Bach Chello Suite No.1 Prelude: Structure and anti-structure.

This study piece has taken me a few years to get down; I have the feeling that it still has a few more years to go. I started reading this solo in order to practice reading the bass clef. However, what struck me as the most problematic feature of the piece, though not particular to it, is the issue of timing. When I first tried to record it a year or so ago, whether I played strictly to the metronome or played a free ‘interpretation’, the piece never sounded ‘right’. It is an uneasy feeling I get with certain passages of classical music: where the time is neither exact, nor is the playing without exact time. As such I have presented a contrast between a version played in free time, another played to a metronome (at 90bpm [beats per minute]), and finally one with a very basic accompaniment to the last four bars (at 80bpm).

I cannot give the piece any definition or situate it beyond this. Though the ‘event’ of the recording, and interpretations of it, will forever be critiqued, the event itself still has to take place and the music ‘brought into being’ for it to be so (although, there is, of course, the possibility for endless interpretations of it). According to the sheet music the piece is to be played at 100 bpm. While I can play it at that speed, it sounds awful; too fast, and forced. Most recordings by cellists play the piece freely, and several interpretations make drastic changes in tempo. Yet even where there is a lack of strict tempo there is still a relative value, the notes stand in negative relation to each other (what is not played), and to silence. At best I feel that in the different recordings I have posited it between structure and lack thereof.

            It is quite a segue but, nonetheless, this disparity in structure evoked some wider thoughts and intrigues on musical approaches across the globe. Namely that:

One of the characteristic features of classical western music is its rigidity. Scales and arpeggios ascend fully, then descend. Pitch is fixed to absolute degrees (usually relative to ‘standard’ pitch at 440A) and each pitch has a relational value to others in the system of an instrument, orchestra, or within a score.  Timing is also fixed unless stated otherwise (Ritardando/Accelerando/Free time), and, even then, divergence must be explicitly stated. I am reminded of Michel Foucault’s ideas of ‘taxonomy’. In turn, this taxonomy of music has a history of development. In earlier periods an exact measure (of bpm) could not be given, just a feeling (Grave-very slow, Andante -walking pace, Vivace- fast and lively, Presto-extremely fast, etc.) , though, once started, the pace would have to be consistent. Scales (Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian etc.), have been developed since the ancient Greeks and with the ancient Greeks in mind. By the nineteenth century a whole terminology had been developed, and is still dominantly used, to structure and outline works today in the aim of true representation. The rules are known and if someone breaks them, they do so knowing they are doing so, and then become known for doing so. And if they do not realize they are breaking the rules, one can argue that they are the product of society or a wider cultural consciousness/development. This latter view was championed by Theodor Adorno. Yet for all of Adorno’s snobbish insistence on music as structure that generated specific meanings and fixed interpretative responses, he was still thrown by Schoenberg, and outraged by popular music from the late 1930s until his death in 1969, albeit outraged from his declared ‘Marxist’ standpoint.

By contrast, eastern traditional music demonstrates more freedom in variation of pitch and time. Though I confess I know less than I would like to on the subject, I am always intrigued by the rejection of these stabilisations. I recall coming across a book on Indian sitar music in the British Library and being fascinated both by the wave like fluency of the scale patterns used to practice the instrument, and the author’s difficulty in converting the style onto western manuscript; they had to use an absurd amount of flats, sharps, and double flats and sharps in an attempt to correlate the divergence in pitch, and irregular timings to accommodate the rhythms.

The two represent extremes of interpretation that I enjoy debating: Impose structure and meaning that is not intrinsic to ‘it’, take that structure away and see its meaning as multidimensional, contingent, and chaotic. These positions themselves can be further critiqued, as can the flaws and generalisations in my entire rambling (an obvious and good starting point would be my dichotomy between east and west [occident and orient], or that I have not discussed Bach’s own theory of tempo, but I digress).

Oh, but finally:

There is also a resemblance to the two scale approaches that I feel are the basis to learning any melodic instrument (instrument specific techniques aside). If one learns the major scale structures in all 12 keys off by heart to provide frameworks and, in contrast, the chromatic scale, with a suitable amount of theory, listening, and practice, a select combination of the two then create blues or jazz, or allow the player to adapt to any other style.

All that and I have not got onto the appropriation of classical music by non-traditional instruments, the phenomenology of the ‘moment’, or the pressures effecting my ‘performance’ (For example could you tell I was looking at photographs of my grandparents and remembering happy memories of them when I played the piece in free time? Do such things even matter?).

*

I have, of course, adapted the piece (included in a link) for the guitar. I never liked the fingerpicking approach to the piece, of which other guitar players prefer and have made recordings of elsewhere. These ‘fingerpickers’ also play an octave higher. Nonetheless the pick sound does come across on the recording more than is to my liking, as does the sound of my fingers sliding across the frets. This was distressing until I noticed the same in Keith Richard’s interpretation of a Robert Johnson piece. Now I see it as a natural atmospheric flourish.

(Thinkers passed over above: Ferdinand de Saussure, Roland Barthes, Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida; Theodor Adorno.)

https://soundcloud.com/samsmusicandmusings/sets/bach-cello-suite-no1-prelude

Vinyl and Amelie

“The joys of music either come from something that you know, or from something that is new to you...”

-A simple, but elegant, statement by my father.

I find it peculiar that many people often claim they love French film yet, when I question them further, can only name Amelie (2001) as an example. Nonetheless, Amelie is a French film, and a good one at that. One theme of the film concerns me here: having resigned herself to never find love, Amelie finds happiness through life’s simple everyday pleasures. For Amelie, these include skipping stones, cracking crème brûlée, and doing charitable deeds for others. It is a remarkable insight when one considers how often a simple pleasure can change one’s mood, and I invite you to write of your own small pleasures elsewhere.

One of my small pleasures is vinyl records. I find that half of the fun of playing them is in the preparation, and the other half in the reward of music. There is an art to slipping the record from its sleeve, and catching it between thumb and forefinger in a manner that avoids touching the surface. The record is then presented and flipped between both hands to find the right side, or flipped simply for the fun of it. It is then placed on the record player, and the needle is lowered into the record’s groove, producing the feeling of satisfaction that waiters must feel when they present vintage champagne and pop the bottle’s cork. Then there is that reward of whatever music, new or known, that flows through the speakers.

I do not doubt that CD and MP3 are more convenient, and here lies vinyl’s charm. Vinyl has a vintage appeal like fine wine, and in turn there are certain records that I save for special occasions; as much as there are others that are played frequently and repeatedly. Of the former, a live version of B.B.King’s Sweet Sixteen comes to mind. Accompanied by other favourite blues, jazz, and soul records, it makes an appearance in December every year where I enjoy it whilst lying down under the lights of our Christmas tree. With this vintage appeal in mind it is a tragedy whenever stockists, like Tower Records; that used to grace Piccadilly Circus and has since been converted to a chain clothing store, close; though many shops are supported by cult supporters supplying a demand for this vintage market.

My father, who is knowledgeable in such things, tells me that vinyl’s quality, and depth of sound, is often superior to CD and MP3. To many, vinyl is old, scratchy, breaks easy, and makes crackling sounds. Perhaps these stereotypes are true for very old records. Nonetheless, I am lucky enough to possess records that stretch back to the 50’s & 60’s and can testify that, even after rigorous use, their sound is still true. They will eventually wear out. However, in contrast, do not forget that storage and backup issues, device failure, and file corruption are problems that affect MP3s which vinyl is immune from. There is no single best way to enjoy music; just many great ones.

The consumption of vinyl is different. As the needle can be fiddly, it is often more convenient to let albums play through from start to finish and make time for them accordingly, thus one gets the impression of an entire body of work rather than just a section of it. One of my happiest memories is when my parents came home one evening after a hot summer’s day at work to find me listening to John Lee Hooker’s This is Hip, in such a manner: all the way through. Instead of going their separate ways to do their own things, or turning on the television (as are our customs), they joined me for a second playing to accompany dinner.

Indeed, I reflect that one of my earliest memories as a toddler was hearing music on vinyl, and I remember that one of the stupidest things I ever did at that age was ‘playing’ with the arm of our turntable and breaking the unit. I was dismayed when I realized that this had killed music, and overjoyed when it was replaced. On this reflection I have realized, like Proust’s narrator tasting the Madeleine, that vinyl has seen me through some of the major transitions in my life. From a passive child, to a teenager searching for definition, to an adult confident in their artistic tastes.

As a baby I was at the mercy of my parent’s influences; a happy, but passive, receiver of whatever they chose to play me. There was a magic to watching my father muse over his collection, for what seemed like an age, and waiting in anticipation for the unknown sounds that I knew I would now hear for the first time in my life.

As teenagers we gain autonomy over our choices in art, fashion, and friends, and often experiment in these choices. A major part of this autonomy for me was being trusted to use the record player alone, and picking my own records to enjoy in my spare time. I spent hours purring over my father’s record collection and being flooded with all things new.

Recently, my best friend returned from New York, not with a gift of souvenirs of the statue of liberty, but with a record by Canned Heat. I invited him to my house to listen to it with me (he also loves blues and jazz, I refer to him as the other ‘blues brother’), and there was something peaceful about enjoying the record (and several others) in comfortable silence. An often overlooked feature of a good friend is the ability to enjoy each other’s company without having to say a word.* I used to do the same with my grandfather when we watched classic films. But that is another subject and another story.

As part of a wider resurging interest in all things ‘vintage’, vinyl has made a recent comeback among ‘hipsters’, who buy them for their novelty value, or to hang on walls. After all, one of the many benefits of vinyl is that the album art is so much larger and impressing (I have provided some favourites  - the explosive image of Hendrix is a particular favourite). Although, with record players becoming cheap and accessible (apparently nowadays you can even buy record players that connect to computers via USB for under £50), I was glad, but not surprised, to learn that most are enjoying the music as well.

I have rambled on for enough, but please, by all means, write of your own small pleasures on your own social media sites. Or, better yet, what was your earliest significant memory?

*As Son House sang, “Bear this in mind, a good friend is hard to find”.

Bobby's Blues

The middle section of this little harp solo is my attempt to play an improvisation by Bobby Joe Holman, which he showcased on one of his instructional videos. When I first heard it I was thirteen years old and entranced by the sound that, if I had not known better, I would have attributed to a raging electric guitar, or an electric organ rather than the harmonica. Bobby’s version is ‘mic’d’ through an amp; a technique that gives the harmonica a warm distorted tone, as well as increasing its volume as an electrified instrument. The result of my own tribute is an altered acoustic version, with a slower blues improv starting and ending the piece.

I am indebted to Bobby’s instructional range for opening up the world of the harmonica to me and making, what can be a complex and underestimated instrument, accessible. In more recent years, YouTube has opened up learning on any instrument for free and there are some truly great instructional websites on the internet (for the Chromatic Harmonica, http://www.angelfire.com/music/HarpOn/index.html is a great example). Indeed, for learning on any subject, it is no secret that the internet has caused nothing less than a revolution in providing material for the autodidact. From illegal downloads of books, to free websites (such as http://www.openculture.com/ or https://archive.org/) that provide courses on just about any subject, and specialist material, legally.

For the Harmonica (like any instrument, or topic), there are also wonderful players that one can follow in order to pick up tips on the instrument. The magnificent Christelle Berthon comes to mind as an example, as does Jason Ricci, and Tinus Koorn -who showcases his inspiring overblowing and overbending talents on http://www.tenhole.com. Despite the impact of the internet in transforming their careers, and as teachers themselves, all these players still advocate formal learning from an instructor in person, or with themsleves ‘via’ the internet (usually through skype). This has obvious merits, and musicians (or students), of all instruments (or topics), often seek each other out to advance their playing, and broaden their approach to their respective interests. But what could you do if you were a beginner with no teachers near you or, like me as a teenager, the internet had not grown to the behemoth that it is today? Enter Bobby Joe to the rescue.

Regardless of the advances in online education, Bobby’s instructional range are still the ‘go-to’ place for anyone starting out on the harmonica, and are a brilliant reference for more experienced players. He has a positive and friendly approach to teaching the instrument, one that guided me in my introduction to blues and jazz during my early teenage years and, consequently, one that I will forever be grateful for. 

https://soundcloud.com/samsmusicandmusings/bobbys-blueswav

Hallelujah

“Human beings like to create and construct roads-this is unarguable. But why, then, do they also love destruction and chaos with such passion? Just tell me that! About this I want to say a few words.

Perhaps the reason men so love destruction and chaos (and it is obvious that sometimes they love them very much indeed, that’s a fact) is that they themselves are instinctively afraid of reaching their goal and completing the edifice they are building. How do you know? Perhaps they only like an edifice from afar. And not at all from close up. Perhaps they only like creating it rather than living in it…”

-Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes From Underground.

There’s a blaze of light in every word

It doesn’t matter which you heard

The holly, or the broken,

Hallelujah is, perhaps, Leonard Cohen’s most famous song, made infamous by John Cale, Rufus Wainright, and Jeff Buckley’s interpretations of it. In my case the feeling towards the song is one of relief: ‘Hallelujah. It works.’ After a long time coming, I have managed to secure some recording gear that works.

Recording has been an aspiration of mine for years, one prolonged by technical failure and ‘writer’s block’. This first started many years ago when I tried to record with Cubase. Cubase is a top of the line, industry respected, music software suite. I had acquired a ‘light edition’ of the program for free with a guitar pedal. The program had so much copy write and licensing software that it corrupted and corroded my previous laptop. After Cubase, I tried Audacity, the free alternative that was better than Cubase, but still not quite right. Now I have acquired a Tascam multitrack recorder that is the least hassle of them all. It is not perfect but, on my budget, it will do. As the saying goes, a ‘bad workman blames his tools’ and it is a relief to now have tools that undeniably work.

I have recorded this simple ‘one track’ based on Buckley’s interpretation to ‘test the waters’, so to speak. The song has been covered so many times that it has reached the point where another interpretation will not hurt. As for Cohen’s original, he is said to have composed over eighty verses before whittling it down to the final seven, and even then made two versions of the song. It is an apt example of how an artist can wrestle with a piece. It demonstrates the process of time and sedimentation, and the consequent sharpening, of ideas needed for a piece of work to work. Here lies the worst form of writers block. There is no such thing as ‘not being able to write’, but there is developing an idea and realizing the approach needs to be adapted or changed, and being weary of that change. There are, also, little problems that arise after pressing the record button which could not have been seen beforehand. Parts that should weave in harmony do not. What was played with ease before becomes self-conscious and rigid. Taking a deep breath to relax and counter this then produces the sound of a deep breath on the recording. Practice makes perfect, but practice a piece too much, and play it too well, and it becomes sterile. Even on this simple track these considerations came into account. 

https://soundcloud.com/samsmusicandmusings/it-works-hallelujahwav