This Sunday, May 12th at 4PM, I am playing selections from my program “Piano Waterscapes” on Santa Monica Second Sunday Concert Series, presented by the Silicon Beach Arts Council. This afternoon, I had a couple of hours at the venue, familiarizing myself with the piano and the acoustics.
Each hall has its own unique acoustics. It has to do with the shape of the room, the height of the ceiling, the materials use to build the building, whether the floor is carpetted, etc.
Each piano has its own unique characteristics. That has to do with the ideals that the piano company had for its brand, but also each maker of each part, many of which are handmade. It also has to do with the history that particular piano bears: where the wood is from, where the piano was manufactured, in which year, how often it has gotten played on by what kind of a pianist, how well maintained, the condition of its room, climate, etc. etc.
Sometimes, I wish I had a concert grand that I handpick for each venue, tuned and regulated for each concert. But then, I remind myself how even Clara Schumann, Marie Playel, Liszt, Mendelssohn, Beethoven, Schubert, Chopin… they had to perform on all sorts of different versions of the piano in the midst of its evolution as an instrument, with all of its irregularities, unstabilities, and unpredictabilities. And, I prefer to make music wherever there is a piano in any shape or form, rather than to insist on playing only in specific conditions under particular circumstances.
In order to enjoy the music that is unique to its space and time, what helps me is to think of the piano, the room, and the audience, as my collaboraters in making that day’s concert special. I would not talk meanly to, or about, them. I will do my best to bring out the best in them, to see, hear and appreciate what they have to offer. That is a part of my musicianship I committ to.
The venue this Sunday is a beautiful church built in 1929. There some films shot in this church, including the original “Father of the Bride” with Spencer Tracey and Elizabeth Taylor. The church has a resonance that lingers longer than anticipated from its intimate size and carpetted floor, favoring the very highest of the partials. It is atmospheric, but not necessarily with a lot of depth or warmth. To compensate for it, I must play with calculated timings. Slow down to enunciate each note, not to muddy the harmonies with the echoes of its predecessors. I must listen to each sustain at rests, not to short change, but to shoot for dramatic pauses.
The baby Steinway at the church is over a hundred years old. It was last tuned two months ago, and it will not be tuned again before Sunday. Sometimes, the wabble in an out-of-tune unison or an imprefect “perfect interval,” can add some unique timbre that one can take advantage of, especially in playing pieces about water, by French Impressionists like Debussy and Ravel. Sometimes, you have to wait for the mirky dissonances to settle in order to clarify the harmonic progression, to aurally decipher the voice leading. Let’s give it that time. The keys are heavy. Let’s enjoy their weight. The sound has a bite to it – again, manipulate the timing to soften it, use the arm weight – dance in time.
Sound IS very much like water. Its color becomes that of its surroundings, and changes with every little shift in perspective. Every performance is an experiment, and a irreversible, unreproducible unique experience. Let’s treasure it by thinking of the history behind the building, the piano, and each member of my audience on Sunday, that led up to sharing our speace, time and music together, this Sunday.