon.com Classical Bestsellers Chart for 8 days.

Email this post

CLASSICAL MUSIC needed an injection of energy. Enter Gustavo Dudamel. Some critics see the Venezuelan Wunderkind as merely an over-hyped rookie. I see him as a ready-to-go, extraordinary talent. And a game-changer.

In April 2010, I saw the 29-year-old conductor lead a concert called Dudamel Conducts Bernstein and Lieberson, part of his America and Americans series.

Even before the sold -out concert, Disney Hall was whirring. Half the audience ranged from children to 40-somethings. Many spoke Spanish. As they gathered inside, people met for drinks or coffee, wandering the levels of the hall looking down at moving bodies, faces and outfits. And the mode of dress wasn’t Oscar Carpet—more edgy and artsy meets “I’m-a-musician -so- my -pants- aren’t -pressed. ” It was more like a theater audience than classical. Dudamel’s reputation as an audience- magnet is true. Listen up, folks. There were young people in the seats. They were cheering.

Mexican composer Carlos Chávez’s Toccatas for Percussion opened. Sometimes percussion pieces fail through lack of interesting interpretation beyond the score. But Dudamel brought this piece alive with something more than precision. Rhythmic gestures were imbued with character. The conductor and the players had a clear intent with each motive, pattern and timbre. Dudamel’s stick technique was precise. The rapport with his players was obvious. At the bows, I got my first taste of Dudamel’s onstage demeanor. Exciting, yes. Arrogant, no. He points to his players with genuine admiration and respect. He’s no phony, folks.

Peter Lieberson’s well-crafted and lovely Neruda Songs was well played if not well sung. While it’s unfair to expect a singer to match the original ( the work was dedicated to and sung by Lieberson’s wife, Lorrane Hunt Lieberson, who died a few years back), mezzo -soprano Kelley O-Connor’s interpretation was somewhat forced, an effort at lyricism rather than a genuine uprising from the soul.

The emerging message at this concert: Not only can Dudamel conduct contemporary music, its language and significance is a vital part of his musical life.

Leonard Bernstein’s Symphony No.2, The Age of Anxiety was the second half. Pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet played the part Bernstein wrote for himself. Like many of Lennie’s compositions, the vision isn’t completely matched by the result, especially the form. Even so, the music was ravishing and fresh-sounding. Thibaudet seemed outside of his stylistic range. The sparsely voiced sections seemed plunky, the jazzy rhythms didn’t swing. At some points he was out-of-sync with the orchestra. No disaster. Dudamel and his players covered it and kept going. The orchestra has the Bernstein soul and sound. Even with problems from the soloist, it was powerfully imagined and delivered. It was Lennie in all his magic and issues. It was American Music.

Adams and Dudamel

When I see long program notes from a composer, I don’t read them. I want to hear the music first, then the explanation. The title City Noir spoke plenty to me, hinting at film. The well- crafted work was raw and sweet, jazzy, energetic and wonderfully American. Obvious references to film music often hit my “cliche” button. But was that his intent ?

The orchestra writing is virtuosic. The L.A. players brought it off, working hard, but never out of breath. And Dudamel had it in his head, hands and soul. Audience response was wild, but not some pro forma ritual for a new work. The connection to the music was genuine. Adams is both complex and populist, which speaks to his talent and success.

The concerts offered something about composing these days. The Adams seemed substantial and powerful, the Lieberson well-crafted and emotionally nuanced, but it was the Bernstein that pierced through the historical crust and contemporary efforts that still vie for legitimacy in the steady shadows. Even a living genius is hard put to find pure light.

I’ve heard the Mahler too many times these past years. I may be in the minority, but I don’t think it’s the composer’s finest symphony. Hearing it countless times isn’t changing my mind.

In the Mahler, I felt that Dudamel was over-conducting, wringing more from the phrases than was there. He wasn’t letting his orchestra just play the work. Dudamel’s least impressive performance for me that weekend was a 19th Century Warhorse, though I don’t consider the Titan a thoroughbred. Angst doesn’t win races.

Also on the Americas series that weekend was Osvaldo Golijov’s La Pasión según San Marcos, conducted by Maria Guinand.

Three days of concerts with only one work composed before 1900! And audience response throughout was thunderous delight. Demographics: Half at each concert ranged from children to 50-somethings. Any talk about contemporary music keeping audiences away is out the window. Gustavo Dudamel is showing what classical music must bring to the 21st century. Orchestras throughout the world are taking notice.

Dudamel in Venezuelan Colors

Critics everywhere are taking on Dudamel and L.A. with knives out. They’ve got their traditional ears looking for any kind of misstep. Fine. But there’s jealousy and resentment about this kid, especially in towns other than L.A..

Dudamel brings a new kind of conductor’s soul to the century. His natural affinity for contemporary music and much-needed cultural understanding of all the Americas, will open and excite audiences. It’s no mistake that he conducts Bernstein and Adams so well.

He can be flashy. So what? Dudamel’s appeal is not just charisma; it’s that he’s not arrogant in it. He’s not some Messiah come to save classical music, but a game-changer and a populist who can stroll through classical music’s shrines with skill, affection and new energies. The diversity and youth of his audience, alone, has revved up my soul. Let’s go.

Email this post

WHITBOURN: I don’t remember the first few years, but I do remember going to the recordshop aged eight to buy my first LP. I wanted Mozart 40 because I’d heard the famous 1971 arrangement by Waldo de los Ríos at someone’s house. The recording I bought was plain Mozart, however, and I remember at first being a little disappointed because the percussion and jazzy guitars were missing. It only took a few hearings to get used to it, though, and then I began to/ see the beauty of the scoring as Mozart left it, and it became a firm favourite for many years. I also remember hearing Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite on the radio and being bowled over by it. That was a revelation moment to a young boy.

MANOFF: Were you encouraged by your parents in musical pursuits?

WHITBOURN: Yes. My parents noticed that I had perfect pitch when I was little (I don’t remember this but my mother says I’d identified the pitch of a train horn when we were out one day), so I think they had an idea there might be something to encourage. They certainly gave me the opportunity to get started and it helped that there was already a piano in the house. My mother used to take me to the opera at an early age too. I lived in Kent, just South of London (still do) and there was a company called Kent Opera at the time. They used to perform in our town. It all sounds very local, but in fact the Music Director was Roger Norrington and many productions were directed by Jonathan Miller. Both of these figures went on to forge extraordinary careers. I can still remember very clearly the exact sounds of some of those performances even though I heard them more than thirty years ago.

“it is easy to write music for a broad audience but it is harder to do so when it also has depth and substance.” — James Whitbourn

MANOFF: Were your parents musical or musicians?

WHITBOURN: Neither parent is a musician: my father is a historical architect and my mother had studied history; but both enjoyed music. My father had been a chorister in his parish church as a boy and used to sing in the local choral society and my mother listened to Radio 3 (the classical music station) throughout the day – in fact I believe she still does! .

MANOFF: What and where were your first formal lessons in music?

WHITBOURN: I started to take piano lessons when I was four years old. This was quite young, but I think the reasons were a combination of the perfect pitch incident together with the fact that my sister – then aged seven (a more sensible age to start)- had been taking lessons and I kept trying to play her pieces. Clearly this was rather annoying, so my parents decided to take me to the piano teacher too!.

MANOFF: When did you first start composing?

WHITBOURN:There are little bits and pieces stretching back to about aged ten, but nothing substantial. I used to compose fragments and play them over and over again. I was always fascinated by chords – and therefore by combinations of sounds – as well as by melody. I recall having a couple of pieces of mine performed at Secondary (High) School but for the most part I did not display my compositions, even though I was writing away. I also liked to improvise at the piano, which of course is composition but without the writing down part. Later at Secondary School I wrote some more substantial pieces, especially for choirs, which by then were already an unstoppable passion.

MANOFF: Was there a time in your career when you faced a decision about what kind of style you would follow? Did you just follow your ears, so to speak, without thinking, or did you consider it objectively or both?

WHITBOURN: To some extent, yes. In the 80s and 90s I was commissioned a lot by the BBC so several of my compositions had a broadcast somewhere in their background. One reviewer has described my role as that of a modern Kapellmeister, with the broadcaster as the new patron, and I think there is an element of truth in this.

With an organisation like the BBC, there is more liberty than, say, when writing for a film, but still there is a known audience (and a large one, at that), and there is an imperative to write music that will keep – or even build – an audience rather than lose it. I wrote a lot of music for the Religious department, and this presented a challenge to write music that has both breadth and depth. This is the difficult combination: it is easy to write music for a broad audience but it is harder to do so when it also has depth and substance (and yet, for me, it is pointless to do so unless it has substance).

This is an interesting discipline. I do not always tackle it consciously but it is certainly there in my thinking and the background in broadcasting certainly shaped some aspects of my writing. Some composers feel they should not consider the audience, but this is comparatively modern thinking and was alien to earlier generations of composers. Having said that, I never write music just because I think someone else will like it: it has to excite my own internal gauge and I rely heavily on that instinct. That remains my starting point. The trick is to find something that sits well with yourself and with your audience.

MANOFF: I hear various kinds of tradition on this CD. One is certainly the English Tradition. Another, Russian. I’d say that they are fused most often, yet experiencing them, for me, is a delight. Am I close to your experience on this ? How do you view tradition, or should I say how deep do various choral traditions run in your ears and your sensibilities ?

WHITBOURN: I think you have hit the nail on the head! I love Russian music, and although I have no special intention to write Russian-influenced music, I have noticed that it often turns out that way. I have worked in Russia a little in the past and have particular memories of one series of Orthodox Easter services I attended in Moscow. I found them exhilarating because they were extravagantly passionate. Elderly women – in their seventies – arrived about five hours before the service began to get a good position and stood for all that time (no seats) and then for the four-hour liturgy as well. The choirs and priest were overlapping at times, creating a kind of sonic kaleidoscope and an energy that I have not experienced before in liturgy. These sounds have certainly stayed in my mind, as have many other moments that have touched me at different times of my life. The composers of late medieval and renaissance England also created sounds that excite me and stay with me, and I guess all these sounds get mixed into the music that comes out. Even without a conscious effort to mix traditions, what is inside will somehow emerge in the music..

MANOFF: What kinds of music do listen to ? Do you listen to artists in various styles? If so, which artists, groups and composers?

WHITBOURN: My listening habits are rather irregular, but I do spend a proportion of my time working also as a producer and so work with a wide range of music, especially opera and ballet (I love the interaction of the human body with music and see a synergy between dance and singing in the physical way a body either creates or responds to music). Once I’m working seriously on one of my own pieces, though, I tend not to listen much to other music, because it clashes with what is in my head at that point and I need to give a developing piece room. Sometimes I like to listen to music in the car and have a collection of discs that includes Rachmaninov, Stravinsky and others. I think the Rachmaninov piano concertos are masterly, because they never lose their energy: whatever the tempo or dynamic, there is always something moving the music forward. I would rarely skip forward when listening to these. I admire and enjoy good music of many types, though, instrumental and vocal. I tend to be drawn to music with passion and soul. .

MANOFF: How does religious purpose affect your music in the broadest sense ?

WHITBOURN: In the broadest sense, I suppose it affects most of what I write; but certainly not in just the narrower sense of organised religion. I think a deeper knowledge of that creative force of Love is an imperative from which I cannot escape – and actually don’t want to escape. My own particular religious background rests within the Abrahamic faiths, through an upbringing in Christianity and a subsequent exposure also to Judaism. A few years ago, I worked on a large-scale choral setting of the Diary of Anne Frank (Annelies) which occupied my mind for some two years and during that time I felt especially close to Judaism, a link which has remained and which comes through some of my output still. I think it caused me to re-examine some of my Christian assumptions, such as when writing the Magnificat for King’s College Cambridge: I started to move my thoughts away from the Anglican or Catholic Mary and rethink her as the young Jewish girl she was – not much older than Anne Frank, probably – and consider the momentous news she had had revealed to her. Even though it resulted in the birth (literally) of Christianity, it is in fact a Jewish story. My music constantly searches for the Spirit, even if it appears in many different guises..

MANOFF: How do you compose? Do you write on manuscript paper or computer notation ? Do you use studio technology as part of your creative process ?

WHITBOURN: The composition process for me happens at the piano and in my head. I jot down sketches on manuscript paper and eventually sketch out the whole piece either on paper or in my mind. Only then does computer notation come into it. I never compose straight into the computer: I have to know exactly how the piece goes before I start to write anything down for real. Having said that, the notation stage is when the refinement of dynamics etc go in for the first time. My jottings on manuscript paper never contain such details: they are just for me to remember how it all goes. I only started computer notation a few years ago and up until that point I wrote everything out by hand and presented a manuscript copy to my publisher for typesetting. I must say I much prefer the system of doing it myself, simply because I find proof-reading of (my own) scores very difficult and the ability to play scores back – even though the sounds may be very misleading – presents a very good way to check for mistakes.

I do some work in the Film and TV sector, so I do run a small studio (I work with Sibelius and Cubase) for that part of my work. When you are writing to picture it is essential to have that facility and it is expected nowadays that you will offer ideas with a standard of demo that is quite close to the final result. I still much prefer to work with real musicians for the final master, even if it is in combination with tracks. A combination can be quite a good compromise to balance budget and quality. Good players invariably take even a simple titles track to a higher level. .

MANOFF: How did your collaboration with Melanie Challenger come about?

WHITBOURN: Melanie approached me with the Annelies project, though we worked on it together and shaped it in collaboration. Mel is a remarkable young writer who had been working in Bosnia with some schoolchildren on Arts projects and she realised the power of music in what was then a war-torn country. It was this that turned her to the Anne Frank text as a source of inspiration for a musical work. My name was suggested to her by the Jewish Music Institute in Britain (part of London University) with whom I had already been working. She got to know some of my music and wanted to work with me on this. We both came at the collaboration slowly, each wanting to be sure that the partnership was right (it turned out to be wonderful). At first we thought it would not be possible to use the actual diary text, but we both gained the trust of Anne’s (her real name was Annelies) remaining family and they continue to be wholly supportive of the work. They graciously allowed us to use the diary text itself, which had not been done before in a full length work, and it was an enormous privilege. Buddy Elias, Anne Frank’s cousin, came and introduced the world premiere, and one of her schoolfriends – whom she wrote about in the diary – came to introduce a concert before that, which presented excerpts of the work. The whole process took a few years and was not easy, which is probably how it should be for a work of that intensity.

MANOFF: What other poets or sources might there be in your future plans?

WHITBOURN: I have worked with other poets on various projects: Michael Symmons Roberts and I have written several pieces together for the BBC and I have collaborated with Robert Tear (better known as a singer but also a poet and writer) and with Andrew Motion. I hope to work with all these people again at some stage. And I also have another possible collaborator for a bigger project we are currently working on and trying to shape. But I also like to draw on the works of the great luminaries. I find Saint Augustine (the African one) a great source of wisdom and very broad in his thinking. I tend to be drawn to broad ideas rather than anything too narrow. .

” I think Western choirs have much to learn from the sheer physicality that comes with often with African choirs, who connect their vocal chords with their whole body..” — James Whitbourn

MANOFF: I’ll continue to make the case that music such as Luminosity shouldn’t be termed “multicultural,” a term that promotes an “exotic” perception for both listener and composer. I’ll call Luminosity “pancultural,” acknowledging a global aesthetic in which non-Western musical traditions no longer seem exotic. There remain many challenges composing pancultural music –one of them, how many traditions can a composer explore without becoming a cultural tourist. I wonder how (or if) you might continue explorations of global styles as one part of your work. Are there plans for future projects that you can share at this moment –pancultural or not?

WHITBOURN: It is surprisingly difficult scoring for anything outside the ordinary. Practical considerations are often the reason for this rather than a principle objection. Different cultures come to music in different ways and the introduction of the visual sense – which comes with writing down music on a score – brings as many problems as it does solutions. Musicians who rely on their aural sense to learn and convey music to one another come to the whole process of preparing for a performance from a different place. Usually the commitment that comes with that far outweighs the inconvenience of not having something that is “sight-readable”.

“For me, pancultural writing is not a conscious goal. It is just that I am attracted to sounds that come from the soul (often the sort with an improvisational quality about it) wherever these come from.” — James Whitbourn

For me, pancultural writing is not a conscious goal. It is just that I am attracted to sounds that come from the soul (often the sort with an improvisational quality about it) wherever these come from. Bringing together the musical possibilities of different cultures ought not to be that difficult, but the reality is often that rehearsal time is short and the extra bit of time that these ideas need is not always available.

I think Western choirs have much to learn from the sheer physicality that comes with often with African choirs, who connect their vocal chords with their whole body. For me, pancultural writing is not a conscious goal. It is just that I am attracted to sounds that come from the soul (often the sort with an improvisational quality about it) wherever these come from. I will continue to seek and pick up influences wherever I hear beautiful or powerful sounds that move me, and somehow they will find their way into my music..

More information about James Whitbourn and his music at his website.

Email this post

Backstory: In 1991 I reviewed Silva’s new electronic acoustic system for the New York Times. As part of the article, I compared Silva’s electronic system with those that been installed in concert halls at Anchorage and Nashville.

Garrick Ohlsson was playing a solo recital in Anchorage. Not only an outstanding artist, Ohlsson is a really nice fellow. I asked him for an extraordinary favor: Would he play the first half of his all-Chopin recital with the electronic system off, and second half with it on? This would allow me to compare the electronic system—on and off — with the same instrument and repertoire. He agreed. That favor turned out crucial for the article. It was, by the way, an extraordinary evening of Chopin. Ohlsson’s shades of piano tone, from lovely poetics to tumultuous outbursts sounded better without the electronics.

Two other crosscurrents were on my mind at Rachev’s program. I’d interviewed Marin Alsop, then the newly appointed conductor at Eugene, for the Times piece, . Alsop was opposed to the system and never used it. Eugene ‘s most recent conductor, the charismatic Giancarlo Guerrero refused to do without it and over-used it. That oft heard distorted sound kept me from hearing Guerrero as many times as I would want. He’s now at Nashville, an orchestra I reviewed for the Times article, their hall, at the time, the best of the electronically enhanced spaces.

Some years back, Silva Hall’s acoustics were redone. The electronics were upgraded and, most significantly, a reflective wooden shell was added to the stage. The hall is still problematic, but without the electronics, it’s at least natural and has character.

Soloist, conductors, acoustics and halls were on my radar when first listening to Rachev in Silva: Ohlssohn at the keys, Guerrero gone to Nashville, Alsop having become one of the most important conductors in the world.

Rachev’s appointment at Eugene puts him in a city that’s had a big- time ear for talent, an established audience for classical music, and the Oregon Bach Festival, conducted by Helmuth Rilling —one of the 20th century’s famous Bach conductors and champion of new and important works from living composers. But with no professional critic at the local paper, he will be reviewed mostly by amateurs, whose work leans to uninformed cheerleading. Rachev’s tenure at Eugene, it seems, will proceed without critical feedback. Not a good situation for the symphony, the audience, or the conductor.

Beethoven’s Emperor was disappointing. There are some concertos in which the conductor can almost get away with just accompanying the soloist, rather than being a full partner. It’s not desirable, but the soloist may shine. However, the Emperor is not one of them. This is Beethoven at full-blown symphonic form. Full engagement by the orchestra is essential.

Rachev seemed timid, fitting his orchestra into spaces when the pianist didn’t play, rather than participating in an interpretation. As a result, there was no interpretation.

Rachev seemed timid, fitting his orchestra into spaces when the pianist didn’t play rather than participating in an interpretation.

I immediately noticed a basic flaw in Rachev’s conducting: He spends perhaps three quarters of his time conducting the first violins, while ignoring the rest of the orchestra.

Such conducting has many bad results. Too much attention to the first violins (one could argue that the seconds were also in his gaze, but musically they were not) results in weak sound and energy from the violas, cellos and the basses. Indeed, the sound from the entire right side of the stage (looking at it) seemed detached because the volume and energy was so much weaker.

Rarely does this conductor look at the winds and even rarer sends any interpretive signs. He cues the brass more often, though far less precisely than Alsop or Guerrero. Ragged brass entrances have returned to the orchestra. This was a special disappointment. Guerrero’s control of entrances — part of his musical demands on the orchestra— had brought much-needed precision, not only to the brass, but throughout all sections. Except for the strings, that precision was gone.

Guerrero’s control of entrances, as part of his musical demands on the orchestra, had brought much-needed precision, not only to the brass, but throughout all sections. With Rachev that precision was gone.

Over focus on the firsts leads to surface music-making. The conductor is too involved with the obvious, the “main melody” for example. The inner-workings of the music are left out of the interpretative equation. Without attention to the inside elements such as counter melodies, accompaniment passages and harmonic structure, any long-range interpretation is at risk. When Rachev’s over-phrases the firsts, not only is the result heavy and halting, there is little or no phrasing from the rest of the orchestra.

All these problems were in evidence at the symphony’s season closer, a program titled Mahler’s Titan.

Programming counts for plenty. These days that means a good mix of standard fare with contemporary works. Thus far, Rachev’s programming is quite stodgy. The Titan concert was poorly planned, even as 19th century programming. While the audience had been drawn into an expectation for excitement by the word “Titan,” one look at the composers and pieces indicated a slow and tedious evening.

Frederick Delius’s The Walk to the Paradise Garden and Richard Wagner’s Siefried Idyll constituted the first half of the program. Talk about slow pacing.

Although the Delius was well-played, it’s still a mediocre piece. Its slow paced 19th Century style was hardly a good opener with Wagner and Mahler to follow. The audience was noticeably unenthusiastic. Rachev barely got off the stage when the clapping stopped.

Even a wonderful performance of Wagner’s Siefgried Idyll wouldn’t have worked in the next spot. Too much of the same thing. And it wasn’t wonderful. The audience got more restless. But they had all the “Titan excitement” ahead — so they thought.

Mahler’s Titan had just been played by the orchestra three years back. Its return was too soon for respectable programming, when so many important works —even warhorses—remain unheard in Eugene. Having reviewed Guerrero’s Titan, I had a precise reference point for the performance. That’s one reason I went. Here was the chance to compare conductor and orchestra in specifics with its previous level.

Rachev’s constant attention to the firsts not only looked bad, but once again, the Mahler was played at the surface of the music, without rhythmic character or phrasing detail from the rest of the orchestra.

This Mahler was a step back from Guerrero’s, who always demanded distinct results in sound and form. The orchestra ambled through the work without musical intent. The famous solo bass opening of the third movement was so tentative and out-of-tune, it was painful and embarrassing. The Titan had become the Titanic.

Mahler was played at the surface of the music, without rhythmic character or phrasing…

The restless audience got a shot at excitement in the last movement, but it had been a long schlep.

Danail Rachev conducting the Eugene Symphony

Can it be that Rachev just isn’t ready for this job? He seems unsure on the podium. Except when indulging the obvious, his head is too often in the score. I kept thinking “does he know this work?” How can a conductor at this stage of his career pay so much attention to the score during the closing pages of the Mahler Titan ? Shouldn’t such a famous piece be virtually memorized ? Use the score, sure— but bury your head in it?

I had spoken with some of the orchestra before these concerts. The image of Rachev that emerged was the “anti-Guerrero”— a non-authoritarian and easy going fellow who would prove more to the orchestra’s liking than their previous conductor. But after these two concerts, I wanted specifics. I asked someone close to the orchestra about Rachev’s specific qualities that got him the job. Qualities the orchestra liked about Rachev were:

Considering the musical results, the very qualities the orchestra likes may be the problem.

None of this makes sense. Rachev has been associate conductor at Philadelphia and directed the Juilliard Preparatory Orchestra. On paper, this guy can conduct. Could it be that he’s only worked with higher levels of players who arrive at rehearsals with parts down pat or have the sight-reading skills to handle technical problems?

Could Rachev for the first time be facing the problems of conducting an orchestra which is not fully prepared?

The image of Rachev that emerged was the ‘anti-Guerrero’— a non-authoritarian and easy going fellow who would prove more to the orchestra’s liking..

I’ve just seen Gustavo Dudamel in Los Angeles, the 29-year-old wunderkind and game- changer for classical music. Fair or not, all new conductors face comparison. Dudamel is in the big league of conductors. Marin Alsop, who got her start in Eugene, has long been too. Giancarlo Guerrero is fast on his way. Dudamel and Alsop are champions of new music. Guerrero is strong with 20th and 21st century music too, conducting at Eugene such works as Berg’s Violin Concerto and Adam’s Harmonielehre.

Now the Eugene Symphony has hired a conductor with no apparent commitment to contemporary music. Programming Mahler with Delius and Wagner, a program that called out for a contemporary work instead, was telling. I’d just head Dudamel pair the Titan with Adam’s newly commissioned City Noir. Alsop programs it with Bernstein’s Jeremiah Symphony. Alsop will conduct this summer a program called “The Music of Zappa and Glass.”

Compared with his predecessors, Rachev just isn’t in their league. Alsop and Guerrero were clearly big talents from the start. And Guerrero, especially, raised the technical level of playing dramatically. This step backward from Alsop and Guerrero will hurt this orchestra. Their audience had become accustomed to Guerrero’s snappy energy and higher level of performance. Coming seasons may offer answers and, hopefully, considerable change, but at the moment, Rachev in Eugene remains a puzzle.

Email this post

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Email this post

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Email this post

“This book contains a magesterial complitation of all the ways in which non-notated (and in many cases non-notable) activities lie at the heart of American music, past and present. It is enlivened by case studies and interviews with living musicians, and also by an ambitious juxtaposition of historical interviews with living mussicians, and also by an amitious juxtoposition of historical musicology, ethnomusicology, and psychology.”

–Dr John Sloboda, Emeritus Professor of Psychology, University of Keele, UK
and Honorary Professor of Music, Rotal Hollowat, University of London, UK

” In The Musical Ear Professor McLucas follows scholars like Albert Lord, John Blacking, and Christopher Small in the project of validating orally-transmiited “folk” and “popular” musical traditions in contrast to the “classical” traditions of Western art music transmitted in written
notation. She goes beyond her predecessors first in addressing the impact of recorded sound on musical transmission, second in attempting to base her arguments on psychological and neuro-
logical research into musical memory and musical creation. It is an ambitious undertaking that
sheds light not just on oral vs. written traditions but on human aptitudes, capacities and need for music in general.”

–Dr John Spitzer, San Franciso Conservatory of Music, USA

---

---

HOME tommanoff.com

Email this post

]]> http://www.tommanoff.com/articles/5152/5152/feed 0 http://www.tommanoff.com/articles/5074/interview-with-steven-osborne http://www.tommanoff.com/articles/5074/interview-with-steven-osborne#comments Thu, 04 Mar 2010 17:04:14 +0000 tm http://tommanoff.com/?p=5074

MANOFF: I believe that many potential professional pianists do not succeed because of something seemingly mundane: they never learned how to practice efficiently, and, in some instances, developed practice habits that deepen problems rather than solve them. Would you describe your practice routines and philosophy?

OSBORNE: I think this is one of the most important issues an instrumentalist has to deal with. In the simplest terms, when I practise I try to keep my attention coming back to how tense or (hopefully) relaxed my body is, and what my state of mind is. The tricky thing is that these two are closely related: physical tension negatively affects one’s state of mind, and conversely when one is anxious about a forthcoming concert, or heavy workload, or indeed the argument you just had with your wife (very rare, of course!), then it automatically creates physical tension. So it’s easy to go into a downward spiral where one can become very uncomfortable and even develop pain.

I see practise at the piano as a process of removing physical and mental obstacles to allow the music to emerge as freely and naturally as possible, but the work which creates the intense sense of engagement with the music always occurs for me away from the piano, reading through the scores, singing them to myself. For some reason I always learn more about the music doing this for 30 minutes than I could working at the piano for a month.

---

---

“I see practise at the piano as a process of removing physical and mental obstacles to allow the music to emerge as freely and naturally as possible.” — Steven Osborne

---

---

The piano sound on your recordings with Hyperion is especially rich. While it starts with your actual sound, I would think that you are working with a very fine production team who capture your sound. What kind of relationship do you have with them, and, in your experience, how important is such a team –from producer to engineer ?

You’re right to think beyond what the performer is doing at the instrument. Certainly the sound engineer plays a crucial role, finding the right compromise between detail and richness which best suits the music; a significant misjudgement in this can seriously affect the impact of a record. This is a discussion which happens between the engineer, the producer, and myself at the start of a recording session, and it can certainly take an hour or more of recording and adjusting microphones to find just the right sound.

In the experience of making a record, though, my interaction is much more with the producer, and I’ve been lucky enough to have made all my records with a great friend, Andrew Keener. I can’t overstate how much he brings to our records: he has fabulous ears and I trust him to hear both problems of detail and also larger structural issues; he is very savvy at getting the best out of performers in simple ways like knowing when it’s time to have a break, or when it might be worth going back to that one bit that you never got quite right; above all, though, the comfort I feel around him is enormously helpful because making a record is a very exhausting process which can make one elated, frustrated, sore, self-doubting, despairing, elated again, and so on for three days solid. To have someone you can trust with all of that excess emotion is worth its weight in gold.

---

I was surprised by some of the lovely music in the Tovey Concerto, and embarrassed that I really knew nothing about his music. Perhaps were I English that wouldn’t be the case. You’ve recorded quite a few composers whose music isn’t especially well-known. Which composers (not just those you’ve recorded) deserve more audience attention? Do you have any such projects coming up?

Honestly, if you were English, I think you still wouldn’t have known any of Tovey’s music! It’s strange the way fashions in music go. His crime was probably being too successful a musicologist, and his music is basically never played in the UK even though it has very fine qualities. Although I’ve made some records of little know works I don’t actively go out looking for them. Kapustin’s jazz-inspired music I first heard in the background a friend’s house while playing snooker, and most of the other unusual stuff I’ve done has been suggested by Mike Spring at Hyperion, who has an encyclopaedic knowledge of the piano repertoire. The one composer I passionately feel has never quite been given his due is Michael Tippett whose music, though idiosyncratic, encompasses more depth and variety of human feeling than all but the greatest of 20th century composers..

---

You have also recorded a CD of Debussy’s Préludes. These have somewhat different harmonic designs than Rachmaninov’s (at least for me) — especially in the manner the harmonic plans help animate the form. Were there differences in your musical approach to these different sets of Préludes?

To describe that is difficult, like trying to explain the intimate aspects of a friendship. Laying aside the obvious stylistic differences, I think for me the most significant difference is that I feel Rachmaninov’s music is essentially about himself and particularly his terrible sadness in life, whereas with Debussy the emotion is often more at a distance, and the pieces can be as much representative (of a picture or story) as they are expressive. That’s not to say the music isn’t moving, but that it’s not so clear that Debussy is putting down on paper the emotions he was feeling at the time. With Rachmaninov, it feels to me that he couldn’t help but be confessional. So naturally, these instincts put me in very different frames of mind when playing the two composers. I feel an element of detachment (but not coldness) is often necessary in Debussy whereas Rachmaninov forces me to play with the greatest emotional force I can muster.

---

---

“I feel Rachmaninov’s music is essentially about himself and particularly his terrible sadness in life, whereas with Debussy the emotion is often more at a distance, and the pieces can be as much representative (of a picture or story) as they are expressive.” — Steven Osborne

---

---

Considering your interest in jazz, I’m interested in some of the jazz players to whom you listen, and any who influenced you as an artist.

I listened a lot to Miles Davis and Bill Evans in my 20s, and more recently Kenny Wheeler, Oscar Peterson, Bobo Stenson, Brad Mehldau, Chick Lyall, Brian Kellock, Keith Tippett and others, but the biggest influence was certainly Keith Jarrett, to whom I listened obsessively all through my college years. Because of his playing I started experimenting with free improvisation, and that exploration taught me things about sound and structure that have been enormously helpful to my classical playing. Free improvising forces you to take complete responsibility for the music, whereas in classical music it can be tempting to hide behind the written score: “The composer wrote staccato here, I’ll play staccato even though I feel it sounds better legato”.

I think a classical performer needs to have the courage to disagree with the composer if his insticts lead him strongly in another direction; for me, excessive respect for the written score is as bad a fault as a lack of interest in the composer’s markings. But I know colleagues who profoundly disagree with me on this! I think the crucial question for a performer is, “How can you reveal the music as vividly as possible?” I believe to do that you need a balance between an intensive study of the musical score and a profound examination of your own feelings about the music; grappling with the differences between your instincts and what is on the page is one of the most stimulating parts of getting to know the music.

---

---

“….excessive respect for the written score is as bad a fault as a lack of interest in the composer’s markings..” — Steven Osborne

---

---

The only works of Tippett’s that I have known are A Child of Our Time and The Midsummer Marriage. The oratorio seems a difficult piece stylistically for singers, and, in my opinion, there isn’t a convincing performance on CD. The Midsummer Marriage I know from a fine BBC production in the 80’s. But your Tippett release has been quite a revelation, easily the finest single recording of his works I have heard thus far. You are especially able to reveal the composer’s lyricism within sometimes dense structures.

Tippett’s instrumental works strike me as more comfortable stylistically than his vocal music. Tippett seems especially “pure” as a composer in instrumental works, even as he moves through various “outer” styles to support a very refined and focused artistic vision. Nothing pretentious despite the complexity at times —especially the counterpoint — and nothing fussy. I’m not sure how many high-caliber recordings of his works exist. Perhaps this contributes to the neglect of his work. Can you suggest some other Tippett recordings?

I think you’ve hit more than one nail on the head. I find all the operas problematic except for King Priam, which is wonderfully pure and bracing. There is some marvellous music in the others, particularly The Midsummer Marriage , but Tippett all too often got bogged down in what he wanted to say to us (and being the humanitarian he was, he always had a lot to say). Ironically, I think that the lack of political or psychological messages in his instrumental works led to stronger music which communicates more potently. Having said that, it’s very difficult music for the performer to get to grips with both technically and conceptually – it’s unfailingly awkward to play and Tippett’s musical intention is sometimes very obscure. So probably one reason there aren’t that many good recordings of his music is that not many people want to invest the enormous energy needed to learn his music. I had to do it though; I was obsessed (and still am) with his musical world.

Recordings I particularly admire:

Pretty much anything with Sir Colin Davis; particularly The Midsummer Marriage and the Piano Concerto with John Ogden (Ogden’s 2nd piano sonata is amazing too).

The Lindsay Quartet doing the 5th quartet, one of Tippett’s greatest works I think and sublimely played.

David Atherton and the London Sinfonietta in King Priam.

Solti and the Chicago Symphony in the 4th Symphony; an enormously rich, if sometimes puzzling, work.

Sir Andrew David and the BBC Symphony Orchestra in The Mask of Time. In some ways this a preposterously ambitious work which can’t sustain the weight of its aims: what other composer would dare to critique the entire history of human civilisation in a single work? It’s uneven, but it contains some truly great music.

St.Martin-in-the-Fields doing the Concerto for Double String Orchestra – a childhood pleasure! I’m not sure if the recording I knew is still available – I thought it was directed by Iona Brown but I can only find it with Marriner conducting the orchestra; this version is good but the recorded sound is too resonant.

---

I found Tippett’s life fascinating and relevant —especially his politics. Clearly, his beliefs and the events of his time influenced his music. How has Tippett’s life affected your sense of the music, and —more broadly— to what extent does knowledge of a any composer’s life (if we know of it) affect your interpretations?

Instinctively I’m not very interested in the lives of most of the composers I play: I’m drawn to music that grips me and putting across that inner conviction is my main goal as a musician. If I’m honest, I’m slightly sad about this lack of curiosity – one’s perspective on music can only be deepened by knowing about a composer’s life; but then there are only so many hours in the day and generally I’d rather be practising or thinking about music than reading about it.

---

---

“Instinctively I’m not very interested in the lives of most of the composers I play: I’m drawn to music that grips me and putting across that inner conviction is my main goal as a musician.” — Steven Osborne

---

---

As if happens, with Tippett I actually read most of his writings before doing the recording. They are a fascinating mirror of his music – idiosyncratic, eclectic, yet full of feeling and conviction. Whether that knowledge affected how I played the music is doubtful; however it certainly increased my affection for the man.

There are other cases where I’d say biographical knowledge of a composer is very helpful, for example Schubert’s obsession with Beethoven and the reaction in his music to Beethoven’s death, especially in the C minor sonata. But even here, I’m not sure that knowledge significantly changes my interpretative instincts.

---

Lastly, can you mention some of the music we might hear from you in the next few years?

In terms of CDs, I’ve got some Beethoven sonatas coming out in the spring, Schubert duets with Paul Lewis at the end of the year, and the complete solo piano music of Ravel in 2011. Longer term, the main big project is performances of the complete Schubert piano sonatas, but that won’t be for 3 years or so.

---

---

Steven Osborne’s extensive website includes all his CDs and tour dates. It also plays excerpts from his recordings.

Email this post

]]> http://www.tommanoff.com/articles/5074/interview-with-steven-osborne/feed 0