I'm starting a new project involving some of the tuba/euphonium community's most important figures. It is a mix of interviews and pedagogical articles. I started phase one with my first interview earlier this afternoon. Hopefully within the year, I'll be published!
I used something called Screenflow and I am crazy about it. It is a program that records your computer screen and audio. And since my first interview was done using Skype, it was perfect. The trial version is free (has a watermark on exported video) and the full version is $100. It is totally worth the money. So if you're into making instructional videos or tutoring or give music lessons online, this program is quite useful in documenting your work and/or your students' progress.
I've always been a terrible storyteller. I couldn't tell a believable lie if my life depended on it. And I can only captivate an audience if I'm in the middle of humiliating myself. There is something about keeping details and sequences in my head that eludes my presentation. I suppose it has made me honest by default and a pretty strange person to have a conversation with.
In spite of my poor storytelling skills, I almost solely depend on original narratives when performing music. It is a healthy distraction from the neurotic preoccupations that I sometimes fall into. For instance, a long period of rest can be time to listen and understand how to fit into the soundscape around you. For me, I figure out 1,000 ways to piff my starting pitch or count the rests with an astounding inaccuracy. The story keeps me mentally engaged. It's the old "Song and Wind" philosophy. Hear the sound, direct the wind, let you body do what it needs to produce. Sounds like magic and nonsense. And though Arnold Jacobs was indeed magical, he was a genius. There is nothing nonsensical about his pedagogy. It works.
What I find interesting about stories in music is how it works with what we now define as "absolute music." The phrase itself has changed meanings dramatically over time. Today it's thought of most commonly as musical "purists," in the sense that music truly speaks for itself. It is a concept that I neither agree with nor understand. I think it is humanly impossible to hear music or perform it without an allusion, reminder, or out right symbolism attached to something extramusical. Therefore, I think musical purity is malarkey. People have told stories forever. From cavemen to Renaissance poets to country artists. It's apart of our nature.
So, the point?
I think a story is integral to sustaining the art music scene. Sure Power Points and videos did not exist during most of the classical greats' time. But as I've said before in a previous entry, I believe that art music needs to meet people where they are. Again, I don't advocate the abandonment of traditional performance. But if art music is virtually suffering for lack of public interest, then by God CREATE SOME! People like to see things. A simple image shown for every movement of a symphony, a silent short film for a tone poem. Case and point: a lot of John Cage's music sounds ridiculous by itself. And not in a good way. But when paired with his partner's choreography (Merce Cunningham), it makes a lot of sense. Unfortunately what I am suggesting is extreme, despite the fact that art has always been on the edge of cultural normalcy. But something more "realistic" that could be attractive to intimidated people is comprehensive program notes.
I hate nothing more than going to a concert and starting to read what I think will be information about the music I hear. Instead, I mostly get a detailed pedigree of the composer (don't care), how long the piece took to compose (don't care), info about the composer's family (don't care). And if I don't care about this stuff, what are the chances that someone who is already questioning the experience cares?
I know some conducting professors who think the idea of a "listening map" style program note is a silly thing to produce for a concert. I am of the mind, however, that if people in need of a listening map constitute your patronage, then give it to them. At the very least, give them a choice at the concert; two styles of concert programs. There needs to be incentive to come back again, an assurance that someone is looking out for the layperson. The layperson used to be the one at the concert. Now the layperson watches reality television and on demand movies. While all of it isn't "high brow," it's entertaining. The intimidation factor is removed by the comfort of knowing what to expect on some level. Art music settings on the other hand are 100% mystery to laypeople which is equivalent to 100% terrifying. Who wants to subject themselves to that kind of feeling, especially when no one is around to help a person out of it?
It doesn't matter if they're in triplets, sixteenth notes, quarters or good ol' solo and ensemble style. I hate scales. I'm nearly 24 years old and have only recently understood how they are valuable to me. Ostensibly, they seem useless to a tuba player. Most band and orchestra music for tuba players is moderately challenging at best; that is, in terms of fast passages (with the possible exception of circus marches). "Hard" music in large ensemble settings is often playing the range of the instrument in a short amount of time (Berlioz loves this), masking breaths, playing lower and louder. Knowing this, scales seem like stretching your legs for exercise even though you're confined to a wheel chair. It may seem extreme, but you get the idea.
But something has changed my mind. It's solo music. While a lot of tuba music is hardly tonal or scalar, it can be fast, scatter brained, and precise. Playing scales provides a deftness to fingers that is otherwise not demanded of me in the ensemble music that I play. Still, what I struggle with is legitimizing it to students, especially beginners. Ultimately it will help them should they continue to play music long into their future. But what if they really don't care? And often enough, this is the case. Or even more often a student thinks that a scale means Bb to Bb and back. Changing that mindset is both annoying and makes me wonder what some music teachers are actually doing in their classrooms. As much as I find value in them, it still isn't that much fun. It's tedious, sometimes soul-destroying work. Or at least that's what it feels like to me most of the time. But my reward is what I get when playing tuba rep. What's the reward for an 11 or 12 year old?
I'm starting a new project involving some of the tuba/euphonium community's most important figures. It is a mix of interviews and pedagogical articles. I started phase one with my first interview earlier this afternoon. Hopefully within the year, I'll be published!
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