Transcend the piano, transcend yourself

The United Church of Underhill has three pianos: one in the basement that I did not see, a 1986 Yamaha console upright in the sanctuary, and an old Everett upright grand in the community room behind the altar. The console in the sanctuary, a gift made in memory of an active choir member by her family, is well-maintained and fairly responsive. The big old Everett, a monster from the heyday of the upright grand (roughly a century ago) is less cared-for but still quite stable. It sounds like it would hold a tuning well (it was in decent tune despite its relatively infrequent care) and has a beautiful, rich, evocative sound.

But the concert (#3, May 21, 2022) was on the Yamaha console. It was a good representative of its class, clear, consistent, and in tune. But I struggled to make dynamic contrasts, and the model’s short bass strings couldn’t do justice to the register. While this was sometimes frustrating, it also had paradoxical salutary effects.

Beethoven’s first sonata, dedicated to his sort-of teacher Haydn, is indeed Haydnesque in its lean proportions and thematic economy. But it already evinces the heroic, heaven-storming Beethoven, particularly in the furiously fast finale. 

To put it bluntly, the requisite sounds for Beethoven’s heroic style just weren’t on this piano. In order to approximate the maniacal intensity and dynamic contrasts the piece cries out for, I had (again to be blunt) to play the living hell out of it. This required me to perform with real abandon—and the thing being abandoned was any care or concern about my own abilities. The result was perhaps not a rendition for the ages, but surprisingly strong. The audience was electrified, and my support team, who as musicians were aware of the piano’s limitations, told me they were listening with slack-jawed astonishment.

It reminded me of the time in grad school when I was learning Beethoven’s last sonata. I was practicing it on the Packard* in my basement apartment, one of those grand old uprights like the above-mentioned Everett. It had a big, rich sound, but not as big as demanded by late Beethoven in his full-on chest-beating Titan mode, as in the first movement of op. 111. My friend Justin Davidson, at the time not yet the esteemed music and architecture critic but just some guy with a good ear, opined that the piece sounded in some ways better than on a modern grand, because of how hard I had to struggle to make the piano roar. 

He was right! This wasn’t merely a sentimental romantic conceit, the idea that it is vaguely ennobling to fight to push the machine past its limits. Rather, you play a certain way when you’re sending it, which is very different from how you play when you’re holding back. And Beethoven, even deaf as he was, understood that he was pushing the limits of the small, wood-framed pianos of his time, knew that the passagework and registral leaps and dynamic juxtapositions of his heroic style would require the pianist go all out. Whereas on a modern 9-foot concert grand, the piano simply does what the performer asks, and in places the situation Beethoven had in mind is even inverted: the pianist has to pull back or slow down to keep the piano from overpowering the music.

But right now, in light of my project to become a more present and giving performer, what interests me about this is how having to fight to overcome an instrument’s limitations pulls me out of ego-driven negative thinking into a much purer, more positive frame of mind. Instead of worrying if I am living up to the music, it puts me and Beethoven on the same team: we’re just struggling together to do the best we can with the imperfect instruments we’ve been given. 

*No relation to the car company, though their logos are strikingly similar. I regret that the internet has made it so easy for me to ascertain their non-relation; back in grad school, pre-Google, I assumed the auto manufacturer and instrument maker were the same outfit. (Why not? It’s true for Yamaha and motorcycles.)

 

Ripples and resonance

The Piano Performance Places wiki spinoff idea was born because the idea resonated with other pianists. They could have been protective of the limited opportunities to play in the area, but have chosen instead to be generous in sharing information. Mostly because they are all first-rate human beings…but also because the ideas of expanding opportunities for players, increasing the musical offerings in small places, and of finding more localized ways of touring, all spoke to an existing desire.

The Play Every Town tour is showing signs of reverberating beyond my 252 performances in other ways as well. I’m planning what will be our first school concert with a former student who is now the instrumental music instructor there. I invited her and her vocal-music colleague to perform with me in a piece or two. She said good, her students know the she and her co-teacher play and sing, but their students haven’t heard them perform and it was time they should. In another town, the librarian hopes that our performance there will be a catalyst to advance dormant plans to fix up the piano and disused town hall auditorium above the library.

My project is just 252 pebbles dropped in a little pond. They’ll make their small splash, which might even ripple a ways. But those ripples will quickly subside—unless there’s resonance (lit. “sounding again”). If the pebbles drop at the right frequency, the waves will match the pond’s natural reverberance, and if that happens, the results are astonishingly powerful.

This is how I’m learning to think about individual actions to address the climate crisis. Yes, we need drastic, and drastically sudden, changes at a level that can only be effected by government policy. And because our governments have been thoroughly captured by industry, this will require a fundamental change in how we are governed: a revolution. But individual action is still important. Not because “if everyone did that, it would really add up” (there isn’t time for that; it won’t add up fast enough) but because individual actions, if they resonate, can have non-linear impacts. But only if we are vocal about them.

How to book 251 concerts, part 5: Other pianists

An obvious source of information on piano venues that I somehow left out of my preliminary list of networks: other pianists. I’ve received expert advice from Michael Arnowitt, who spent decades living and playing all over Vermont before moving to Toronto, Claire Black, who has been here on and off since 2012, and Tom Cleary, who has lived and played in Vermont most off his life. These three pianists sent detailed notes on several dozen options ranging from house concerts to opera houses. No doubt I’ll learn of many more from other Vermont pianists.

I was assiduously pasting their copious notes into our 252-town spreadsheet when the coin dropped. Why not make this a public wiki document? I could retain info on alternatives even after I’ve chosen a venue, with notes about the space, piano make and condition, contact info, etc. We could share this with pianists and promoters, spreading the knowledge base and also deepening it with user input, perhaps encouraging more pianists to play more concerts in more places.

One goal of the Play Every Town project is to contribute the vibrancy of village and town centers—a precious and valued resource in Vermont, but imperiled here as everywhere by the discount store at the edge of town, Netflix at home, and (anti)social media online. Sometimes this feels like a self-important notion: one concert is not a sustained contribution to a town’s cultural activity. Perhaps playing all 252 goes a bit farther, making a symbolic statement of support for town and village activity.

In this connection, the idea of a Piano Performance Places wiki spinoff is exciting to me—a way for the current project to resonate beyond its original scope.

Existentialism on the boards

I’ve reiterated the “public” goals of this project on my website, in interviews, and from the stage: to support Vermont’s community centers and to make a statement about the unsustainability of  routine long-distance travel. But there’s another personal goal: to see if, after almost 50 years of performing if not exactly sporadically, anyway not on a sustained weekly basis, I can at last become really comfortable on stage, to learn to perform at the level I’m capable of when playing in private. 

When I tell people this, they say “ah yes, desensitization”. That’s certainly a big piece of it. You can only get really worked up about a thing so many times, and when you normalize an activity, it usually starts to feel more normal. Also, every time your worst fears fail to be realized—you stumble but don’t fall...or maybe now and then you do! but it doesn’t kill you, and no one even laughs—those fears start to recede.

Another thing is simply that you have to practice whatever it is you want to get good at. No amount of practicing will make you an expert performer if you don’t also practice performing.

And there’s a third way this project is helping me “get over myself”. Some people counsel nervy performers that the quality of their musical performance isn’t such a big deal; it’s not a matter of life and death. But downplaying the significance of aesthetic excellence negates the passion and dedication necessary for artistic achievement. After all, from lots of pretty convincing philosophical angles, in the grand scheme of things nothing matters. But if nothing matters, why bother? Things matter because we decide they matter, which seems good, but then we’re stuck caring about them. How can you care so much and not care too much at the same time?

Conceptualizing a performance as one of an anticipated set of over 250 allows for a kind of end-run around this paradox for me. I get to care, but at the same time it’s clear that each individual performance of comparatively little significance. Whatever happens, there are hundreds more coming to average it out. And there’s little time to brood: I can’t sit and stew about how I played Scarlatti’s K.2 and K.162 in Brownington, I have just 5 days to learn K.3 and K.51 for Underhill. 

A cool bonus is that, unlike desensitization and mastery through repetition, this third way of overcoming performance anxiety can work immediately. Already in the second performance, I was not just intellectually but viscerally aware that this concert was just one brick in a much larger edifice. And while it certainly helps that these 252 concerts constitute an integral project, this ought to be workable for a performer in any situation: every concert is (just) the first concert of the rest of your life.

How to book 251 concerts, part 4: Cultivate advance publicity

When I began thinking about this project, I scheduled a discussion with the incomparable Natalie Neuert (Director of UVM’s Lane Series and Lecturer in arts management) and Lane’s Operations Manager Katie Masterson to get their general advice on promotion and logistics. 

Going into our meeting, I had imagined that media interest would start to trickle in only after I had played a few dozen concerts. “Guy Says He’s Going To Do A Thing” did not sound to me like a story that would attract media attention.

Natalie and Katie had a completely different take. They advised me to go for maximum startup splash with a launch concert in a prominent, populous venue and with press release, website, and other PR machinery in full gear before the kickoff.

And they were right. (This is why Natalie teaches Arts Management and I teach Fundamentals of Music Theory.) As result of our PR push, we had a top-of-homepage web story from UVM Communications, a video preview from the UVM Center for Vermont Studies, a feature article in Vermont’s largest daily, a half-hour interview on Vermont’s most prominent private talk radio station, and a feature on the area’s most-watched TV news station, all before the first downbeat. (Vermont Public Radio and Seven Days, Vermont’s largest weekly, are coming up in the next week or two.)

The primary goal of all this publicity, from our perspective, was not personal glory (though I’ll take any I can get). It was rather to build awareness and buzz around the project so as to open doors when we knock on them asking presenters to make their spaces available (for free) and to promote the programs. And it worked! Better still, it has led to a couple dozen unsolicited offers (and counting)—some unimaginably cool, that we might never have otherwise found.

This is a good moment to mention the best thing about working for a university: collaborating with great faculty colleagues, brilliant students (Katie is a 2021 Music Technology and Business graduate and my advisee, and there's also a team of three current MTB majors working with me), and support staff who are exquisitely skilled and generous (despite being woefully undercompensated—are you listening, UVM admin?). 

How to book 251 concerts, part 3: Tap into networks

The challenge of this project is not just finding 251 places to play, but wherever possible, places with a playable acoustic piano. To locate them, we’re tapping into various networks.

Piano technicians. The Piano Technicians Guild has a Vermont Chapter. If there’s a piano that’s being taken decent care of, one of the Guild members is probably taking care of it. The President and Secretary couple of Justin and Emily Rose kindly posted a blanket inquiry to the Guild’s listserv that has led to useful tips on where to find pianos in out-of-the-way places, or where the best pianos are in place with several to choose from. In particular, technicians know about pianos in private homes that might not otherwise be easy to discover.

Librarians. Ironically, perhaps, town libraries are a frequently where a decent piano meets a public space. (I’ll play quietly.)

Music educators. Schools often have a piano in a big room, if not an auditorium. Much of Vermont’s population is rural and aging, so most towns belong to consolidated school districts that share a high school, middle school, or even elementary school with several other towns. This gives union school music teachers a central role and bird’s-eye view of the music scene in multiple towns. So far that has proven enormously helpful in getting information about a multi-town region quickly. Also, we are aiming to include collaborations with local musicians wherever possible, and music teachers know the musically active current and past students. The same is true of many church music directors, who may serve in multiple towns, or whose churches may have congregants from a broad area.

Town Clerks. When I started thinking about this project, Freddie Hart, who coordinated the Vermont Symphony’s Project 251 in the 1980s, told me to “talk to the Town Clerks”. That makes sense: in my town of Huntington, long-time Town Clerk Heidi Racht is the person who, put simply, knows everyone and everything. (Actually, she splits the role of omniscient ombudsperson with Linda Pecor, who runs Beaudry’s, the general store.) So far, though, we haven’t reached out to Clerks. I think the fact that one can do an internet text or map search on a town together with likely prospects such as “church” or “library” or “grange” has made the Town Clerks’ living knowledge a less obviously essential starting point. 

You know, as I wrote that last sentence, it felt quite sad and contrary to the community, humanist spirit of the project. Time to close the computer and start calling Clerks!

Out with the old

Last night was the launch concert. After all the non-music-related preparation of the past couple of months, it felt good to get to it. 

The program was half old, half new to me. The Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Brahms, and two Scarlatti sonatas were first performances. The first half of the concert, my Bach “Double Suite”, I had played on my first-ever UVM concert and a few times before and after. (Here I am playing it on digital piano at a 2010 conference in Paris.) It’s virtuosic but familiar. I thought that programming it would give me some breathing room, given how preoccupied I knew I would be with project setup logistics, and function as a “safe” foundation to ground me from any anxiety about performing the new repertoire.

But the result was the exact opposite. I had more memory lapses and other extended glitches in the first half than at any concert over the past 30 years. I actually had to restart the Partita’s Courante after a false start. That can be ascribed largely to a special circumstance: I had just taken a brief unrehearsed speaking break to talk about Bach’s famous 280-mile walk (each way) from Arnstadt to Lübeck, to make a point about the dubious “necessity” of rapid long-distance travel to advance musical culture (and Bach didn’t even have the internet). My loss of focus came partly from jumping in after an unscripted chat, and partly from the anxiety of “coming out” in public, in person, as an evangelist for non-flying. Still, whatever the extenuating circumstances, overall the first half came closer than ever to validating performance anxieties which my rational brain had been telling me were phantasmagoric bugaboos.

And then, in the second half, with all the new rep, I was in the groove. I was able to let myself be in the moment more than I’ve been able to for any longish solo performance stretch in recent memory. (Being in the moment is the only way to fully realize one’s musicality, but can be scary because letting go of intention and forethought opens up the possibility of going completely off the rails.) It’s like skiing (also a challenge for me): paradoxically, the way to real control is to let go, to trust your body and gravity and send it.

From this experience, I can choose between two takeaways:

1. Yup, your impostor fears are grounded! You really don’t know what you’re doing. Sorry!
2. You’re on your game when playing music you’re most recently excited about and invested in. Keep on learning lots of new music!

Since I’ve committed to another 251 concerts over the next 4.5 years, I think I’ll go with Door #2.

P.S. All the above notwithstanding, the crowd was warm and appreciative, even of the first half. My favorite comment on this eclectic program: “When you have that, who needs Spotify?”

P.P.S. For another take on this concert, including a remarkably positive take on memory lapses, here is my wife’s write-up (guaranteed 100% unbiased).

Good Omens

As I’ve mentioned, even ahead of the first concert it’s been inspiring how enthusiastic people are to help. Advance publicity has served as we hoped, to draw out all sorts of suggestions of interesting locations or situations. 

Then yesterday, the eve of the launch concert, I got an email that read like something made up for the movie adaptation of this project:

Dear Professor Feurzeig,

I saw your interview on WCAX on Monday this week and was immediately intrigued.

We are a small, pre-K through 8th grade, elementary school in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. We are in an economically challenged part of the state, yet, over the last five years, with community support, we have developed a thriving band and strings (violin and cello) program for our students in grades 3-8. Every student in those grades has had at least two years of violin lessons and followed up with either a choice of strings or traditional band instruments. That means we have 68 students who currently and actively play instruments. This began when a community member sponsored our first band attempt, by paying for the overhaul of donated instruments (of which we now have over 20 instruments that we own and maintain so students don't have to rent). The school board voted to launch the strings program in the spring of 2018 by authorizing me to locate an instructor and secure rental of instruments. Since then, we have purchased over 20 violins and 3 cellos. In the winter of 2020, we were given a baby grand piano, and in the fall of 2021, we were given a 3/4 double bass. As you can tell, we are developing a strong musical vibe here at Miller's Run School.

When I saw your interview, I immediately reached out to our music teachers Lydia Ham and and Rachel Kish about inviting you and offering to host your performance here...

Sincerely,
Patrick Ham, principal

Just wow. Maybe a concerto for student band and ringer pianist? Or who knows what. I can’t wait to talk to the music teachers to find out more about the possibilities. 

I’m verklempt. The project is turning into a genuinely #NotMeUs adventure. For all the encouraging exchanges I’ve had so far and all the cool possibilities floated—playing in Derby Line seated at the keyboard in Canada with the audience in the US (the project logo come to life!), maybe accompanying François “Officer” Clemmons from Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood in Middlebury—this latest invitation marks the beginning of a new level. It’s like everything just went into color. 

Omnia mutantur, nihil interit

Essex Junction, until now a village within the town of Essex,* just voted to become Vermont’s tenth city. On July 1, 2022, it will legally separate from the Town of Essex and bring the number of recognized Vermont municipalities to 252. 

As for my cute little scheme to introduce each Scarlatti sonata with II-V-I progressions? Unfortunately, the “II-V-II” progression is not much of a thing. But the 251 Club says they’re not going to change their name, so I guess I can stick with my harmonic plan too.

The citification of Essex Junction also means Vermont’s municipalities tally will go from a prime to a run-of-the-mill even number. One consolation for us numerology geeks: including the four unincorporated gores and grants (not part of the usual tally) will now bring the total to 256, which is a power of 2. I’ve been wondering anyway if I ought to play these places (Averys Gore, Buels Gore, Warrens Gore, Warners Grant). If not, there will be white patches forever remaining on my map, so maybe that’s what I’ll do. But right now, with zero concerts yet played, this is definitely a “worry later” problem.

*In Vermont, “towns” are large-ish areas defined by boundaries that were mostly set arbitrarily by distant power brokers in New Hampshire or New York, usually long before there was much European settlement within those borders. “Villages” are clustered settlements within towns: the places you’ll probably find a church and maybe a general store, town hall, railway station (as in Essex Junction) etc.. Towns can have multiple villages. Villages can be incorporated or unincorporated, but in either case they are still a part of their surrounding town and are not counted in the tally of Vermont’s 251 (soon 252) distinct municipalities.  

A modest success

It’s still a few days before the first concert, and already we’ve had an advance feature in Vermont’s largest daily, one on the area’s pre-eminent TV station, a half-hour interview on the most-listened-to private radio station, and a feature in the state’s largest weekly scheduled for a couple weeks from now. Plus feelers from two prominent national publications (not naming names so as not to jinx or oversell). 

I thought this might happen, but still the irony is not lost on me: my decision to play in Vermont as opposed to higher-profile venues is turning into the most high-profile project I’ve undertaken.