The ice has broken...

And I'm posting again!

Not much going on round here, though. Besides, of course, bunches and bunches of performances and competitions around the Metroplex and elsewhere. And hundreds of Wednesday lessons in between, filled with "Okay, that's good, but...", "Great, but...", and "That's so musical, but...".

You know, I wonder if one day I can have the buts come first. That might not be grammatically correct, but...

Sometimes I might give my prof a nice smack across the cheekbone, and other times I might hug him outright. I respect him, but...

Or, I might cut off sentences with "buts" in them. That might be a good idea, but...

Bugger.

Thinking here.

First of all:

Dear Blogspot,

Please accept my sincerest apologies for neglecting my little mini-world. Well, I'll at least attempt to change that - in the days to come. Meaning, of course, once I brave it through da monsta (piano biz) in June.

Secondly, and, less formally, I've been thinking of administratorship on the English Wikipedia for a while now. I've been offered a nomination man-ny, man-ny times, from the_ed17, Blooded Edge, Juliancolton, J.delanoy, MathCool10, and Goodmorningworld, among others. And, every time, I've turned it down. But the more I hear others asking me about it, the more it becomes a digestible idea. Why not run and see what happens?

See, my greatest fear is not that it will fail - of its initial failure I am certain. Nor is it that people will somehow find an imaginary skeleton in my closet and spark a POINTy, dramatic shark-fest (Because A) there are no skeletons, excepting the people whose bodies I have mutilated, and B) I find it easy to clam up regarding the little monster under the bridge that nomnoms goats). In fact, I don't even know what is holding me back. But I don't even know what others see in me to begin with, either.

Perhaps it is my aura. *halo of light gathers overhead*

In all seriousness, it's still quite an enigmatic decision to me. Perhaps it's the fact that I myself am unsure of my capabilities as an admin. After all, a good editor does not always make great admin.

Kittehmaster

Bulletin: I've changed my profile photo (cute wittle kitty cat, to your right, under "About"). To be frank, I'm not a softie. I can be soft, but it's just not my nature - most of the time, at least.

Art is great, but Kittehmaster is better. He takes aim - and he is watching you. Violate WP:AGF, and you will be annihilated. Similarly, submit some WP:OR or WP:POV, and you will go down. Above all, violate WP:COOL, WP:CIVIL, WP:NPA, or WP:LEGAL, and you will never live to settle the next WP:LEW.

And if you're thinking WP:OMG!, look up the little acronyms on Wikiland, for great justice and atomic lulz.

kthnxbai,

Basement Cat

Chopin exemplified

Ladies and gents, this is the Chopin to beat. In fact, Blechacz even seems to resemble Chopin - the hair, the feel, the sound, the expression...

Now, I will try not to get too carried away with the subject, so I will keep it brief. In vain I have tried to find the right words (even spending a half-hour poring over this d---ed screen), but I have concluded it would be better just to leave the text short and brief. After all the music (and musician) are too beautiful for words.

I will add a bit of an aside - a "barcarolle" is a Venetian gondolier song. Create whatever fantastical, romantic imagery to accompany the evening music - as for me, I'm content with the images in the video alone. ;)

So drink in with the ears, readers. But remember - he's mine.

The angels of Fort Worth

Any Cowtown native is familiar with the iconic image of the limestone angels, trumpeting high (well, not so high) above the cityscape. Sometimes called the gem of Fort Worth, it's pretty hard to find under the multitude of skyscrapers. But it is culturally rich all the same - just a few paces from the famous Flying Saucer and Sundance Square, it's one of the many locales (Man with a Suitcase, a huge modern-art structure that sometimes even stupefies the locals; the Water Gardens, a free-admission, open-to-the-public park with artistic water fountains, and the stuff-yourself-to-death-while-starving-your-pocket Texas de Brazil, among hundreds of other restaurant sweet spots, too many places to list) that make downtown such a fun place to be.

I don't mean to make this post resemble a travel brochure, but I can't help but love Bass Performance Hall.

Jazz, classical, comedians, dramatists, any kind of auditory art can be found at Bass Hall. There, on the corner of 4th and Calhoun, I saw my very first piano concert, when I was nine. The pianist was Olga Kern, performing with the Fort Worth Symphony Orchestra shortly after her famous Van Cliburn win. I don't remember what she played, but I can honestly say that I have found such expression and musical passion rare.

And then there was the time I saw Nelson Freire, the Argentine pianist. His rendition of Chopin's Funeral March (WWE fans can remember it as The Undertaker's theme) brought chills and a profoundly dead silence throughout the entire hall. I can still remember how the bass was so evocative of tolling bells in the distant horizon.

And, more recently, I, and eyes younger than mine, have seen the pianist superstars Lang Lang, Rudolph Buchbinder, and Yundi Li perform in that same hall, and be inspired all the same.

It never fails - as I enter to see the velvet-clothed ushers, tall, curved ceilings, finely dressed clientele, marble floors, and bright atmosphere, I can't help but get goosebumps. I still dream of playing there someday, with the multitude listening with their person and observing with their ears.

Fifteen minutes 'til eleven...

...and I find myself thinking nothing at all.

It's odd. According to many people, my life should be the most exciting right now, with all sorts of piano stuff and other real-life business popping up every week. I've got ten pieces to memorize by March, and a handful of recitals in between. And yet I'm sitting here, doing nothing, writing on my blog about nothing, just before going to bed, which is, paradoxically, doing something.

Yes, sleeping is considered an action. If I'm not mistaken, it's a verb.

But I promised I wouldn't ramble. So I'll find a topic to write about right...now.

Didn't work. I think I left my topics in San Francisco, even though I've never been there. But I'll be on the road again soon, makin' music with my friends. The pretty red-haired girl, the long-haired Super Mario dude...my piano buddies, who I'll save for a later post.

But unintelligible thoughts keep falling on my head, with little song lyrics attached. Oh well - at least I hope you laughed.

YouTube...or me?

A quick question, everyone - would you rather me continue feeding these delicious YouTube videos or continue writing blocks of text? I find the former more comfortable, so, I suppose a better question would be...is that okay with you?

In the meantime, I'll leave with a beautiful rendition of Gershwin's Prelude No. 2, played by a familiar face. Ciao!

The Bach controversy

So a friend and I got into a heated debate over whether pedal should be used in Baroque music.

For those of you unacquainted with it, the controversy is centered on the fact that the keyboards in Bach's time (harpsichords and clavichords, they were called) lacked pedals. Thus, for the classical music purists, Bach's music should not be tainted by something that did not exist in his time.

I agree with this. But that goes not to say that I am a purist myself.

My friend argues on the novel fact that Bach has been dead for several centuries. There is no use in musing over whether he would like what we did with his music, since, in her words, "he may or may not hear it, and he can't complain squat about it anyway even if he wanted to."

Well, she has a valid point there.

But there are also practical concerns for this. You see, the damper pedal removes the all dampers from all the strings, so the sound does not stop, even when a pianist removes the pressure on a key. So you can play an entire sequence of notes while holding the pedal down, and the notes will all fall in a blur, without separation. You could even close the lid, and the sound would continue to resonate. The problem with this is that in four-part counterpoint, four melodies sing at the same time, and small, detailed articulations help distinguish one voice from the other. With pedal, these articulations are lost.

And, I argue, that pedal can easily over-romanticize a work to the point that Bach sounds like Chopin or Liszt. Not good. But I also acknowledge that it can help reveal the hidden emotionalism and passion lurking deep within every piece of Baroque music. Very good.

But, again, I leave it to you. Here are two performances of the same piece, the first with pedal, on a modern piano, the other without, on a harpsichord. It is, by the way, the Aria from Bach's Goldberg Variations.

Another little slice of heaven...

Once again, I am sorely tempted to add another tidbit of choice music. And, lookie - I gave in to temptation.

I was a little hesitant at calling this another slice of heaven, since it's such a dramatic, deep piece. A real contrast to the Ravel. The middle part - the climax - is my personal favorite. This is where Zimerman shines, I believe: a golden tone, almost tangible in its warmth and clarity. Time seems to stand still in those precious moments of pure musical bliss.

This piece is most certainly on my to-do list. That is, if I can get past those huge jumps in the bass. A small, but slender hand is one of my big issues. ;)

But I should keep quiet - listen for yourself and think of your own interpretations. In fact, tell them to me, right now, on the comments board. I'd like to hear from all of you.

Ravel + Argerich = Musical heaven

It's 1:30 in the morning here, and I just thought to share this moment with you all. I do believe Ravel was inspired by the supernatural when he wrote this - it's something to listen to and just reminisce, preferably alone, with closed eyes and a contented soul. To quote Chopin in describing his own concerto:

The Adagio [sic] of my new Concerto is in E major. It is not meant to create a powerful effect; it is rather a Romance, calm and melancholy, giving the impression of someone looking gently towards a spot which calls to mind a thousand happy memories. It is a kind of reverie in the moonlight on a beautiful spring evening.

Yes, he is quoting a different concerto, but how adequate - they both are in the same key, in similar tempos, scored for similar instruments, and they both evoke the same warm feelings in me. I'm having a hard time finding the appropriate words to describe a work like this - so perhaps that is the purpose of music, to describe what cannot be described with words.

But this is only one half of the equation - who could forget the amazingly tender performance by Martha here? Undoubtedly one of the best pianists of our century, a true gem. Her remarkably prodigious use of the una corda makes it so pearly and (let's try) translucent, like the sun peeping out behind wispy cirrus clouds. Not exactly a perfectly clear day, but that is, in my opinion, the imperfection that defines true beauty.

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year, everyone! Okay, so it's not midnight yet, but I've just watched the ball drop in NYC.

Pitiable time zone issues.

And if you make resolutions, I do hope you break at least one. In fact, by breaking one, you'll keep two. See, it's a failed attempt to give up chocolate, anyways, especially if they're stuffed with maraschino cherries and topped with chopped almonds and caramel. The world needs less twigs out there to get blown away by 30 mph winds.

And who as ever been stressful after having a near-death experience via chocolate? Everyone's in a good mood after cocoa, whether it be white, milk, dark, or semi-sweet, so you can check "Be less grumpy" off your list.

But you should quit smoking, ne? We still want you around in 2010.

A fugue

In music, a fugue is constituted of two or more voices repeating a motif, or central theme. After a brief introduction by one, the other voices overlap and interweave, conversing with each other over the motif and accentuating all its eccentricities. Then, the music wanders from the motif and undergoes modulations, or "episodes." The hard structure melts, and what was originally a cut-and-dried theme is now a fluid mixture of sound, comparable to several conversations at once. The music becomes less and less distinct as the voices cascade over each other in counterpoint, swelling and falling to the mood with a life of its own. Then, after a number of episodes, there is a climax, a brief coda, and then the end.

This is the technical definition. Spiritually speaking, I believe it can be deeper than that.

Life, or, more specifically, history, is like a fugue - there is no single story independent from the others. One tale overlaps and influences the other; every action has a cause and effect, like a melodic pull-and-push factor that influences the present, future, and how we perceive the past. For example, we can't just study the American Civil War - we study the tensions between the North and the South, the white and the black, the slave and the free. Within the big picture there are little details, and within the little details, there are small emotions and drives within the individual. Sometimes we think independently; other times, we move as a body. And above it all, there are always recurrent themes, a motif, repeating without end, chasing itself in evermore complex patterns. But every so often, the motif wanders, fades, sometimes forgotten in our memory as we get caught up in the episodes. Then, when we least expect it, on the sudden, the motif returns, sometimes like an explosion, other times like gentle voice of a familiar friend chiming in from an unfamiliar crowd.

But that's just what I think. How about you?

Ba-Doop-Ba-Doo...

Santa Baby? Naw. That's so last year...literally. Did you think I'd say something so blonde if it wasn't literal?

We used to have Christmas parties every single year, where all the piano nerds/kids-who-didn't-care-to-pretend,-just-doing-it-for-their-parents-to-ogle-at-and-snap-holiday-pictures-like-paparazzi got together and make fun sport hackneying "Jingle Bells," "Deck the Halls," and, Lord help us if someone brought it out, "The Twelve Days of Christmas."

And a par-tridge in a pear treeeeeeeeee.

Of course, whenever I played, I'd try something off-beat, the lesser-known stuff. Even some Hannukah songs about dreidels and Shalom, even though I'm not Jewish, just to stir things up a bit. And then we would get together for punch and cookies like little chubby five-year-olds. Luckily, it ended this year with the old teacher moving out of town.

But this is quite cynical of me, no? Heartless, maybe? Criticizing a little kids' tradition, say you? Grinch, I am?

Or Yoda?

Well, perhaps. Christmas isn't Christmas without the traditional music. In fact, solo piano with its fair share of wrong notes would do a world better than some mall/supermarket "atmosphere." I have heard "I'll be Home for Christmas" murdered four times in a row in one night, first by sloppy decapitation (taking twelve swings to finish the job), then by wild stabbing, next by a hit-and-run, and finally, by a merciful gunshot to the head. The gunman was the best.

Yep. Christmas music has become clichéd, whether we like it or not. What happened to the carolers in their humble groups, "a-wassailing," making real music with the real spirit? What happened to the children's church choirs, making real music in all of the season's holiness?

Well, we just have to look in the right places, I suppose. They say Christmas is everywhere - I say it's in little dabbles. Your ears just have to be tuned to the right wavelength to cut the static.

How to How not to prepare for a recital

Do:

• Dress comfortably
  
• Warm up several minutes before showtime with scales and arpeggios
  
• Keep hands warm
• Talk to the others to keep your mind straight
• Take deep breaths, meditate
  
• Above all else: Keep calm

Don't:

• Wear your tight little red dress just because it's a size four and you don't want to accept the fact that you're now a size six after Thanksgiving, thereby leaving your literally breathless. √
• Warm up several minutes before showtime - but with the piece you're about to play, thus racking your brains, raising hellish doubt, and causing you to panic. √
• Try sitting on your hands, thereby squeezing all the blood out and leaving them white, lifeless, and limp. √
• Mutter to yourself about how few hours you've spent practicing, and how doomed your performance is going to be, and how sure you're going to fail √
• Ask your teacher for the n^th time how many people are in the audience, so you can count them as they fill up the seats. √
• Take deep breaths only to become so nervous you forget to breathe and feel dizzy within a few minutes (that dress isn't helping) √

Looks like my score isn't too good...

Triplets Against Eighths

So I suppose many of you are wondering about the title of this blog. Some might think, what, identical triplets? Siblings...cut in eighths?

Sadly, I am not a cannibal, so that is not the correct definition.

Actually, as will many posts in this blog, the title refers to music: a triplet set of notes (dividing the beat into thirds) set against an eighth-note accompaniment (dividing the beat into halves). Now, at first, this seems to be a very simple concept; but only at first. Once you try to play such a rhythm, you immediately confuse yourself. The accompaniment tangles up the melody, and vice-versa, until you can't tell heads or tails of what is going on. The triplets are scrunched up, and the eighths take on a swing beat, that, frankly, doesn't belong in Mozart.

So how do you solve this? Sixteenths against eighths are fine, and so are sextuplets against triplets, but two against three? The person who came up with this rhythm must be taken out and shot, you say. I'll be willing to do it, you say, with your fists histrionically punching the air in golden Beethovenian defiance.

That is for the dramatists. For the mathematicians out there, you might decide to subdivide each beat into sixths, since, naturally, this is the lowest common denominator. And so you've again come up with a simple answer to a simple question...right?

Wrong. Still, the melody is in a hodgepodge, and the accompaniment is beyond description. So what do you do?

I asked my singular piano teacher for help once. After some thought (and considerable joking around, as always) he taught me that over-analyzing a difficult situation will only drag you down deeper. Instead, he suggested some gentle, repetitive exercises, where I just let it go, regardless of mind-boggling rhythms and what have you. "Why let yourself get floored by the complexity of a Rubik's Cube when you can just relax and fiddle with the pretty blocks until you get the answer?" he reasons.

Amazingly, within five tries of "letting it go," the rhythm straightened itself out. Now, I just need to figure out triplets against sixteenths...

But before this post becomes too long, I'll summarize it here: When faced with a difficulty, over-analysis can often worsen the situation and only bring stress and anxiety; nothing gets done. When faced with an obstacle, don't lament over yourself and your situation, obsessing over every detail and letting the black doom close in on you - get moving and fiddle with the pretty blocks first.

Post, Opus 1

Here it is: my very own blog. I really don't know what to write here - I guess it will just be some random conglomeration of whatever I feel in the mood to write, whether it be cynical, optimistic, or whatever. I won't be publishing every facet of my life for the world to see, but I will occasionally let my ego intrude and write something about yours truly.

Comments are welcomed - feel free to offer suggestions/complaints/chat/anything else. :)