Musicians tend to have strong opinions and one of the most bandied about words in their vocabulary is “musical.” This word is the usual weapon of choice when they critique someone they have an issue with (usually someone who reminds them of their own inadequacies).
The context in which this word is used usually follows this line of reasoning, as in “He’s okay, BUT he’s not very musical, or “I like him, BUT I don’t think he’s very musical” or “he just wants to show off, his playing is so unmusical.” And so on.
So what is this word “musical?” The first thing that strikes you is that this word is very subjective. It’s like the word “beauty,” it’s in the eyes of the beholder. And who can argue with you if you think someone doesn’t match your standards of beauty? Some people say Julia Roberts is beautiful, but in some communities in Asia, they might tell you otherwise, they might say her mouth is too big. How can you convince them that they are "wrong?"
I have often wondered about what the word “musical” means to different people. And over the years I, too, have formed my own opinion. Here are just some random thoughts on the subject.
First, there is the minimum requirement. At the basic level, musicality usually involves some shaping of the musical line, and attempts at dynamic and tonal differentiation. This can be done mechanically or it can be done with “feeling.” The mechanical approach usually involves a constant rise and fall in the melodic phrase, followed by perhaps a slight rubato. When phrases are repeated, they are usually contrasted dynamically or tonally. This is particularly effective in baroque or classical music where there are conventions that dictate how you should perform such clichés in the music.
This mechanical approach can be effective and if done well, you can pass yourself off quite convincingly as an “expressive” player.
But as you might gather from my use of the word “mechanical,” there is more to musicality than just doing the odd requisite rubato or the predictable rainbow-shaped arched phrasing.
Over the years, I have come to admire certain players, and what draws me to them is not the sheer elegance of their phrasing nor their technical prowess but in how they can sometimes move me to tears (yes, I confess to being a little sappy in this regard). One such player is Fou T’song. One of the reasons I wanted to play the nocturnes is because I loved his playing of these pieces so much, particularly the one most associated with the movie, “The Pianist.” Incidentally, I found that in that highly moving scene when Wlad Spielzman was playing to Captain Wilm Hosenfeld, the actual piece he played was this very nocturne, not the Ballade as was featured in the movie.
So what is it about Fou T’song’s playing that moves me so much? It is hard to describe but if I have to do it in two words, I would say it’s poetry and timing. He has an incredible ability to strike the notes at just the right moment to give it maximum impact. But Fou T’song is not the only musician who has this fine sense of timing and poetry. Martha Argerich has the same poetic touch. So too Keith Jarrett. Among guitarists, I have been most inspired by Earl Klugh. Check out his album, “Late Night Guitar.” There’s a lesson right there on how to phrase on the guitar.
For me then, the most important criteria for musicality is, it should move you in a very profound way and invoke deep emotions within you.
Next, I believe that musicality involves a deep understanding of style. To me, learning a musical style is like learning the accent of a language. When you want to speak a new language, there are an infinite number of variables that you have to consider. First, there’s nuance. How do you say a word with just the right nuance so that it sounds right? Then there are the subtle dynamic accents in each phrase, and then there are the equally subtle rhythmic inflections in how you deliver those phrases. For native speakers, they do all this naturally, but for non-native speakers, it can be very hard to get all these variables right. You could ask Schwarzenegger, or if you don’t have access to him, you can even ask me.
Take jazz music. Many classical players (and I used to count myself among them) think that learning jazz is easy. They learn some scales and then they do the triplet feel that all the textbooks say represents the jazz swing, and they think they are playing jazz. But that is not jazz. Real jazz is highly complex and so full of nuances that it is impossible to play convincingly unless you have immersed yourself in the music for a long period of time. This means spending a great deal of time listening to it, playing it, and actually jamming with real jazz musicians.
When I first started learning the Bach for my CD, I was quite naïve. I thought all I had to do was set up the mikes and start the tape rolling. After my first session, I went home with the tapes thinking I had the whole CD in my bag. But after listening to it, I realized how far I was from realizing the feel I wanted. I went back to the drawing board and practiced every day that summer and recorded what I played into my walkman. I finally found the feel, but it was only after a great deal of playing and listening. The Chopin was easier, but it still took a considerable amount of time before I was happy with the feel.
Finally, a word about timing. Comedians like to say that timing is everything. That’s true in music too. When you play a line, it’s not how beautifully you phrased it that is going to make it expressive; it’s how you time it. I’ve learned timing from everyone, especially singers and popular artists. In one of my doctoral classes at UNT, I studied performance practice with the distinguished scholar, Dr. Michael Collins. I remember in one particular class, he suggested that we listen to Barbra Streisand for ideas on phrasing. I recall we were studying medieval music at the time. Why am I mentioning this? Because I am about to suggest that you listen to one of my favorite artists, Richard Clayderman (yes, this confirms my sappy tendencies) for phrasing ideas.
I find that popular artists are sometimes the most genuine and the most expressive in their phrasing. That’s because they have no barriers between them and their audience. We classical musicians have too many barriers to contend with when we play. We are constantly worrying about whether we are doing it “right” musically, or stylistically, or historically, or whatever. Popular artists have no such worries. They just play to their audience. And that’s why they have such incredible timing. Over the years, they have learned how to play with such perfect timing they are able to touch their audiences at a very deep emotional level. They know that if they don’t do that, they wouldn’t be asked back to the gig.
Just my two cents on the subject.
P Hii
October 21, 2006