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Fantasy
Time
By
David Amos
Those
of us who are passionate about classical music are a pretty odd group, whether
we realize it or not. The music we hear has to be played “just so,” to fit
our very narrow parameters of what we consider good taste and proper
interpretation, to comply with the vision of the composer. There is nothing
wrong with that. After all, we have in our hands a very refined art form.
But,
let’s imagine for a few minutes if our concepts and expectations are not what
we think they should be. Let us travel in a time machine to concert halls of the
past, to hear music we know so well, as these works were played for the first
time, supposedly in the presence and in the hands of the composer. We are there
just to observe, attend, and not intervene in any way.
In spite of all that has been written, we know so little about performance
practices of the past. The subtleties, the protocol. Were audiences as serious
and quiet as we are today? (I am aware of the recent local debates about noisy
concertgoers).
When
we return from our imaginary trip, knowledgeable enthusiasts and musicologists
would have many questions to ask us: How did the audiences behave? How were they
dressed? Was the music given full attention, or used for background
entertainment or was conversation permissible? Were the performances of, say, a
Haydn symphony as precise as we expect them today?
More
specifically, others may ask: What were the lengths of the notes? Was the
intonation (if the music was played in tune, or not), as accurate as it usually
is today? What were the tempos? Slower or faster than that we are used to
hearing?
In
Baroque times, approximately from 1680 to 1750, music was highly embellished. In
other words, the written notes were only the basic indication, and the tradition
of the time required the musicians and singers to add, or “ornament” the
melodies with important, additional notes.
Were
the dynamics (the softs and the louds) improvised during the performances, or
was everything played at the same volume? Was the music played in a vibrant,
dynamic way, or did they sound like a dreadful imitation of a sewing machine?
There has been a lot of research on this, but nothing could substitute the
experience of hearing the “real thing”, which, unfortunately, technology and
physics will not allow us at this time.
How were the all-important rehearsals different from today?
All
we can do today is re-create what we think was the way it was done. We do our
best by relying on tradition, what sounds tasteful and good to us, through
musicological research, writing of the time, manuscripts, and other
investigative tools. And our own creative, artistic imagination.
There is the famous story about conductor Arturo Toscanini. He was approached by
a scholar-musician, who told Toscanini that he had the “correct”
interpretation of a particular Beethoven symphony, because, according to him,
Beethoven passed the information to his pupil Carl Czerny, who in turn passed it
along to the next two generations, who eventually passed it to this man.
But Maestro Toscanini, never at a loss for words, answered back that he had a
far more direct line to Beethoven for the correct interpretation of the music.
He simply picked up the orchestral score of that symphony, and pointed to it.
Think
of the cantillation that we find in the reading of the Torah during services.
Are we properly chanting all those tropes that are found on top of the letters?
My guess is that we are. It has been painstakingly transferred from generation
to generation.
This
is why proper investigative tools can give us a clearer picture and to better
understand how people used to do different things, and if we are following the
composer’s intentions.
But,
might it be better for us to make up our own reality, and perform music in a way
that pleases us and our audiences, as opposed to trying to duplicate the
original sound? In some subtle ways, we are doing this already.
But,
here we have the continuing argument of the performance of music with the
original, ancient instruments versus the modern ones. Personally, I prefer to
hear a Beethoven piano sonata on a modern Steinway than on an early, crude
pianoforte.
Granted,
there are certain shadings that can only be heard and appreciated in the period
instruments, but, for good or for bad, we are creatures of habit, and earlier in
our lives we form certain artistic prejudices, likes and dislikes.
Was
Mozart really the brat, as he was portrayed in the film Amadeus?
Were Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, Berlioz, Mendelssohn, Brahms, or so many others
wonderful conversationalists, as people and historians portray them, or crashing
bores and/or unbearable boors? We know, for instance, a lot about Wagner!
Some
of them are documented as having a witty sense of humor. For some reason, these
trivial matters ignite my imagination.
What
would some of us have given to be in Paris in 1913, at the Theatre de Champs
Elises, during the tumultuous premiere of Stravinsky’s Rite
of Spring? There was an actual riot and fistfights among members of the
audience. The cautious and disgusted composer had to flee from a back door.
It
is also intriguing for us to transport ourselves and wonder how music that we
know today will be played in future generations and even centuries.
But,
I suppose, what really matters is that we have these musical treasures today,
readily at our disposal, and they enrich our lives time after time.