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Each installment of our Tear-Out Tunes series features a new piece written by one of the best harpist-composer-arrangers in the business. Each composer will tell you a little bit about their piece, and also give you some helpful tips for learning it and getting the most out of the experience. The new piece is yours to keep. We even put it right in the middle of the magazine so you can tear out these four pages and put your new tune on your music stand.
During college, I experienced a watershed moment while working on the Bach-Grandjany “Fugue” from Violin Sonata no. 1 in a coaching with violinist Peter Sheppard Skærved. The level of detail in his feedback was so high that we only had time to workshop the first few bars. He pointed out that when the second voice entered, I played the indicated p.d.l.t. only for the first few notes before my hand drifted up the strings, changing the sound. I corrected, and suddenly the color sounded precise and intentional. Why hadn’t I noticed that? Ever a perfectionist, I wallowed in frustration for letting so many details escape me.
Learning the music of J.S. Bach had long been an arduous task for me. Like many harpists, I began my musical journey with the piano where I first balked at the complexity and nuance of Bach’s voice leading. What, I can’t leave the sustain pedal glued to the floor? I’m supposed to precisely connect the notes in each line to bring out multiple voices? And on top of this…articulation?!
Thankfully, with the guidance of many great mentors, I discovered a different, more sensory approach to musical complexity. This approach is articulated through the concepts presented in Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain by Betty Edwards. In this classic of drawing pedagogy, Edwards expounds on how the brain schematizes complexity by substituting symbolic, simplified versions of what the eye sees in place of what is really there. This explains why novice artists tend to draw abstract, simplified versions of their subject that are far from looking realistic. Edwards presents a series of exercises that help the reader’s brain shift to “a different mode of information processing” that is more intuitive, less logical, more actual, and less symbolic.
When I first encountered polyphony, I approached it with the part of my brain that tried to simplify and abstract it, and when its complexity resisted simplification, I became frustrated. With my new sensory approach to polyphony, synthesized from the wisdom of master teachers, I stopped grasping for conceptual understanding, relaxed, and relied on my sensory feedback. I sang each voice in the fugue until I could hear it, and I found that my ability to shape each voice with nuance followed naturally. I started hearing the harp’s resonance in detail and subsequently became obsessed with muffle placement and sons isolés. I began finding joy and opportunity, rather than defeat and limitation, while seeking a greater variety of color in my sound.
I wrote “An Exploration in Line and Color” as an invitation to wade into the rich world of voicing, shaping, and color. A melody sings, not above a chordal bed, but from the middle of a multi-voice accompaniment. This piece could serve as preparation for the compound textures of Caroline Lizotte’s La Madone, the denser moments in Gabriel Faure’s Une châtelaine en sa tour, or, perhaps, the polyphony of a Bach fugue.
As performers, we understand that our job is to guide the listener’s attention to the music’s salient elements, using our interpretive skills to clarify the relative importance of voices and show the relationships between phrases. In this piece, the performer must make musical choices to shape a melody that would easily be buried if all the notes were played in the same way. But how do we actually make this happen?
Our technique presents an abundance of options. Most obviously, we can use dynamic contrast, achieved by directing weight through the finger to the center of the string. Subtle changes to the speed of the articulation, the exact part of the finger used, and the exact location of placement on the string also open up a sonic rainbow.
This brings us to why the word “exploration” appears in my title. In the book Make It Stick: The Science of Successful Learning (a wonderful recommendation from Lynne Aspnes), cognitive science researchers explain the “stronger learning benefits” of “active learning, where students engage in higher-order thinking tasks rather than passively receiving knowledge conferred by others.” Knowledge endures best when it results naturally from directing your interest toward solving a problem. I hope that exploring these questions of color, line, and shape will engage your aural imagination and prime your curiosity for learning.
Remember the relationship between your ear, your imagination, and your technique. As my experience with the Bach fugue demonstrates, I couldn’t play with an even p.d.l.t. color when I wasn’t truly hearing my color in the first place. When your imagination conceives of the sound it wants to hear, your ear can evaluate the result, and finally, your technique can explore adaptations to realize the sound. As the dancer La Meri said so eloquently, “The only reason for mastering technique is to make sure the body does not prevent the soul from expressing itself.” •
