The buzz of music: on a roll, in the “flow”

“Did you get a buzz from performing?” I asked an amateur guitarist who gave a concert on his 50th birthday in Amsterdam.

“Yes! The most incredible thing happened,” he exclaimed over the telephone today. “Before anyone arrived, I felt physically sick, facing all those empty chairs. But as soon as I started playing, I felt very relaxed. I just want to do it again.”

“Welcome to my world!” I said. “You get such a high that you just want to do it again. It beats drinking and smoking. It’s a natural high.” [Hint: quit smoking, my friend.]

Inspired by our morning phone conversation, I walked eagerly to my piano. There, piled in separate stacks lay the sheet music for piano and French horn, guitar, flute, and bassoon. My new chamber music repertoire for 2010 sat idle for the past few weeks when I had been traveling abroad.

It was 11:30 am when I started playing. I played until 1 pm and reluctantly got up to cook lunch for four people. Anything that interfered with the “flow” was an interruption. After cooking, eating, and cleaning, I resumed playing at 2:45 pm.

Even an accidental cut to my middle finger (from cleaning a sharp knife) didn’t stop me. Was it lightning that flashed outside? Thunder that shook the house? And rain that spewed through the front door?

Once I started playing, I couldn’t stop. My fingers glided over the keys. My ears swooned in the romantic music of Strauss, Saint-Saens, and Schumann. I was alone in my music, totally absorbed and relaxed.

At 6:15 pm I had to stop. The evening aerobics class that I had so looked forward to was now an interruption. 

I clocked 5 hours on the piano today.

But I wanted more.

Tomorrow I shall get up earlier than today, to squeeze an hour of playing before my morning yoga class. But the afternoon will be interrupted by a one hour piano lesson. And sadly there will be only 3 hours left before I cycle to my Rotary Club dinner.

Not enough time for a pianist on a roll…..

What ignited this passion? Could it be the three hours I had on a Yamaha grand in an apartment near the Finnish beach? Or sightreading with two professors at the Helsinki Hilton (below) at a doctoral dinner party?

Decision scientists playing 6 hand piano music at the Helsinki Hilton. Photo: Janne Kettunen

Coming home after Helsinki, Frankfurt, Munich, Dusseldorf, Rome, Florence, and Venice

What happens when you’re traveling for a month? You get on a momentum and want to keep traveling.

When you finally return home, you feel like a stranger.

The book cases have been moved. The kitchen cabinets have been rearranged. The portraits have migrated to their new locations.

Nothing is the same.

And everything needs a good spring clean — a good scrub.

The backlog of e-mails look intimidating — too formidable to begin sieving through what’s spam and what’s genuine.

That’s when you realise that you can keep traveling. But the new arrangements of “Queen of Sheba” and “Winter — from the Four Seasons” draw you to your grand piano.

What has the classical guitarist who arranged these new duos been up to? You google “Robert Bekkers” and discover that you forgot to share this clip with your readers.

And then you reckon that you actually wouldn’t mind just settling down and enjoying the new domestic setting for awhile…. that is, before Vienna beckons in January.

A Roman holiday in Rome

To shortlist where to go in Rome, my mother and I watched several video clips of “Roman Holiday” on youtube on our last night in Florence. [The youtube clip below was chosen at random.]

Spanish Steps

The Mouth of Truth

Fountain di Trevi

My own list includes: the Vatican, Colosseum, St Cecilia Academy of Music (the state conservatory), and Keats/Shelley House.

After 2 weeks in Venice and Florence, we thought we were ready to go home. And I only reserved 3 nights and 4 days for Rome. Clearly it’s not going to be enough.

What a surprise to find the Gallery of Modern Art empty of people and a treasure chest of Modigliani, de Chiruco, and other Italian artists I’ve never heard of. The Villa de Borghese is HUGE! Their Galleria will have to wait until I return again.

It’s raining cats and dogs in Rome. No one is lingering on the Spanish Steps. But we went to see it anyway. 

Today I sent my wishes to the wind, namely, an event on facebook:

Calling musicians to play music of Italian composers. Calling non-musicians to cook Italian food and bring Italian wine. It will be a Roman holiday in Utrecht on Sunday 8th November. Space is limited.

Actually, my time is limited. My mother is asleep upstairs. I’ve been skyping and blogging in the beautiful, mirrored hall of my hotel (below) where we will be having breakfast at 7:30 am tomorrow. 

The mirrored hall where I am typing this blog in Rome

What makes a great exhibition?

I consider myself rather new to the understanding and appreciation of visual art. My desire to attend exhibitions, however, started long ago, driven by curiosity and the kiasoo syndrome (not wanting to miss out). Over time, through conversations with artist friends and connoisseurs, I’ve learned that it takes time to understand and appreciate visual art, just as one would with music.

Much of what I know today comes from the high school humanities course I took from the late Mr Darwin Scales. His passion for art, music, literature, history, and philosophy was contagious. He was the reason I so wanted to see Europe at the age of 21.

On our last full day in Florence, my mother and I went to an exhibition that surely beats all others we’ve seen in the past two weeks. It reminded me of the Matisse-Picasso exhibition we had seen in the Tate Modern years ago. Both were well-curated, informative, and entertaining.

The last portrait in Florence

We did not expect “Art and Illusions” at the Palazzo Strozzi to keep us intrigued and interested for three hours. [Clearly management of expectations has a lot to do with this. Since we didn't expect much, we were pleasantly surprised.]

 

Art and Illusions at the Palazzo Strozzi in Florence, Italy

We had a lot of time available on this sunny but slightly chilly day. It was our last day before heading south to Rome. It was the last museum we had planned to visit. [Exhibitions are not for the time-challenged. Less is more. I regret having rushed through Galleria dell'Academia and not had the time to sit and stare at Michelangelo's David.]

 

We had not seen an exhibition like this before. [Novelty is an important factor.]

The bilingual text that accompanied each painting and exhibit was informative and clear. [This can be said of most museums, churches, and galleries that we have visited in Florence and Venice.]

The audio guide added value to the existing text. There were also musical interludes, i.e. music and illusions. [These additional things consistently supported the main theme.]

The last portrait in the Art and Illusions exhibition in Palazzo Strozzi in Florence

It was well-organised and divided into different relevant sections. We did not get lost. The exhibition built upon our knowledge. [As a result, we could focus on the content and not get confused or distracted.]

Most of all, the subject of art and illusions was interesting. I can think of parallels in music and acoustics, such as the way we fill in skipped notes to make a melody that otherwise would not make sense, the way we skip over false notes in our listening, the way we dismiss what we don’t want to hear. There are certainly compositional techniques that deceive the ear just as techniques of “trompe l’oeil” achieve visual illusions.

Combining visual art with live music performance

Liz Miller Photo Exhibition at Monument House Concert Series in Utrecht, Netherlands

How can I apply what I’ve learned to our cross-domain initiatives at our Monument House Concert Series in Utrecht? We had launched our first exhibition at the last house concert of solo guitar from South Africa on 3rd October 2009. Although the concert was sold out in three days and a success by all accounts, I felt the need to give the exhibition more visibility.

Expand on the theme of water (as shown in the 13 polaroid images in the piano room) to coincide with a concert on the theme of water. Already a pianist has offered to play Ravel’s Jeux Deux. Our duo will play Lan Chee Lam’s Drizzle. Anybody for Chopin’s Raindrop Prelude?

Photo exhibition of Liz Miller at the Monument House in Utrecht, Netherlands

Stendhalismo: the wow effect

My two guidebooks on Florence mention Stendhalismo or Stendhalism. The Stendhal syndrome attributes its name to the 19th-century French writer Stendhal who was so overwhelmed by the Basilica of Santa Croce (pictured below) that he could barely walk. I call it the wow effect.

Basilica Santa Croce in Florence, Italy

Such was my reaction when I first saw the view from our balcony — the Basilica Santa Croce lit up at night. It looked like the final destination. Indeed Michelangelo’s tomb is housed inside.

“Wow!” I exclaimed.

For me, visiting a church is like opening a Christmas present. It never looks the same on the inside. It’s always a surprise. And in Florence, it’s a resounding “wow!”

When I led my mom to the Duomo Square the morning after we arrived in Florence, she could not stop saying “wow!” But when we walked inside, there was just peace. It looked nothing like the outside. It was simple and not flamboyant.

The wow effect isn’t only reserved for churches in Florence, however. The palazzos (grand buildings) are also full of surprises, as inside the Palazzo Medici-Ricardi below. It is a room of gold.

Inside Palazzo Medici Ricardi in Florence, Italy

What wonderful places they are for concertising! As a concert goer, I am attracted to the venue of a concert. As a musician, I want to hear how it sounds in different locations. I believe in the power of live music to draw crowds and to make a place come alive. Yet most venues are not built for music but for worship or gatherings.

Tonight I was drawn by the prospect of seeing the gorgeous Cinquencento Salon inside the famous Palazzo Vecchio. I had spotted an invitation to an international congress on women’s rights in the fortnightly English paper The Florentine. It said, “Students and community members are invited to join….”

My mother and I stopped dead in our tracks when we entered the grand hall. It was bigger than a football field. After we sat down, I heard more “wows” as other attendees found their seats.

The discussion panel was organised by New York University’s Pietra Policy Dialogues as the final session in a three-day conference on progress and imperatives of the status of women. It was a privilege to hear the panelists speak on human rights, corruption, public policy, and micro-credit’s role in the empowerment of women.

As usual, in Italy, the event started late. It started at 5:20 pm and ended at 7 pm. But I wished that it had ended late too, for there was too much still unsaid. I, for one, had questions for the young mayor of Florence, Matteo Renzi heralded by Time Magazine as the Obama of Italy. How about empowering venue owners to invite musicians to give concerts everywhere?

After returning the headsets (for simultaneous translation) I hurried to meet and talk to the young lady from Afghanistan who so courageously started schools for girls. Apparently 75% of school buildings are still out of use (i.e. destroyed). Students study in tents. Classes are cancelled when it rains.

Then there’s the panelist from Kenya who defied tradition to get herself educated to help others in her Massai village.

These women are the real wows.

Live music in the churches of Florence

Every morning in Florence, I wake up to the sound of church bells. It was the same in Venice a week earlier. I just need to count the number of rings to know the time. They never seem to ring when I’m deep asleep. I made a short recording to remember the sound, just before breakfast with my mom.

On this warm Sunday morning in November, I took a detour and led my mother to the church of a nearby monastery. The sound of the organ lured us in. 

A young nun stood at the entrance handing out programme sheets entitled “Solennita di Tutti i Santi.” On one side of the church kneeled two rows of nuns. On the other side kneeled monks. As I had never been to a church service with nuns and monks, I was curious if this was a Latin Mass, i.e. with Gregorian chants.

The Santa Maria Assunta church of the “Fraternita Monastiche di Gerusalemme” gradually filled up as time passed. The pure sound of men and women contrasted greatly against the tenor and baritone duo at the Latin Mass we had attended the previous Sunday at San Simeon Piccolo in Venice. I felt somewhat guilty that it was the music that caused me to stay for the service.

The same evening we arrived early for a concert of countertenor, oboe, and organ at the Chiesa Santa Maria de’ Ricci via Del Corso.  The countertenor opened with Pergolesi’s Salve Regina, soaring to heaven. I explained to my mom that it’s rare to hear countertenors. Indeed it was her first time.

After the countertenor, the oboist played a piece of Corelli. I couldn’t find the correct Chinese word for the instrument or explain the details to my mother.

It was exciting to see the organist and his 12 digits (fingers and feet) playing one of my favourite pieces, Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor. The countertenor assisted him by turning pages and switching the registers. Usually we never get to see the organist in action. Here with the organ in front of us, we could see and hear him.

 The church was only 25% full, despite the freebie. After the concert, the church custodian brought out CDs for sale. At 15 euros per CD for an unfamiliar group of musicians, I thought it was pricey. But for a free concert, to support the musicians, I was happy to pay for it.

While listening to the 50-minute CD, a live recording of flute, countertenor, and organ, I learned that the association was formed in the late 80’s and the music school since 1990. The Giovani Musicisti Fiorentini offers free concerts of mainly Baroque music on organ, flute, oboe, and often with voice such as soprano and countertenor. Apparently they provide free live music every single day of the year.

Quattro clavicembali e archi, Firenze

My mother and I took a nap after lunch so that we’d be ready for the evening concert. Afterwards I stopped by my landlady’s home for a chat. She wasn’t there but her son welcomed me in. “May I play your piano?” I asked. 

I got carried away sightreading Mozart and Chopin. We had twenty minutes to walk to the conservatory, a building which backed against the famous Galleria dell’Accademia. It should be fairly easy to get there from our palazzo apartment — through the Duomo Square going northwest.

For some unknown reason, I couldn’t find it. We walked. We stopped. I consulted the map. It was dark. My mom flagged down a passerby to enquire how to get to the Academy. 

“Galleria dell’Accademia?”

“Si.”

“Michelangelo David?”

“Si.”

I was panicking by the 9th ring of the church bell. It was 9 pm. We were nowhere near the state conservatory. I hate to be late. I was so set on getting to the concert on time that I had temporarily forgotten that we were on holiday.

Was it necessary to rush, panic and drag my mother to a concert that wasn’t advertised for tourists? That I had to check and double-check for the location and time? We had already seen one concert earlier in the day. Besides, it was Halloween. Everyone else was costumed up to party.

Recalling high school geometry, I steered us parallel and perpendicular to a familiar street. Through the glass doors, I saw well-dressed locals walking into the concert hall. We had arrived. I sprinted to the door and heard the musicians tuning in the background. We could still make it.

The ushers looked past me with concerned faces.

“Are you all right?”

Who were they talking to? I turned around.

To my horror, my mother was crouched on the ground. She had fallen.

She smiled apologetically as someone pulled her up. 

“Are you okay, mom? What happened?” 

She had missed a step just before the glass door. When I looked at her, I suddenly realised that she wasn’t 17 but 70. I wasn’t 21, but I behaved like a 12 year old totally disregarding my mother who tried to keep up my fast pace.

The concierge asked if she would like some water and led us upstairs. People were still arriving at 9:10 pm.

We peered into the hall. The view was even better than downstairs. Quickly we walked to the first row where, as if it was intended the entire time, two seats were freed up for us. 

What a view it was! But neither of us had brought our cameras. 

Four harpsichords sat side by side. [Two grand pianos sat idle against the walls.]

A programme of Bach with string quintet. A transcription of Vivaldi. BMV 1065. MBV 1063. My favourite BMV 1060.

A memorial concert for a teacher who had passed away a few years ago. The concert was also dedicated to a harpsichord teacher who was retiring after 40 years. She played on her own harpsichord for the final piece: Brandenburg Concerto number 5 with violin, traverso, violin, viola, cello, and double bass.

As I type this, I’m multi-tasking to make sure we get to tonight’s free concert on time. A countertenor, flautist and organist will perform at San Maria de’Ricci at via Del Corso at 21:15.

Title translation: Four harpsichords and string quintet

Free concerts in Florence, Italy

The evening concert was not advertised at the Tourist Office or  ”The Florentine,” the fortnightly English paper that contains interesting intellectual articles and an events listing. [Why doesn't such a paper exist in the Netherlands?] Nor was it mentioned at 11 am concert in the National Library, that same morning. 

Luckily I had found it on the website of the Luigi Cherubini Conservatory which specified the programme and the date but not the time of performance. I had stopped by the conservatory the previous day to enquire about the time.

Both concerts of musicians from the conservatory were free to the public. But my mother and I were perhaps two of the few (or only) tourists in the audience.

At five minutes before eleven, we stepped into an empty hall in the National Library. Two others were waiting outside (perhaps not daring to be the first to sit down). My concern about poor attendance soon vanished when the locals steadily filled the hall by the time the concert began — at 11:15.

Already I suspected that the Petrof boudoir grand  would be too soft for the violin. Why didn’t they open the lid completely rather than just barely? Sala Galileo was a circular dome with high ceilings and marbled floor. The piano looked inadequately small for the space. Sure enough, the violin overpowered the piano.

In spite of the acoustic imbalance, the two young men executed their playing beautifully. My mom enjoyed the music immensely and remarked that the programme of Kreisler and Dvorak was well-chosen. [In other words, our piano guitar duo should reconsider our choice of repertoire. Why don't we play music from the Romantic era? Why can't the guitar break my heart the way Kreisler's Liebesleid can?]

After the concert, we stepped out into the warm Tuscan sun and photographed that enchanting view from the Arno River. In 1966, it had overflowed and devastated the city to such an extent that the Florentines refer to the 20th century as the time before the flood or after. I could scarcely imagine such a calm (and motionless) river with the rare canoe would sweep away Ponte Vecchio or rise 5 metres.

We decided to take a nap to be awake for the evening concert.

Discovering the Florence of poets and musicians

On my first visit to Florence, I spent more time at the outdoor markets than the indoor museums. I was 21 and wanted to bask in the Tuscan sun, shop for “Made in Italy” shoes, and use my student status only for the very must-sees. On my second visit, a day trip during the Cortona Contemporary Music Festival in July 2006, I abhorred the markets but did not have the patience to queue for the museums. It was too hot and crowded.

With my mother, on my third visit to this city of cultural greats, I am discovering a Florence I didn’t know at all. I could sit for hours in the church of San Maria de Ricci and succumb to its powerful organ music.

Each day I stumble upon a hidden treasure, such as the museum of musical instruments in Galleria dell’Academia. Most people go to the Academy to see Michelangelo’s David. I, on the other hand, spent most of my time gazing at Christofiori’s pianoforte and Stradivari’s violins. They are part of a larger collection of precious instruments kept at the Cherubini Conservatory next door.

When I googled for “lecture recital in Florence” I discovered Casa Guidi, home of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning. To my delight, it was open for visitors on a Friday afternoon.

“How do I love thee, let me count the ways…”

First, I convinced my mother that Casa Guidi was an essential part of our week in Florence.

Second, I arranged our schedule to walk south towards Casa Guidi, to arrive when it opened at 3 pm.

Third, I found the gold button for Casa Guidi on Piazza San Felice 8 and buzzed for an answer.

Casa Guidi in Florence, Italy

“If thou must love me, let it be for nought….”

I had recited and swooned in the Sonnets from the Portuguese as a lovesick teenager who read romance novels for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Where did Elizabeth Barrett Browning pen these eternal words of love? How did she live?

The friendly lady who welcomed us to the first floor flat showed us the room where EBB and Robert had worked. She briefly told us the story of how Casa Guidi came to be today. I was delighted to learn that it’s available for rent, through the Landmark Trust which restored it.

I asked if I could take photos and sit on the chairs. I wanted to time travel. I hungered for some inspiration — some part of that poetic license that would bring back my urge to compose again.

Sitting in the room where Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote her poems

I didn’t just admire EBB’s love sonnets, I craved for whatever that caused words to pour out of her. Was it inspiration? Or was it overpowering love?

Once upon a time, I was a slave to my music. I’d suddenly hear or feel a passage that commanded my utmost attention. I would drop everything to sit at my piano to write down the notes before they escaped me. The first draft of each manuscript was holy. Often I felt I was a mere conduit —- that the music existed long before I had known how to transmit it.

Four years of conservatory taught me that composing was craft. You could learn to compose. You could learn to compose better. In the process, I unlearned how to compose. The first draft was no longer holy. And the final draft was never complete.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote 44 sonnets in secret, chronicling the intense love she felt for Robert, before they married. A year after their marriage, they left England for Florence and moved into Casa Guidi.

Does creating a great work require such strong passion? Such strong love?

“I lived for visions for my company instead of men and women, years ago….”

In their bedroom stood a closed Bechstein grand piano. I felt no urge to touch or play it.

Perhaps I really do need some time off, time away from my duo, my piano, my “normal” life. Time to reflect. Time to empty my mind. Time to plant the seeds of tomorrow: how to get my duo to travel to Florence and live in Casa Guidi?

Searching for Vivaldi in Venice

The Four Seasons by Laurel Corona

When I was preparing the programme notes for our piano guitar duo’s version of “Summer” for our concert in Madrid, I found the new novel entitled “The Four Seasons” on the Web. As it had just been published in late 2008, I contacted the author out of curiosity. San Diego-based Laurel Corona had woven an interesting story around Vivaldi and the Venice that he lived in, largely based on her own research and filling in the gaps where history had recorded none.

As I am particularly fond of reading novels about music and musicians, I took Corona’s “Four Seasons” to consume on holiday in Seville in April 2009. While reading it, I started planning an in-depth tour of Venice with my 70-year old mother, who had never been to Italy before.

I had stopped in Venice briefly when I was 21 and remembered the crowds of tourists at Piazza San Marco. A day later, I hopped on the overnight train to Switzerland.

Venice deserves a second chance.

Armed with “The Rough Guide to Venice and the Veneto” I navigated the 118 islands and 400 bridges of that floating labyrinth which my friends in Amsterdam called “a 17th century time capsule.” The art historian, who rented us the 18th-century palazzo with a stunning view of the Grand Canal, told us about the 53rd Biennale and the various related contemporary art exhibitions. In the ensuing days, we lingered at Peggy Guggenheim’s extraordinary collection of modern art and sculpture and visited every church that was on our way to the “must-sees” listed in the guidebook.

By the sixth day, I was stomped. The live “classical” music available were limited to 1) various outdoor performances at restaurants in San Marco’s Square (5.50 euros per person if you sit down, and 10 euros for coffee); 2) a free one-off concert of recorder music during Titian’s time at a cultural centre; and 3) evening concerts of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons (at 25 euros per ticket).

But Antonio Vivaldi had written more than 500 concertos (including 36 for bassoon), 90 operas, and some 46 operas. Surely there would be music of Vivaldi to grace this timeless treasure chest of culture! Or is the Four Seasons such a blockbuster (with Beethoven’s 9th a distant second place in the classical music world) that it overshadows other Vivaldi works?

When I had nearly exhausted my mother of visual stimulation, I stumbled upon a church not far from San Marco Square. First I heard the sound of a violin concerto. Then I walked into a display of the art of violin making by the Museo Della Musica. Although it was not live music, I was satisfied that there was finally an installation and acknowledgement of Vivaldi in Venice. Like other Vivaldi hunters before me, I had been inadvertently looking for his music.

“Finally,” I said to my mother. “I found Vivaldi. I shall have to come back with Robert.” Then he could fill the silence of the churches and the palazzos with his guitar music —- his Dutch guitar built in Amsterdam, where most of Vivaldi’s music was published. It would complete the circle.

Note to readers:

Vivaldi’s “Concerto in D Major for Guitar” was the first piece that our duo had read and played. Vivaldi’s “Summer” continues to surprise our audiences. We are now arranging “Winter.”

Laurel Corona’s “The Four Seasons” has been translated into French, German, and Spanish. The Dutch version is currently underway. I hope it will be translated into Chinese so that my mother will enjoy it as I have.