As has been hinted at before on this blog, I regard composition competitions as Good Things. I have two on the go at the moment, one of which is Christmas-related and to mention it further would violate a moratorium on discussing such things at inappropriate times of year.
The other of my current projects, however, is destined for an annual award in memorial to Dr Harold Smart, run by the Royal Schools of Church Music, whose King James Bible Competition I rejected last year in favour of St Andrews' (and a good decision that turned out to be). This year, not only is there no entry fee, but the award is for something I've not seen asked for before - to write a hymn tune setting a new text by Bishop Timothy Dudley-Smith. This has much appeal to me both as a church musician and as composer. Although a small-time organist, I consider myself to have built up a pretty good knowledge of what makes a hymn tune good - and the definition of 'good' encompasses substantially more than just whether it's a nice melody.
I'll say something, though. It's damned difficult. Writing 15 minutes for full orchestra is almost easy (relatively, you understand - I still lose sleep) compared to - what...35?, 40 seconds of tune? - that's got to be performable, without music, by the general public. My current plan is actually to compose two possible entries, one 'English' sounding and the other of a more 'contemporary' idiom suited to performance by guitars, and then either pick one or combine elements of the two. I think, however, I've identified some key areas of existing tunes that ensure their success:
Individuality of melody: Seems obvious, but a very difficult thing to come up with. A truly good tune is a valuable possession indeed, and must tread fine line between simplicity and avoiding banality. It must avoid containing any difficult intervals or other tripping-points but at the same time must be individual enough that it can be easily memorised by the vast majority of performers, who will not read music. And as stated above, the melody must be composed so as to be reasonably adaptable to both traditional congregation singing led by a SATB choir and organ, and more modern worship styles led by a rock band or pianist.
Rhythm: I am prepared to stick my neck out a little here and advocate a more traditional approach to melodic writing, leaning more towards the chorale than the rock song. For lay congregations it is simply easier to learn four-square tunes than the more complex rhythms of more popular styles, for the reason that most pop music is based heavily on a solo vocal line that works most effectively in the hands of a solo singer. Getting a congregation to learn, communally, the nuances of placing the start of a note just before the beat, or where to enter when the introduction to a song consists of only one chord without the helpful signpost of a cadence, is difficult enough even with an experienced leader. That's not to say that careful use of modern styles can never work, as the oft-derided but well-crafted output of Graham Kendrick shows, but it must be done with an eye to tradition.
Adaptable word-setting: It's all very well writing a tragic minor-key passage where the first verse mentions death, fire and brimstone, but what if the same phrase will coincide with completely the opposite sentiment in the last? A good text will generally avoid any particularly ill-judged juxtapositions, but it is unrealistic to expect the writer not to alter the mood and subject by whole verse rather than line-by-line. In addition, there is every chance that a tune in a commonly-used metre (as opposed to in Common Metre) may be sung to different words to that for which it was originally composed. The composer is therefore wise to avoid the temptation to go overboard with word-painting but rather to concentrate on the best way setting the speech-rhythms of the text (which again, a good text will preserve throughout the verses). A number of the popular-style tunes mentioned in the last section, and indeed, several 'classics', have danger moments where the words do not fit the tune well - the chief danger being the congregation coming adrift due to confusion or having insufficient time to breathe. Interestingly, different congregations develop different localised 'solutions' to ambiguous passages. Three problematic lines in the hymn Make Me A Channel of Your Peace (one verse of which I find uncomfortably close to the text of Margaret Thatcher's famous piece to camera upon taking up office) are not only all dealt with differently in successive verses, but also precisely how can vary between different churches/organists. In fairness, the onus is more on the writer of the text not to present the composer with such problems in the first place...
Long notes at the end of phrases: Phrases of text that end with an anapest or a molossus (go on, look them upplagal-or-perfect-cadence-and-back (I like to do this with a sus 4) which puts the brakes on the hardcore Women's Guild members who are trying to get another few milliseconds off the time they can get out the back to brew the post-service coffee. The traditional way of dealing with ends of phrases was simply to treat the long final syllable as a fermata (which is why you wrote them in A-level chorale harmonisation) and trust the kantor to make a suitable gesture so that the orchestra and choir would then move off correctly. Naturally this presents some problems when my back is turned to the congregation and my hands - and feet - are somewhat engaged already. The length of this paragraph hopefully conveys something of the consideration due to this feature in order to prevent church musicians from having epic fails through no fault of their own.
A related point - the first note. If the congregation aren't going to hit the first beat of the verse square-on, you need to start the line a fraction early to let everything settle in together. An anacrusis is a very good way of doing this as everyone then has a cue to land on the bar proper. Starting the verse on the beat can also (usually) work. Once again we come to another inherent problem in using more 'adventurous' rhythms. It seems conservatism is the best way of avoiding failure in this area.
Alternative harmony for last verse: I discussed this a while back in connection with a carol arrangement I was making at the time, but it deserves another mention. At the risk of taking too many digs at pop/rock music (in which the chord moves generally on the bar line), this is something one can only really do with traditional hymns (in which the harmony moves on practically every beat). I have an uncertain knowledge of quite how mandatory it is for the composer of the tune to supply an 'interesting' harmonisation for when the congregation is singing in unison, but I have something of an over-developed attraction to doing so. I do know of the existence of a little book called 85 Last Verses or similar which advocates erring on the side of caution, but anything is terrific fun if you actually manage to take the congregation with you.
I seem to display a marked skepticism about the success of writing this kind of music in popular styles, possibly a result of the sort of church music I normally play and my background in general. Still, I've come up with what I think is a solution that at least acknowledges both sides of the stylistic spectrum and follows most of the principles discussed above. We shall see how it does!
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
On chamber playing
Last week I spent one of the most enjoyable seven-day periods of the year, at a small town in Wiltshire. This wasn't because I was a refugee whilst my hometown was being looted (that still hasn't happened) but because the town's large private school was hosting the Grittleton Chamber Music Course, and I was signed up for the first week.
This wasn't a professional engagement, by the way. I'd paid to be there (minus a discount for some work on the evening bar, in common with most of the under-thirties) purely on the recommendation by a long-attending friend and subsequent invitation by the course organisers, and purely for the enjoyment of playing and for the group coaching sessions. It was a very good decision to go. The format of the course is that every morning is spent in two pre-formed groups, each studying a particular piece with a coach, with the rest of the day free. I say 'free', but the idea is actually that you organise sight-reading sessions with other members during this time. Needless to say I did so much of this that by the end of the week I had spent less than six hours of the total evenings and afternoons not actually playing one of my instruments or listening to others in concert. I was playing for eight of nine hours a day, and this pleased me much despite at one point wondering if my fingers were capable of keeping it up.
Space does not permit a full list of all the highlights - our heroic reading of Schubert's monumental last quartet, particularly on the part of out violist; the late-night attempt at Janacek and Haydn; adding extra notes whilst sight-reading a Vivaldi cello concerto because it wasn't hard enough already; the concert given by the coaches - but one thing I have definitely taken away from the eperience is the vital importance of the person at the head of the group, especially when sight-reading. It's not something I had actually given much thought to previously.
It is crucial to the success of any group to have an effective leader. It was noticeable how my own and others' technical faculties and the ease of playing seemed markedly better in groups which I felt had a good individual in charge. In fact, the very best ensembles were those in which all the members were taking a share of the responsibility for maintaining the stability of the playing. If every player is reliable in such things as maintaining the tempo of the music, matching to a reasonable degree the expressive and dynamic demands, rhythmic precision, and playing with musical expression that reinforces these things, it reduces the workload on the other members, allowing them to expend greater concentration on their own playing. On the other hand, if they must be constantly aware that they may have to react to something unexpected, it affects even the most technically able players because decisions have to be made more urgently and more concentration has to be diverted. It may sound odd, but in effect good intonation is to a large extent determined by how well the group is counting.
It should be remembered that the ability to lead is distinct from technical ability on one's instrument, although the two usually develop simultaneously. I have played with plenty of individuals whose technique was less than perfect but who understood what was necessary to play well in a chamber group (indeed I would - modestly - put myself in this category) with the result that any shortcomings were not an obstacle to the effectiveness of the ensemble. That said, I think that allowing technique to overrule and become an obstacle is the chief cause of a breakdowns within the ensemble, and it is a particular responsibility of a group leader to ensure this is not a danger. In other words, it is much better to scramble those difficult semiquavers and enter the first note of the next bar accurately, on the beat, than try to hit every pitch perfectly, slow up (even if one is not aware of it) and pull the group apart by doing so. In addition, a good technique allows a player to interpret the music in a way that maintains control and communicates with others. A good example of this is in a ritardando - the more accurately the player leading the rit. can place the notes, the more predictable the rate of slowing down is and thus the better then ensemble will hold together. Similarly, when moving off again, a technically able leader will be able to nuance the phrase in a way that indicates the new tempo very clearly to the others. Obviously, in many cases such things will not be the sole responsibility of the leader, and so every player, however subsistant in the group, must posses these skills too.
Sidetracking a little, an analogy can be drawn here between music performance and driving. It is the homogeneity and predictability between drivers that maintains (relative) safety, just as it is the same processes that allow a chamber ensemble to play comfortably together. The success of either task is determined by how well several entities can communicate both their intentions and react accordingly. (Come to think of it, this would make a decent-length blog post to elaborate upon in the future).
As a conclusion, I believe that the art of good chamber music playing can, in many respects, be summarised thus: it is the knowledge of when it is permissible to subordinate the group to oneself, and when one must subordinate oneself to the group.
This wasn't a professional engagement, by the way. I'd paid to be there (minus a discount for some work on the evening bar, in common with most of the under-thirties) purely on the recommendation by a long-attending friend and subsequent invitation by the course organisers, and purely for the enjoyment of playing and for the group coaching sessions. It was a very good decision to go. The format of the course is that every morning is spent in two pre-formed groups, each studying a particular piece with a coach, with the rest of the day free. I say 'free', but the idea is actually that you organise sight-reading sessions with other members during this time. Needless to say I did so much of this that by the end of the week I had spent less than six hours of the total evenings and afternoons not actually playing one of my instruments or listening to others in concert. I was playing for eight of nine hours a day, and this pleased me much despite at one point wondering if my fingers were capable of keeping it up.
Space does not permit a full list of all the highlights - our heroic reading of Schubert's monumental last quartet, particularly on the part of out violist; the late-night attempt at Janacek and Haydn; adding extra notes whilst sight-reading a Vivaldi cello concerto because it wasn't hard enough already; the concert given by the coaches - but one thing I have definitely taken away from the eperience is the vital importance of the person at the head of the group, especially when sight-reading. It's not something I had actually given much thought to previously.
It is crucial to the success of any group to have an effective leader. It was noticeable how my own and others' technical faculties and the ease of playing seemed markedly better in groups which I felt had a good individual in charge. In fact, the very best ensembles were those in which all the members were taking a share of the responsibility for maintaining the stability of the playing. If every player is reliable in such things as maintaining the tempo of the music, matching to a reasonable degree the expressive and dynamic demands, rhythmic precision, and playing with musical expression that reinforces these things, it reduces the workload on the other members, allowing them to expend greater concentration on their own playing. On the other hand, if they must be constantly aware that they may have to react to something unexpected, it affects even the most technically able players because decisions have to be made more urgently and more concentration has to be diverted. It may sound odd, but in effect good intonation is to a large extent determined by how well the group is counting.
It should be remembered that the ability to lead is distinct from technical ability on one's instrument, although the two usually develop simultaneously. I have played with plenty of individuals whose technique was less than perfect but who understood what was necessary to play well in a chamber group (indeed I would - modestly - put myself in this category) with the result that any shortcomings were not an obstacle to the effectiveness of the ensemble. That said, I think that allowing technique to overrule and become an obstacle is the chief cause of a breakdowns within the ensemble, and it is a particular responsibility of a group leader to ensure this is not a danger. In other words, it is much better to scramble those difficult semiquavers and enter the first note of the next bar accurately, on the beat, than try to hit every pitch perfectly, slow up (even if one is not aware of it) and pull the group apart by doing so. In addition, a good technique allows a player to interpret the music in a way that maintains control and communicates with others. A good example of this is in a ritardando - the more accurately the player leading the rit. can place the notes, the more predictable the rate of slowing down is and thus the better then ensemble will hold together. Similarly, when moving off again, a technically able leader will be able to nuance the phrase in a way that indicates the new tempo very clearly to the others. Obviously, in many cases such things will not be the sole responsibility of the leader, and so every player, however subsistant in the group, must posses these skills too.
Sidetracking a little, an analogy can be drawn here between music performance and driving. It is the homogeneity and predictability between drivers that maintains (relative) safety, just as it is the same processes that allow a chamber ensemble to play comfortably together. The success of either task is determined by how well several entities can communicate both their intentions and react accordingly. (Come to think of it, this would make a decent-length blog post to elaborate upon in the future).
As a conclusion, I believe that the art of good chamber music playing can, in many respects, be summarised thus: it is the knowledge of when it is permissible to subordinate the group to oneself, and when one must subordinate oneself to the group.
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