Showing posts with label personality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personality. Show all posts

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Kevin Kenner: Contract between Human Virtuoso and Virtuosic Instrument

Kevin Kenner
T    here is an urbane, worldly aspect to Chopin’s style that partly accounts for his immense popularity. It has also given him a bad name among amateurs who take their music earnestly. Chopin’s urbanity has two strongly contrasting facets: (1) a virtuoso ‘glitter’—above all, the use of fast, brilliant passage work in the upper reaches of the piano; and (2) a fashionable sentimentality, employed directly and openly, without humor—there is, in fact, irony and wit but no trace of humor in Chopin’s music; neither the diabolical humor of Liszt, nor the ambiguous poetic humor of Schumann.”
  —  Charles Rosen, The Romantic Generation, p. 383.
P ianist Kevin Kenner’s performance last night was dramatic and graceful.

  • Chopin: Andante spianato, Op. 22
  • Chopin: Scherzo No. 1 in B minor, Op. 20
  • Chopin: Scherzo No. 2 in B-flat minor, Op. 31
  • Chopin: Scherzo No. 3 in C-sharp minor, Op. 39
  • Chopin: Scherzo No. 4 in E major, Op. 54
  • Schumann: Carnaval, Op. 9
  • Chopin: Variations in A major ‘Souvenir de Paganini’, B. 37 (encore)
K enner ardently addresses himself to the piano, much like we imagine Chopin might have done: his poetic disposition is not ‘contemplative’ so much as ‘speculative’ or ‘fanciful’; not ‘tender’ so much as ‘intimate’; not ‘impulsive’ so much as resolvedly ‘intent’ upon eliciting a specific response.

I n other words, not ‘sentimental’ but ‘romantic’.

H    ow often do I tell my piano all that I should like to impart to you! ... How much more will my piano have to weep?”
  —  Frederick Chopin, 1829, letter to lover (quoted in Niecks).
T hese pieces, I think, reveal the capabilities of the new Steinway instrument that Friends of Chamber Music has recently acquired, as much as they reveal the powers of the executant (Kenner). The program in fact offered an extended opportunity to reflect on romantic piano idioms, and on the nature of a performer’s rapport with genre and instrument.

J ust as Kallberg (link below) some years ago noted that there is an implied ‘contract’ between the performer and the listener, there (inevitably?) is an implied ‘contract’ between the performer/composer and the instrument: the performer agrees to use certain conventions, patterns, and gestures, and the instrument consents to render them under an agreed set of terms and conditions—generously accomodating some aspects of them; withholding others—in a way that is consistent with the genre and aesthetic intent of the performer.

B oth Kenner and the instrument admirably fulfilled their bargain* with each other last night. Bravo!

(*The ‘agreement’ is, of course, not just one agreement, nor is it executed in advance. In fact, it is a chain of ongoing, inter-related agreements and renewals and codasils, negotiated and renegotiated on a tens-of-milliseconds time-scale.)


    [50-sec clip, Kevin Kenner, Frederick Chopin, ‘Scherzo No. 3 in C-sharp minor, Op. 39’, 1.6MB MP3]

I n Kenner’s passages of prodigious Chopinian speed, you can hear the piano ‘speak’. In the case of Chopin Scherzos, the piano doubtless speaks Polish, admonishing the performer of more dangerous ‘curves’ ahead.

Kevin Kenner
C    hopin’s sadism is usually more subtle than that of his contemporaries, and in most of his work actual pain is associated with emotional violence... the moment of greatest emotional tension is generally the one that stretches the hand most painfully, so that the muscular sensation becomes—even without the piano’s sound—a mimesis of passion.”
  —  Charles Rosen, The Romantic Generation, p. 382.




Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Vadim Gluzman: Mixtures of Human Virtuoso plus Virtuosic Instrument

 Improvviso in re minore, mm. 25-30
V    adim Gluzman believes the violin has a living soul and, from the pile of performance reviews on my desk as well as from my own ears, I believe he knows something about how to give it breath.”
  —  Laurie Niles, Violinist.
I    t has this unbelievable G string, it sounds like a del Gesu or a viola—dark, dark, dark; huge! If you think about both Glazunov and Tchaikovsky concerti, they both start on (A3) first position on the G string. Both were written for this violin.”
  —  Vadim Gluzman, interview with Laurie Niles, Violinist.
M y regular employment involves engineering—informatics and computer science mostly, but occasionally chemical engineering as well. Recently, I was working on a project that involved calculating percentages of different dissolved compounds to achieve an optimal net chemical reaction rate.

I  began, then, to daydream about how it is that we realize when a particular instrument is especially apt for us; how we realize when a particular piece of music is apt for us; how we choose combinations of these. Sometimes we realize this when we attempt to switch and try to play on an instrument (try to dissolve into a “solution”) that is less apt for us (in which we are less “soluble”), or when we attempt to play a piece of music that is less apt for us. Sometimes, we realize this when we serendipitously find an instrument that suits us particularly well, or encounter a piece that lies well under our “hand”, on account of cognitive and biomechanics reasons that we may or may not understand or be able to explain to others.

I n principle, could these highly subjective things be objectively measured? After all, enthalpies of transfer (ΔHtr) of electrolytes from one solvent into another solvent are routinely determined by comparing enthalpies of solution in the two solvents, where solid electrolyte is dissolved in each solvent and the heat exchange is measured. Sometimes, the reverse method is used (in which ΔHtr is derived from enthalpy of precipitation measurements, where electrolyte that was dissolved is caused to come out of solution as a solid precipitate). Waveform (enthalpic and entropic—) analysis of back-to-back digital recordings of Vadim Gluzman moving from Nino Rota to J.S. Bach? Put musicians and instruments in giant, room-sized bomb calorimeters and measure per-minute heat flux normalized to time-average identical sound emission?

O f course, musicians and instruments and compositions are not molecules or bulk-phase ensembles of large numbers of molecules, but nonetheless the statistical mechanics of solutions—the effects and the equations that are involved in these—are suggestive of phenomena we recognize when we are mixing musicians, instruments, and compositions. It is only half-serious, my daydream…

 Fugacity of mixture

D o the components in mixtures of performer, instrument, and composition each have a property analogous to what, in chemistry, would be called ‘fugacity’? Suppose the answer is ‘Yes’: Performers-as-solutes; instruments-as-solutes; compositions-as-solvents; concert halls, recordings, etc., as ‘vessels’ to contain the resulting solutions.

 Improvviso in re minore, mm. 49-54

B orn in Ukraine, violinist Vadim Gluzman began playing with a remarkable fugacity at age seven. When he was 16 his family moved to Israel and he continued his studies at the Rubin Academy of Music in Tel Aviv and later with Dorothy DeLay at Juilliard. At age 19, he arrived in Dallas, where he was a participant in the New Conservatory summer music program and subsequently became a student of Arkady Fomin at Southern Methodist University. Vadim Gluzman plays the 1690 ex-Leopold Auer Stradivari on loan from the Stradivari Society of Chicago. He is currently on the faculty of Roosevelt University. Vadim’s wife, pianist Angela Yoffe, was recognized as a high-fugacity musician-in-the-making at age four. She studied in the Darzinia School of Music in Riga, the Rubin Academy of Music in Tel Aviv and the Meadows School of the Arts in Dallas. Vadim and Angela perform as infinitely-miscible co-solutes all over the world and have recorded for Koch International and Bis.

 Vadim and Angela

N ino Rota’s solvent, ‘Improvviso in D minor,’ provides frequent exposure of A3 and other high-fugacity notes for the ex-Leopold Auer Strad, which facilitates Angela Yoffee’s accompaniment on her Steinway with an emphatic, dark lower register and nice miking on the recording.

 Improvviso in re minore, mm. 61-64


    [50-sec clip, Vadim Gluzman and Angela Yoffe, Nino Rota, ‘Improvviso in re minore, 1947’, 1.6MB MP3]

 Improvviso in re minore, mm. 65-70

I mprovviso in D minor was composed in 1947, for the Gianni Franciolini / Carlo Ponti film ‘d’Amanti senza amore’ [Lovers without Love], adapted from Tolstoy’s novel, ‘Kreutzer Sonata’. Inharmonious doctor (played by Rolando Dupi) impulsively marries harmony-craving pianist (played by Clara Calamai)…

 Improvviso in re minore, mm. 82-87

T he marriage is unhappy, and a despondent Calamai attempts suicide, only to be stopped by clueless Dupi. Desperate for real companionship, Calamai makes friends with the violinist (played by Jean Servais). Dupi suspects that his wife is having an affair, but when he obtusely discusses the matter with Servais, he discovers the suspicions are groundless.

S adly, Dupi realizes this after he has already murdered his pianist-wife.

C lara Calamai was 33 and Jean Servais was 38 when they played these roles, and Nino Rota was 36 years old when he composed this film music. Gluzman’s and Yoffe’s age, speed, passion, and fearlessness are especially well-matched (1) to Rota’s gypsy conceit, including its defiant, ‘diabolical’ coda, and (2) to the robust sonic preferences of their respective instruments.

G reat solution ‘chemistry’!

 Servais-Gluzman-Calamai-Yoffe
A    ll violin sonatas are microtonal. ;-)”
  —  Steve Gregoropoulos, 27-FEB-2010, FaceBook.



Saturday, January 26, 2008

Neurodiversity: Borromeo Quartet Brings Beethoven’s Op. 130 + Op. 133 Temperament to Life

Borromeo Quartet, photo Steiner
I n but one extraordinary passage, marked ‘beklemmt’, does the first violin break into a kind of anguished recitative whose obstreperous rhythm challenges the solemn gait of the lower instruments and threatens to rupture the music asunder. The emotion is purged, however, and the violin rejoins its companions to murmur once again the theme of the opening. Beethoven left the question of the Quartet’s finale unsettled, so that the work may be performed with either the Große Fuge of the original version or the substitute Rondo movement that he provided for it shortly before his death. This latter movement, a splendid piece of music, was written in the manner of continuous thematic expansion and development that was central to the style of his last years. With its thrusting rhythms and brief returns of its Gypsy-tinged opening theme, the movement has about it a … stubborn unwillingness to be bent into the tonic key of B-flat major.”
  —  Richard Rodda, 2005.
I ts official title is really a misnomer, for the movement incorporates an introduction, a double fugue, a slower and only mildly contrapuntal section brought about with an abrupt modulation from B-flat to G-flat, a scherzo that is soon overwhelmed by a resumption of the fiercest fugal developments, followed by a stream of afterthoughts and retrospects.”
  —  Denis Matthews.
G reat wits are sure to madness near allied—
And thin partitions do their bounds divide.”
  —  John Dryden, 1662.
W ell, if you ask writers and artists who have depression, severe depression or manic depression, what they feel is important to them about their illness and their moods in their work, what they almost always focus upon is the intensity and the range of emotional expressiveness. Learning from the pain and from the suffering, they experience the sorrow, they experience the despair of the nihilism and so forth. And on the other hand, very ecstatic and visionary states. So that’s what artists and writers focus upon. I think it’s a lot more complicated than that. I think it’s also that people with manic depressive illness who have a particular temperament live a life of almost seemingly irreconcilable differences and opposite states that they somehow, on a day to day basis, have to reconcile. So people who have very disciplined and interesting and strong and creative minds, who also have this temperament, spend their lives having to make some order out of chaos and reconcile these opposite states. I think that a lot of what we ask from artists really is to experience extreme mood states, experience the extremes of human nature and experience, and put some new meaning and redemptive value in their work.”
  —  Kay Redfield Jamison, Live from Lincoln Center.
In late 1822, Prince Nikolas Galitzin of Russia commissioned several string quartets from Beethoven. Beethoven was preoccupied with work on the Missa Solemnis, Op. 123; the Diabelli Variations, Op. 120; and the Ninth Symphony, Op. 125, and delayed delivering the B-flat quartet and Große Fugue until 1825. Galitzin was understandably annoyed by the delays. He wasn’t chopped liver.

What’s more, in this third installment on the commission Galitzin got these six movements, including the two strange slow movements and the giant, fierce 16-minute Fuge. The two fugue subjects here are not playing nicey-nicey. They’re rhetorical adversaries, struggling with each other in musical armed conflict, taking no prisoners. There are winners and there’re losers.

The unhappy public reception of Op. 130 with the Fuge attached as-written led to the substitution of the alternate finale to Op. 130, the Rondo, which turned out to be Beethoven’s last finished composition. The deal was, Beethoven would provide the substitute Rondo on condition that the withdrawn Große Fuge would be issued separately, and Beethoven would get an additional fee. Right. The fugue was published posthumously as Op. 133. Why was the final release as Op. 133 delayed until after Beethoven had died? Who was the cause of the delays, and what were their motives? And how many composers today could engage their patrons in this way? The recklessness and extravagance of it are mind-boggling! Crazy!

In December, I did a post on bipolar (manic-depressive) illness and musical creativity. The occasion of last night’s performance by the Borromeo Quartet made me wonder once more about the diversity of varieties of depression that give rise to composers’ output. Several varieties are, I think, manifested in this Beethoven Quartet. Have a look at Larkin’s nice chapter in Cooper’s book on Beethoven for some extended analysis of signs and symptoms in Beethoven’s later life and works.

The Borromeo Quartet outdid themselves in last night’s incarnation of this wonderful, emotional work. The deep perplexity of the human condition was “in there”, in their performance of Op. 130 + Op. 133. The Rondo in place of the amputated Große Fuge? Somehow, it just doesn’t seem right. It’s a shame that Beethoven suffered so that we might have this work. And it’s possible that, back in his time, nothing could’ve been done to treat his condition or mitigate his suffering. But today the question is, ought such symptoms to be under-treated, so that we might have more works like this? Ought such symptoms to be medically induced, as a form of composer performance-enhancement?

P revailing conceptions of creativity in psychology and psychiatry derive from romanticist ideas about the creative imagination—they differ considerably from notions that are central in modernism and postmodernism. Whereas romanticism views creative inspiration as a highly emotional, Dionysian, or primitive state, modernism and postmodernism emphasize processes involving hyper-selfconsciousness and alienation (hyperreflexivity). Although manic-depressive or cyclothymic tendencies seem especially suited to creativity of the romantic sort, schizoid, schizotypal, schizophreniform, and schizophrenic tendencies have more in common with the anti-romantic sensibilities of modernism and postmodernism. I criticize the book by Kay Redfield Jamison, ‘Touched With Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament’, for treating romantic concepts of creativity as if they defined creativity in general. I argue that Jamison’s denial or neglect of the creative potential of persons in the schizophrenia spectrum relies on certain diagnostic oversimplifications: an overly broad conception of affective illness and an excessively narrow conception of schizophrenia that ignores the creative potential of the schizophrenia spectrum.”
  —  L Sass, Creativity Research J 2000; 13: 55-74.
T  aking the new antidepressants, some of my patients said they found themselves more ‘confident’ and ‘decisive’. Is this, I wonder, a categorically ‘good’ thing? I used these claims as a jumping-off point for speculation: what if future medications had the potential to modify personality traits in people who had never experienced mood disorder? [Drugs like MK-801, for example.] If doctors were given access to such drugs, how should they prescribe them? The inquiry moved from medical ethics to social criticism: what does our culture demand of us, in the way of assertiveness? What is the price of conformity?”
  —  Peter Kramer, There’s Nothing ‘Deep’ about Depression, 2005.

    Nine Temperament Characteristics
  • Activity level refers to the amount of physical energy in the child. Does the child have to be constantly moving or do they have a relaxing approach?
  • Regularity / Rhythmicity refers to the level of predictability in a child’s biological functions such as waking, becoming tired, feeding.
  • Approach / Withdrawal refers to how the child responds to new people or environments either positive or negative. Does the child check out people or things in their environment without hesitation or do they shy away?
  • Adaptability refers to how long it takes the child to adjust to change. Does the child adjust to the changes in their environment easily or are they resistant to what is happening around them?
  • Intensity refers to the energy level of a positive or negative response. Does the child react intensely to a situation or do they respond in a calm and quiet manner?
  • Mood refers to the child’s general tendency towards a happy or unhappy demeanor.
  • Distractibility refers to the child’s tendency to be sidetracked by other things going on around them. Does the child get easily distracted by what is happening in the environment around them or can they concentrate despite the interruptions?
  • Persistence & Attention Span refers to the child’s ability to stay with a task through frustrations and length of time on the task. Can the child stay with an activity for a long period of time or do they just give up when they become frustrated?
  • Sensitivity refers to how easily a child is disturbed by changes in their environment. Does the child get bothered by external stimuli in their environment such as noises, textures, lights, etc. or do they just seem not to be bothered by them at all?

Kagan & Snidman, Long Shadow of Temperament

 Borromeo Quartet, photo Linder


Saturday, October 20, 2007

Groh’s Liszt: How ‘Originalist’ Is Originalism Anyway?

Markus Groh, Liszt CD
At alternate turns, it’s implausible and then incontrovertible that Groh is an ‘originalist’ in his interpretations (that is, his playing aspires to faithfully render the original intent of the composer). His superb performance in the Friends of Chamber Music’s Master Pianists’ Series last night provided an excellent opportunity to assess this. He played Brahms’ Op. 1 and Op. 119, followed by Liszt’s Sonata in B minor. First, listen to his playing. Then, if you get a chance, by all means speak with him about it.

Groh’s performance of the Liszt Sonata last night was thrilling, rich with meaning and implication but never descending into sentimentalism or over-the-top theatricality. In this, Groh was the epitome of a dry ‘Romantic’s Romantic’ for the appreciative Kansas City audience attending the concert at the Folly Theater.

Markus Groh
In 1844, Heinrich Heine heard Liszt play in Paris, as did Henri Blanchard. They wondered at the ‘frenetic enthusiasm stemming from disturbances pressed on the nervous systems’ of the audience and the performer and wrote that such enthusiasm must owe more to pathology than to aesthetics (Gooley, p. 208). Yes, Groh’s playing is fervent—at times, frenetic, even. But by contrast to variable public reception of Liszt’s playing, the listeners’ response to Groh’s reserved, controlled interpretation is empathetic and fully invested. The aesthetic pendulum swings. If, say, Liszt’s was a frenetic reaction to the dryness of Czerny’s playing, a renunciation of the style of his teacher—then Groh’s account of Liszt may be a renunciation of self-indulgence, extravagance, and narscissism—of whatever qualities Liszt displayed in the performances that earned him the bad marks.

The appropriate fusion of sadness and tranquility is there. And the vehemence and fervor are there when they should be. But Groh’s playing is not self-referential. His account of the Sonata is, essentially, an extroverted one: one conveying complete immediacy—touching his audience, inviting us to enter into the music, not withdrawing from the world or carping about unrequited attentions and alienation.

‘Originalism’ in the law takes each construction to mean what it would have been understood to mean by any intelligent but ordinary person who was a contemporary of the author/composer—any ordinary person familiar with then-current legal issues and the background of common law. That doesn’t mean taking everything hyper-literally, though, because such over-strict constructions will not turn out to match how the ordinary person would have understood it. As in the law, so it is in music with Groh’s rendering of Liszt. His scholarship regarding the biography and psychology of Liszt is impressive, but he doesn’t wear it on his sleeve. Despite his burgeoning career and critical acclaim, Groh modestly presents his views on what the passages mean to him. He argues from evidence, cogently and patiently—this despite a long day’s travel, an ambitious and exhausting performance, and the diplomatic demands of an after-concert dinner.

L iszt’s reception in Paris requires an occasional turn to the narrative historical mode. His relationship to the French capital extends from 1824, when he arrived as a prodigy, to at least 1845, when he tried to make an impact with his Beethoven Cantata. His struggle to maintain a reputation in Paris over this long period is a tormented narrative, filled with upswings and downswings, ill-willed plotters, heated confrontations, and an outcome with a nearly tragic protagonist. This narrative is valuable for challenging the myth of Liszt’s easy victory over contemporary audiences and critics. The Parisian story reveals just how self-consciously he was managing his public identity. He tailored his repertory and ticketing practices to particular audiences... The Liszt that emerges from the Parisian narrative is a strategist, working within the constraints of a skeptical public to maximize his impact as a virtuoso.”
  —  Dana Gooley, p. 12.

Liszt, Groh says, undoubtedly had his different moods. He surely must’ve changed his mind from time to time. “Everyone has this right. The crossed-out bars in the original ending of the Sonata, for example. When were these crossed-out and replaced with the subdued ending as we know it today? Who now can really be certain whether this change was [a result of interior thoughts or whether, instead, a response to audience reaction to early performances]? I am more conscious of the latter possibility since my association with Michal Schmidt in New York. The importance of careful calibration of public image and communication with one’s audience cannot be over-emphasized.”

Liszt Sonata in B minor, quiet ending

    [50-sec clip, Markus Groh, Liszt Sonata in B minor,
     Lento Assai, last 11 mm, 1MB MP3]

T he interpreter is really an executant, carrying out the composer’s intentions to the letter. He oughtn’t add anything that isn’t already in the work. If he’s talented, he allows us to glimpse the truth of the work that is in itself a thing of genius and that is reflected in him. He shouldnt dominate the music, but should dissolve into it. I don’t think that my way of playing has ever changed. Or if it has, I didn’t notice, Perhaps I simply started to play with greater freedom as I threw off the shackles of existence and rejected the superfluous and all that distracts us from the essential. It is by shutting myself away that I’ve found freedom. I might have had doubts about the extent to which I managed to play what I intended, but from the beginning I was always certain that, for each work, it was in this way, and no other, that it had to be played. Why? It’s very simple: because I looked closely at the score. That’s all that's required to reflect what it contains. Kurt Sanderling once said of me: ‘Not only can he play well, he can also read music.’ That wasn’t such a bad way of putting it.”
  —  Sviatoslav Richter.

Textualism is a formalist theory of statutory interpretation which holds that a statute's ordinary meaning should govern its interpretation, as opposed to inquiries into non-textual sources such as the intention of the legislature in passing the law, the problem it was intended to remedy, or substantive questions of the justice and rectitude of the law. Likewise in music.
T  he other work he gave me to practice during my first year was Liszt’s Sonata. The essential point about this piece, he taught me, was the silences—the sound of the silences... What does the beginning consist of, in fact? A single note; that’s all: a G. What can you do to ensure that this miserable G sounds somehow special? Here's what I do: I come out onto the stage. I sit down and I don’t move a muscle. I create a sense of emptiness within myself. In my head, I count up to thirty, very slowly. This causes panic in the audience. What is happening? Is he ill? Then, and only then, I play the G. In this way, the note sounds totally unexpected, but in an intentional way. Clearly, there's a sort of theatricality about all this, but the theatrical element seems to me very important. It’s essential if you want to create a feeling of unexpectedness. I know lots of pianists who play splendidly, who serve everything up on a plate. You know in advance what's on the menu. It’s good, but...”
  —  Sviatoslav Richter.

The original form of ‘originalism’ was known as intentionalism, or ‘original intent,’ and entailed applying laws based on the subjective intention of the text’s authors. The intentionalist methodology involves studying the writings of the author/composer for clues as to their intent. Groh works from the evidence in Liszt’s score, in a copy of the original manuscript, and in Liszt’s writings. He wouldn’t give much weight to the whining of Eduard Hanslick, who hated this Sonata. Nor would he countenance the bashing by the Nationalzeitung reviewer who in Liszt’s day referred to it as “eine Herausforderung zum Zischen und Pochen” (an invitation to hissing and stomping).

N ot every composer produces this sort of performer-in-the-notation. It is certainly most evident in the case of composers who were themselves superlative performers: Josquin, Couperin, Handel, Bach, Mozart, Schumann, Chopin, Liszt. Their notation works as both a record of past performances and a mnemonic for the future... Recognition of a performing persona in the notation greatly informs our own interpretative role as external spectators or music critics, but the same persona may also enliven our musical experiences as performers and listeners.”
  —  John Butt, p. 94.

In constitutional law here are two kinds of ‘intent analysis,’ reflecting two meanings of the word ‘intent’ and these have, I think, direct correlates in music performances and aesthetics. The first, a rule of common law construction in the epoch when a text was composed, is ‘functional intent.’ The second is ‘motivational intent.’ To understand the difference, consider the metaphor of an architect who designs a Gothic church with flying buttresses. The functional intent of flying buttresses is to prevent the weight of the roof from spreading the walls and causing a collapse of the building, which can be inferred from examining the design as a whole. The motivational intent might be to create work for your brother-in-law who is a flying buttress subcontractor. Groh discusses the Liszt Sonata and reveals his deep understanding of both types of intent. Coherent resolution of the ‘good-and-evil’ meme is, he thinks, the functional basis for Liszt’s replacement of the original ending with the quieter, contemplative one.

I believe it is important to appreciate the latent intentionality in music as an art to be performed, something that can be distinguished from the more local concept of ‘the composer’s intentions.’ Just as our interest in art per se rests on our understanding that is intentionally created as art, our interest in pieces of music should be directed toward the human subjectivity involved in their creation and, particularly, in the intentionality occasioned by performance. The value of a composer’s intentions for performance cannot be legislated...”
  —  John Butt, p. 94.

H is high-intensity, often frantic bravura manner provoked involuntary physical reactions—shaking, shuddering, weeping. Applause for Liszt, indeed, was less a gesture of appreciation, wonder, or joy, than a sheer corporal reflex—an outlet for great physical excitement. The effect of his playing passed over into the physical realm by virtue of its excess: an excess of vibration, of musical information, of visual data—too many stimuli. Yet Liszt's playing reached into the body of his listener by a still more direct route: their identification with his performing self. At the keyboard he appeared possessed by a St. Vitus spirit.”
  —  Dana Gooley, p. 206.

‘Strict constructionism’—requiring a judge to apply the text as it is written and no further—is used in American political discourse as an umbrella term for conservative legal philosophies such as originalism and textualism, which emphasize judicial restraint and fidelity to the original meaning (or originally intended meaning) of constitutions and laws. It could as well be used to describe any conservative musician or musicologist.
F reud writes in his 1914 essay ‘On Narcissism’ that a power of this kind, watching, discovering and criticizing all our intentions does really exist; indeed, it exists within every one of us in normal life. The delusion of being watched presents it in a regressive form... Conscience is the internalization of surveillance, just as in the broader cultural and historical context Protestant interiority is the internalization of baroque spectacle and visual control. The inner voice remains the voice of external authority. The task of emancipation is to free subjectivity, to free the voice from the bonds of those forms of external authority that are politically and psychologically harmful.”
  —  Michael Steinberg, p. 77.

The notion of a Living Constitution—a Living Score—can be defended, as Posner and others have done. The text is not static or univocal. It doesn’t need successive generations to bestow on it ‘flexibility’ in order to work: it won’t become brittle and break. So talking about strict constructionism from the perspective of the ‘insider’ performer-jurist is a political move that back-handedly seeks to arrogate authority to the critic and away from the performer. ‘Strict constructionist’ is a ‘politician-outsider-looking-in’ term—a critic’s term, not a performer’s term.

H ypocrisy is the beginning of virtue.”
  —  Antonin Scalia, UW Law School, 15-MAR-2001.

Are there sound arguments opposing originalism? Yes. For example, originalism can lead to unacceptable, morally or aesthetically indefensible results. For example, interpreting the 14th Amendment of the U.S. Constitution only to protect liberty recognized at the time it was ratified provides no protection to groups who were discriminated against at that time, particularly women and homosexuals. With originalism, the courts are extremely limited in their power to protect against discrimination. Originalism faces hermeneutic difficulties in understanding the functional and motivic intentions of the Founding Fathers, or of the Composer. Originalism allows the ‘dead hand’ of prior generations to control important contemporary issues down to an extraordinary and unnecessary level of detail. Historically-informed performance run amok. Groh, for all his remarks that suggest that he is an originalist at heart, does not go this far. It would be fair to call him instead a pragmatist. “Playing piano is a way of life. I cannot help but learn something new each day.”
    Definitions
  • Textualist: An originalist who gives primary weight to the text and structure of the Composition. Textualists often are skeptical of the ability to determine "intent."
  • Intentionalist: An originalist who gives primary weight to the intentions of composers, members of commissioning bodies, ratifiers, and dedicatees.
  • Pragmatist: A non-originalist who gives substantial weight to judicial precedent or the consequences of alternative interpretations, so as to sometimes favor a decision ‘wrong’ on originalist terms because it promotes stability or in some other way promotes the public good.
  • Natural Law Theorist: A person who believes that higher moral law ought to trump inconsistent positive law.

L iszt’s transcendent technique, which depended as much on the variety of sound he was able to elicit from the instrument as from sheer virtuosity, was directly inspired by Paganini’s violin playing.”
  —  Clive Brown, p. 222.

D uring the 19th Century a number of important composers strove to produce music in which accentuation was liberated from what they saw as the restrictions of metre. In such music, structural and expressive accentuation occurred with increasing frequency on beats that were metrically weak... Symptomatic of this attitude is Liszt’s comment, in the preface to the collected edition of his symphonic poems, that he wished to ‘see an end to the mechanical, fragmented up-and-down playing tied to the bar-line, which is still the rule in many places.’ ... a conscious reaction to the conventional rhythm that underlay much early Romantic music.”
  —  Clive Brown, p. 27.

T he Constitution does not say, ‘Read me broadly,’ or, ‘Read me narrowly.’ The decision to do one or the other must be made as a matter of political theory and will depend on such things as one’s view of the springs of judicial legitimacy and the relative competence of courts and legislatures in dealing with particular types of issue.”
  —  Richard Posner, in ‘What am I? A Potted Plant?’

T  he idea of the Constitution as a binding contract is an incomplete theory of political legitimacy, not an erroneous one. A contract induces, reliance that can make a strong claim for protection; it also frees people from having continually to reexamine and revise the terms of the relationship. These values are independent of whether the original contracting parties are still alive. But a long-term contract is bound eventually to require, if not formal modification (which in the case of the Constitution can be accomplished only through the amendment, process), then flexible interpretation, to cope effectively with altered, circumstances. Modification and interpretation are reciprocal; the more difficult it is to modify the instrument formally, the more exigent is flexible interpretation. Bork is aware of the practical impediments to amending the Constitution but is unwilling to draw the inference that flexible interpretation is therefore necessary to prevent constitutional obsolescence.”
  —  Richard Posner, in ‘Bork and Beethoven’.

A fter Justice Holmes and Judge Learned Hand had lunched together one afternoon and Holmes began to leave to resume work, Hand called out, ‘Do justice, sir. Do justice.’ Holmes reproached him: ‘That is not my job. It is my job to apply the law.’ Holmes did not intend to say that a judge ought to be unjust. But laws are sometimes unjust, and without being unconstitutional. When a judge is faced with one of those laws, as a servant of the law he has to swallow hard and apply it. Perhaps that implicates him in injustice. Holmes probably thought so, hence his reply to Hand. But Holmes believed that that is preferable to judges thinking of their duty as serving justice first and law second.”
  —  Richard Bostan, The Tempting of Richard Posner, 1997.

Markus Groh