What is the difference between foreground music and background music?
Foreground music: when people stop talking, the music begins.
Background music: when the music stops, the people stop talking.
“Play the familiar in an unfamiliar way,” I would tell myself when playing background music. It shouldn’t be so intrusive that people stop talking.
The actual playing time was less than an hour, but it took me four hours the previous day to play through and select the music I thought appropriate for the Rotary Club charity gala dinner. My sight reading ability has improved since those early days as hotel pianist in London. It’s still necessary to go through my music to ensure enough variety.
Meanwhile, Robert Bekkers did not have to select any sheet music. It was all in his head.
Robert Bekkers on the way to a gig, photo credit: Peter Lie
What is the difference between foreground music and background music?
Foreground music: when people stop talking, the music begins.
Background music: when the music stops, the people stop talking.
My choice of music is defined by the familiarity index. “Play the familiar in an unfamiliar way,” I would tell myself when playing background music. It shouldn’t be so intrusive that people stop talking. I take a selection of flowing music from Einaudi and film music, intermingled with jazz standards and my own favourites. I consider myself successful if people continue talking. My background music is intended to fill gaps in conversation and fuel the interaction between people.
“Don’t pay attention to me please.” That’s the message I want to broadcast as I happily sight read the music and make transitions to avoid silent gaps. I don’t want people to listen. I just want to reassure them that they are not alone.
When Robert began to play, however, I noticed that a few people stopped talking. It was Albeniz. They recognised it. On his last tune, the Romance that every beginning guitar player aspires to play, I received a request. “Has he got this on CD? I’d love to buy it.”
Robert Bekkers at the Rotary Club Charity Gala Dinner, photo credit: Peter Lie
Moral of the story:
When you play foreground music as background, people will stop talking and start listening.
When musicians and visual artists collaborate, ultimately there is an intersection of time and space. How does one condense a year of time into a physical space? Our exhibition entitled GAEA AEOLUS, the result of that one week of “Creative Encounters” in Paleohora Crete, will open at 8 pm on 26th February 2010 in Brugge. There will be an electric piano. It will be a surprise.
Musicians work in the dimension of TIME, while visual artists deal with SPACE.
When musicians and visual artists collaborate, ultimately there is an intersection of time and space. How does one condense a year of time into a physical space?
After the EFFUSION house concert, the film maker Julian Scaff invited us to a one week working holiday on Crete. It was the 14th Interdisciplinary Meeting of Artists at Levka Ori. There were no obligations. However, if we did create something, we could get it exhibited in early 2010 at the art gallery of the founder of this annual project.
We’d pay our own way, arrange our own stay, and meet daily for “creative encounters.” I was curious. We had nothing to lose but everything to gain. So we went in August 2009.
Every day we drove up the mountains. What was omnipresent was the wind. In fact, the wind AND the sun competed fiercely for attention. We walked and worked alone. The wind filled the silence. When the sun grew too hot, we retreated and returned when it got cooler.
It was inconceivable to give a concert in Paleochora (the way we’re used to). What could we, as classical musicians, possibly achieve by being far away from our instruments and environments?
The “creative” part of the encounter occurred after we headed down the mountains and met for dinner. There we introduced ourselves and shared our ideas. I decided to give up trying to find a piano. Instead, I’d collect items to make musical instruments.
A box of twigs, rocks, and goat deposits in Paleochora, Crete
I imagined making a wind chime out of twigs and branches. I envisioned making percussive instruments out of pebble-like goat deposits. I crouched on my hands and knees and collected what I could find.
Making a musical instrument in Paleochora, Crete
While I was completely focussed on making my wind chime, Robert had finished his “wind guitar.” He came to me and saw that my wind chime was turning into a mobile. The twigs swung in the wind but did not touch. There was no chime about it. But this gave him an idea of making a wind harp.
A wind mobile not wind chime at Paleochora, Crete
Later I abandoned the goat deposits as they crumbled in the moist plastic bag in our hotel room. I had created nothing feasible or substantial.
What am I going to exhibit at the ARTONIVO art gallery in central Brugge (also known as Bruges) next Friday? Our exhibition entitled GAEA AEOLUS, the result of that one week of “Creative Encounters” in Paleohora Crete, will open at 8 pm on 26th February 2010 in Brugge. Everyone else has got something to show. What will I do?
Luckily there will be an electric piano. It will be a surprise.
A year ago I got to know a film maker who introduced a new approach to our Monument House Concert Series. We called it “cross domain exploration.” Some call it “cross over” and others “interdisciplinary collaboration.” We decided to experiment with an invitation-only free house concert in March 2009 called “Effusion.”
A year ago I got to know a film maker who introduced a new approach to our Monument House Concert Series in Utrecht, Holland. We called it “cross domain exploration.” Some call it “cross over” and others “interdisciplinary collaboration.”
We decided to experiment with an invitation-only free house concert in March 2009 called “Effusion.” The film maker took the raw video from a film about different ways to travel in Utrecht. I worked with pianists to play 4-hand duets of new works of an Amsterdam-based composer. Each work was based on a method of transport: by foot, bicycle, car, boat, etc.
I thought of all the pianists I knew, both professional and amateur, and invited those that would enjoy participating in such an evening. I practised a piece with my psychologist student. I practised another piece with a fellow Rotarian. A computer programmer practised with a conservatory student. We prepared for the evening of 21st March 2009 with great anticipation.
The film maker brought six bottles of fine red wine from his neighbour who supported such artistic collaborations. The composer and the film maker met on the evening of the house concert. Robert Bekkers and I ended the concert with a preview of the composer’s new work for us, for debut in Spain.
We had grand plans to do a podcast. In the end we released a youtube clip of one duet (below). I am finally documenting that event which marked the beginning of new collaborations. [The following video can be seen in Safari 4.0, Firefox 3.6, Google Chrome, or Opera 10 Internet browsers.]
It was a truly marvelous evening, in a very pleasant setting, with just the right mix of people, and great cookies. The impromptu mixing video and music made for a very interesting experience. And thank you very much for your surprise performance of Fire. I could see that Heleen was delighted! And so was I.
t was indeed an extraordinary evening. I told you I didn’t really feel like coming, I was tired after a full week of teaching the violin to lots of people and needed a break. To my great surprise and happiness the evening turned out to be just the experience I needed. It was as if I’d had a holiday in your lovely house. I was delighted by your hospitality.
Heleen’s music touches me, she reminds me – as do her twins – of the atmosphere of the 20-ties, I hear that in a lot of her music too. Most of the music was performed very well I found, especially “fire” I really enjoyed. Yes, of course, I am a violinist after all, I loved Vivaldi in this way.
Interesting to have music and film together. Sometimes it was like, because of shaky filming and the character of some of the pieces, as if we were watching something very old. A number of times I have improvised with clowns at management trainings and this reminded me of that.
I found there were a lot of very interesting people, people that can be friends. I feel we were truly sharing. That is what sets this situation apart from “normal” concerts. really enjoyed the (small) part of the concert and all of the really nice time after last Saturday.
I’d like to thank you and I think part of the enjoyment, besides the music which was very interesting was also the lovely and relaxed way in which you brought it all! For me, it would have been nice to have had a really good description of how to get there………although I guess now it’s much much clearer already!
I’d love to come again. (Also there is a selfish reason – I am especially grateful for the opportunity to experience performance nerves again and to take another step to overcoming them). I was of course lucky to find such an outstanding young pianist as Stein for my duet partner. I tried not to have any expectations, but I gathered that the audience very much enjoyed Helene’s music (though there was probably not a single piece of the duet delivered flawlessly!)
Before coming to the event, I already knew that I would find the same friendly atmosphere of the previous concerts, where the cosiness of the environment erases the (physical and metaphorical) distance between artist and audience without being detrimental to the quality of the artistic performances. However, this particular event differs from the previous concerts in that the attention to novelty is not confined to the premiére of musical compositions, but it involves the construction of a bridge between music, visual arts and architecture. Both the original pieces of music played and the video clips projected during the performance are indeed complementary in describing the different movements in urban space that are associated to different means of transport.
I liked the experiment, and I would like to attend similar events in the future. It’s possible that some friends of mine will join me; on the other hand, it’s unlikely that I might get in contact, at least in the short term, with businesses that can support the event.
Effusion: a cross domain exploration through video and music, Monument House Concert Series, Utrecht, Netherlands, 21 March 2009
I finally found a pocket of time today to check out the followers of my twitter account BLOGMAIDEN. I am discovering interesting people with interesting ideas and music to share.
I finally found a pocket of time today to check out the followers of my twitter account BLOGMAIDEN. While Robert is working with our sound engineer on the final mastering of our first CD downstairs, I am discovering interesting people with interesting ideas and music to share.
When I opened Joseph Akins’ website, I was greeted with the most lovely piano music I’ve not heard in a long time. It’s new and refreshing and original. I surfed through his well-organised website to find a video clip I could put in this blog. I am sure it exists somewhere. His audio samples relaxed me as I browsed other twitterers’ profiles and links.
Joseph Akins is a composer, pianist, keyboardist, and producer. I’m not surprised. Musicians are multi-faceted. No one is just a pianist. I’m sure that my fellow musicians have portfolio careers as I have. We perform. We compose. We organise concerts. We write reviews. We teach.
Another pianist who followed me on twitter is Paul Kenyon. The samples of his performances of music of Haydn, Schumann, and Debussy are crisp and clear. Having had Joseph’s music continuously streaming in the first hour, I wished that Paul’s music could accompany me in the next hour. But it wasn’t set up that way.
The above are just two examples of two very different kinds of pianists. I discovered that this blog of our piano guitar duo also attracts guitarists.
The website of Simon Powis welcomes me to a world of classical guitar. He had contacted me back in September 2009 about my sight reading thesis (which I wrote for my piano teaching diploma) for he was working on his doctoral thesis on the very subject, but for guitar. I see from his calendar that he is finishing soon and will pass through the UK before returning to Australia. Maybe I will finally get to meet him, if our trip to London in the first half of August pans out.
Once upon a time, I had to know what I was looking for. Use a search engine with the right keywords, cross my fingers, and hope to find what I was looking for. Now, interesting people find me, giving me new ideas and new insight into the world of music. I don’t know how they find me on twitter. Their websites are professional. Their music mesmerising. Their blogs, well-written and food for thought.
Before I go down stairs to reclaim my space for practising the piano, I must mention the blogs of clarinetist David Thomas. His is the kind I want to read and leave my comments. Dare I also reveal that I long to play Schumann’s Fantasiestücke Op. 73 with a clarinet player. My Romanian bassoonist friend had introduced it to me. I loved it so much that I transcribed it to play with French horn. Later I tried it with cello, but never clarinet. At least not yet.
At first, I split up a quatre-main (4-hands, one piano) duet into separate parts for a single guitar and piano. Then I noticed that the piano duet left out many wonderful melodies. To do Carmen justice, I opened the orchestra score, found those beloved themes and allocated them as I saw fit. What shall I call my arrangement? How about Carmen Potpourri for piano and guitar?
Bekkers Piano Guitar Duo, photo credit: Serge van Empelen, Amsterdam
I borrowed the Dover edition of the orchestral version for Bizet’s Carmen opera months ago. The full score looked intimidating, a reminder of the arduous score reading exercises I had to do during my years at conservatory. And so the hard-back book laid on my piano unopened until I found free sheet music of piano solo and duet transcriptions on the Internet.
Eureka! I found a short cut.
It is possible to reduce orchestral music to piano and fewer instruments. It requires a lot more imagination the other way around.
At first, I split up a quatre-main (4-hands, one piano) duet into separate parts for a single guitar and piano. Then I noticed that the piano duet left out many wonderful melodies. To do Carmen justice, I opened the orchestra score, found those beloved themes and allocated them as I saw fit.
Dutch guitarist Robert Bekkers stopped me when he saw that I was giving the exciting parts to the piano. It reminded me of my own protests when he had given himself the interesting, virtuoso passages in his arrangements of Bach’s Badinerie, Chopin’s Piano Concerto in E minor, Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, and the Handel’s Arrival of the Queen of Sheba for our duo.
“I can do that!” he pointed to a chromatic run. “I love scales. Better, let us do it together!”
Now that’s a challenge — to play the fast notes completely in sync with each other! We do that quite a bit in Vivaldi’s Summer from his Four Seasons. I can have the guitar play exactly what I play in the same register or an octave apart. Or we can play a third apart.
“Give me big powerful chords,” he said. He wants to show off, but so do I. We’ll just have to take turns, I decided.
Robert also gave me advice. “To be safe, don’t give the guitar more than two voices at a time.”
Bizet’s opera was set in Seville, Spain where we had visited in April 2009 for a gypsy flamenco project. I remember the flamenco rhythms and the percussive nature of such exotic music. Arranging Carmen brought back memories of that week as well as my visit to the Netherlands Opera production of Carmen at the end of the Holland Festival in Amsterdam.
Technically speaking, the piano and the guitar can replace 16 single-note instruments: 10 fingers on the piano plus 6 strings of the guitar. If we add our feet and elbows, then we can do even more. I love sound of the guitar being used as a percussive instrument. Can I do the same on the piano? Or would I need drumsticks?
What shall I call my arrangement? There are numerous Carmen Suites and Carmen Fantasies on Naxos CD Online and youtube. Mine is not a suite or a fantasy. A suite is structured — mine is a medley of various sticky tunes, and yet it’s more than a medley. A fantasy would require a lot more imagination, dedication, and virtuosity. I want it to be fun and interesting, not like some of the 19th century arrangements of popular opera themes for guitar and piano.
How about Carmen Potpourri for piano and guitar? Coincidentally when I google “Carmen Potpourri” I find our piano guitar duo website and this blog. Maybe that’s what it should be called: Carmen Potpourri for piano and guitar.
Today we remember the devastating tsunami that rocked and shocked South East Asia and the rest of the world. Five years ago I wrote a challenging solo piano piece and called it “Toccata on an Elegy Theme.” I asked my fellow classmate, a talented young pianist from Indonesia to premiere it. Elwin Hendrijanto (also spelled Hendrianto) communicated that sense of urgency and helplessness in his interpretation.
Toccata on an Elegie Theme by Anne Ku
Were it not for checking the online news today, I would have forgotten what had happened five years ago.
Today we remember the devastating tsunami that rocked and shocked South East Asia and the rest of the world. I was spending what-would-have-been a quiet Christmas in a small village in the Netherlands when I read of the disaster. I had felt utterly helpless and useless. Had I been a journalist, I would have exercised the power of the pen. But I was a mere student of composition, just months into the first of four years at conservatory.
Phuket, Thailand. Phi Phi Island. Malaysia. Singapore. Indonesia. That part of South East Asia was an important part of my life when I worked in Singapore in my early twenties.
A tidal wave of emotion swept over me. Was it grief? Over whom? There was no one I knew that was a victim directly or indirectly. Was it guilt? I was safe in Holland, far away from the scene of the disaster. Or was it a need to express myself somehow?
I reached out in a way I didn’t expect I could.
In the course of three months, I wrote a demanding piano solo called “Toccata on an Elegy Theme.” I asked my fellow classmate, a talented young pianist from Indonesia to premiere it at Utrecht Conservatory (also known as Utrecht Conservatorium). Elwin Hendrijanto (also spelled Hendrianto) communicated that sense of urgency and helplessness. I was grateful. Later I told him I planned to put it on my Hollandia CD of compositions written between 2004 and 2008. That project is still in the pipeline, and my promise still unfulfilled.
We are now preparing a completely new programme for 2010. What sets it apart from previous programmes is that it is full of new transcriptions that are equally fun and exciting for piano and guitar. We open with Handel’s Arrival of the Queen of Sheba.
Bekkers Piano Guitar Duo photo credit: Humphrey Daniels, Warmond
We are now preparing a completely new programme for 2010, to debut on 21st January 2010 in Doorn, Netherlands. What sets it apart from previous programmes is that it is full of new transcriptions that are equally fun and exciting for piano and guitar.
We open with Handel’s Arrival of the Queen of Sheba, whose 4-hand one piano score could easily be read for our piano and guitar combination. While I was visiting Helsinki in mid-November to play the duet with my Finnish friend, Robert Bekkers transcribed it for our duo. It’s a piece that makes me happy every time I play it.
The choice for the second piece is tricky. I’m not sure what to put between the Queen of Sheba and the third piece: Winter from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Perhaps we should choose a lesser known piece, just to break the familiarity of sticky tunes, or as the composer and pianist Daniel Abrams suggested, a solo piano or guitar piece.
Robert arranged Winter for our duo, largely because the Summer concerto worked so well for us. The latter was very exciting and challenging to play in sync. He chose it after spotting a young Korean guitarist playing the fast sections on youtube. Originally written for string orchestra, Winter is much easier to play than Summer. I particularly like the second movement – Largo. How fitting it is to study Winter in the final week of 2009 with snow thawing on the ground. I feel that sweet contentment of being indoors, in the warmth and coziness of a well-insulated Dutch house. Winter has never been like this, where I grew up — in the subtropics.
I first heard Manuel de Falla’s Danse Espagnole from the opera La Vida Breve at a final exam concert at the Utrecht Conservatory in 2008. I was so taken by it that I invited the Spanish violinist Angel Sanchez Marote and the Okinawan pianist Shumpei Tanahara to play it again in our Monument House Concert Series. [A midsummer afternoon tea concert programme PDF] I asked Angel (pronounced An – hul) where to get the music. He said it was one of many popular arrangements by Fritz Kreisler, available at music book stores. Coincidentally, Robert owned an arrangement for two guitars which he rehearsed with his own duo. His guitar part was 80% the same as the violin part in the violin-piano score I found at a second-hand sheet music store in Amsterdam. Needless to say, it was a matter of time before we adjusted the score for our piano guitar duo.
I was delighted to stumble upon a video clip of Angel playing the Spanish Dance, with a different pianist (below).
The only works in our new programme that are original to piano and guitar are the Grand Duo Concertant and Grand Potpourri National which are long enough to fit a concert by themselves. The former was a collaboration between 33 year old Mauro Giuliani and 19 year old Ignaz Moscheles, and the latter between Giuliani and Johann Nepomuk Hummel. The 25-minute Grand Potpourri National is a joy to play. It contains themes of national anthems of the countries in 1815 when it was written. So far we’ve only managed to identify Rule Britannia and Haydn’s Deutschland Uber Alles which became the Austrian national anthem. We’re told there is also Vive Henri IV (French national anthem). What about the others?
When I met the English guitarist and composer David Harvey in London in 2006, he gave me his arrangement of Piazzolla’s Tango Suite no. 2 (from his guitar duos). It’s only now that we have time to include it in our repertoire. We played it recently for my Rotary Club gathering.
We revisit another great Spanish maestro, the blind composer Joaquin Rodrigo (1901-1999), whose Fantasia para un Gentilhombre took us through all of 2009. This time, we return to his most famous guitar concerto, if not THE most famous of all guitar concertos: the Aranjuez. Robert had arranged the beautiful slow movement for himself as soloist with an ensemble of flute, bassoon, and guitar in an outdoor summer concert which I organised in London (photo below). Since 2002, we’ve considered studying all three movements of the Concierto de Aranjuez, we’ve never been so convinced until now to include it in our program.
Robert Bekkers arrangement of Aranjuez Concerto 2nd movement
Ever since I saw Bizet’s Carmen in Amsterdam, I promised and vowed to make an arrangement of my favourite pieces from this delightful opera. The orchestral score has been sitting on my grand piano for months while I searched for interesting piano solo and duet arrangements. Perhaps my own arrangement for piano and guitar will be the missing second piece in our new programme. That’s my way of getting back into the swing of composing again.
Musicians must practise. Athletes must exercise. Writers must write. Composers must compose. Let them get their ya ya’s out before they do anything else.
Bekkers Piano Guitar Duo photo credit: Olaf Hornes, Utrecht
As soon as I returned home this afternoon, Robert asked if I wanted to rehearse together. He had been editing the last part of our duo CD and not yet practised the guitar.
Meanwhile, there was clean laundry scattered on the bed waiting to be folded and put away.
My to-do list remains endlessly long: decluttering the attic, giving up the 20% that contributes to the 80% of the mess, and everything else that stands in the way of greater productivity. I am tired of writing about this in my daily “free writing” journal. I want to return to that jetsetting existence of living in 5-star boutique hotels where clutter is a foreign word.
I fell back on the bed, exhausted from thinking about all that needs to be done before 2010 creeps through the door.
“I’m tired,” I said. I had gone to bed after 3 am, my eyes glued to the Internet screen while waiting for Robert to finish brewing a new batch of home brewed beer. The two (maximum three) hours he estimated last evening stretched to seven. Let’s hope the new pilsner is worth it.
“C’mon! Shall we finish playing the Grand Potpourri National?” he begged.
“Why don’t you practise by yourself?” I suggested. “You need to get your ya ya’s out.”
Lately I noticed that he was more relaxed after he had time to practise the guitar alone. Deprive him of a few hours of solo practice, such as that Friday when we had to get the house ready for a Christmas party, then he gets easily annoyed….. even by the sound of a violin.
“I got my ya ya’s out already,” I said. Earlier I had spent nearly two hours practising to my heart’s content. I could play the entire Undine Sonata of Reinecke without stopping. It was a joy to revisit Franck’s Sonata in A for violin — but equally for cello and piano. Stacks of new music sit on my piano waiting eagerly for me to devour.
“You’re right,” he lightened up. “I need to get my ya ya’s out!”
Meanwhile, I am getting my ya ya’s out by writing this blog.
“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 five 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 three hours left before I cycle to my Rotary Club dinner in central Utrecht.
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 six-hand piano music at the Helsinki Hilton. Photo: Janne Kettunen
Five minutes before sundown, a lean man in his early fifties approached our table. Our conversation moved slowly much like the sun before it touched the earth. Until it actually skimmed the top of the mountain, the sunset seemed to take forever. The pace quickened as soon as it intersected the dark silhouette of the distant slope.
Five minutes before sundown, a lean man in his early fifties approached our table in the corner cafe at the far southeastern end of the sandy beach of Paleochora. [Note: sometimes the village is spelled without a c, i.e. Paleohora.]
“Hello, do you mind if I sit here?”
Paleochora, Crete at sunset
The evenly tanned man gently pulled out the empty plastic chair next to Robert.
“I just want to see the sunset for a few minutes,” he added politely.
“Sure, please go ahead,” gestured Robert. “We saw you yesterday. We were sitting over there. But all the tables on that side have been taken.”
The fair haired man nodded and explained that he was here with his girlfriend and her family. “It’s open evening tonight, so we’re free to do as we please. She is with her sister, and I am alone.”
He ordered a glass of fresh orange juice while I sipped the special house cocktail containing creme de cacao, Bailey’s, and some exotic ingredients.
“Orange juice is so cheap here. Squeeze two oranges and it’s only two euros! But cappucino is the same price as in Germany.” He gave the waiter two euro fifty.
“Where are you from in Germany?” I asked.
“Freiburg.” It sounded vaguely familiar though I had not been there in any of my dozen visits to his country.
Our casual conversation moved slowly, much like the sun before it touched the earth. Until it actually skimmed the top of the mountain, the sunset seemed to take forever. The pace quickened as soon as it intersected the dark silhouette of the distant slope.
The German had come to Paleochora (pronounced with a silent “c”) some 30 years ago when it was full of hippies living in wooden huts. “You can still run into a few of those ageing hippies. There weren’t apartments or hotels dotting the landscape then.”
He was here on a two week holiday, and sunset was a precious moment.
“Where are you from?” he asked us.
“I’m from Holland,” said Robert and turned to me. “Well, Anne is sort of also. But she can explain.”
As usual, to avoid a difficult question, I tried to summarise it all in one sentence. “I consider myself Chinese although I grew up on an American air base in Okinawa.”
Robert introduced ourselves as a piano guitar duo from the Netherlands.
“Oh?” he seemed interested. “And which instrument do you play?”
“Guitar,” said Robert. “Anne plays the piano. But there’s no piano here.”
“So I didn’t bring my music.”
“Nor your piano, I see. Was it too heavy to carry?”
Robert chuckled. “She would have to be Horowitz to get her piano here!”
The man smiled and volunteered, “I used to play the piano when I was young and then I studied to become a professional violinist.”
He grimaced, “I had to stop because it was hurting my ears. Thankfully I was forced to discontinue. I wouldn’t want to work so hard for so little pay.”
He complained that traveling in a string quartet got boring and playing in an orchestra grew tedious.
“So did you switch to something else that was easy but more rewarding?” I asked.
“Yes,” he leaned back in his chair. “I became a psychologist.”
“How interesting!” I told him about my busy teenage years on Okinawa. I accompanied choirs in school and church, played keyboards in bands, played organ for five weekly church services, and taught 20 private piano students, all before I turned 18. “It was too easy to earn money in music. That’s why I went to study engineering at college.”
“But you’re a professional musician now?” he was puzzled.
“Yes, after working in various non-music fields in different countries, I returned to music, lured by the idea of being paid to do what I loved and not having to follow other people’s agenda or operate to tight deadlines like my previous job as magazine editor.”
Sunset at Paleochora, Crete
The sun had nearly disappeared by then. But we had only just begun the interesting part of our conversation. What kind of psychologist was he? Why did he choose to return to Paleochora after such a long time? Why didn’t he visit other parts of Crete?
We told him that we were actually jealous of musicians who could audition and play in an orchestra.
“It’s hard to get hired as a guitarist,” said Robert. “Even harder as a classical guitarist.”
“And there are so many great pianists out there,” I added. “So here we are — a piano and guitar duo, possibly one of the hardest combinations of instruments. Unlike the violin, the piano and the guitar can’t ease into each other to gradually blend into a single sound. The piano hammers. The guitar plucks. We don’t sustain easily on a single note, like string, wind, or brass instruments.”
“Once we play our note, there’s no turning back,” said Robert. “We have to be exactly synchronised if we’re playing the same note otherwise you’ll hear two instead of one.”
The German psychologist shook his head. It did not make sense anyone would invest in such an impossible feat: to play such seemingly incompatible instruments with steep acoustical challenges and actively having to arrange and commission new music for the duo. Like so many others before him, he was skeptical.
“Perhaps we can continue this conversation tomorrow at sunset?” he suggested.
Yes, of course, we replied.
Meanwhile, he has 24 hours to figure out how we could afford to miss a week of teaching, rehearsing, and performing to come to this island.
Concert Blog 