I pull out my tattered and stained copy of the Mozart concerto or A Ceremony of Carols for what seems like the hundredth time. While I politely accept the terms of the performance, my inner 12-year-old voice whines “borrrrrinnnng,” to which my inner parental voice replies, “This repertoire is frequently performed for a reason—it is loved by audiences, so I need to make the most of this opportunity, even if it is the hundredth performance!” If you can relate to this inner-struggle when bringing back repertoire, I have a few techniques that can help your old repertoire shine like new.
Oldies but goodies
We all encounter the many reasons it can be necessary to resurrect old pieces—a gig contract, a competition requirement, or maybe to fill out a recital program. As artists, we must find ways to move past old notes so that each performance communicates with our listeners. Whether you are a student or a seasoned professional, this is one of the most important skills to master and it can be applied to any type of piece, whether it’s solo, concerto, chamber, orchestral, jazz tune, or background music.
Make the music “your own”
I recently asked my husband (a lead guitarist) how he deals with performing a piece 200 times or more in the studio, on tour, and in weekly gigs. He explained that it’s easier when you write your own music because you “own” the notes, while repeated performances of cover tunes are more difficult. Then it hit me—he was describing what I do for a living. I play and teach historically-accurate cover tunes, but rather than making new arrangements, I need to find novel ways to make the music “my own” without re-writing the notes and markings.
“I’m going back to the start”
This process is a lot like the music video for the hit song “The Scientist” by the band Coldplay a few years ago. The music video was filmed in reverse—at the end of the video, you understand the single event that spawned all of the seemingly bizarre scenes that unfold. This process is similar to the events that occur when we learn a new piece. We encounter the final product and must search for the music’s origin. Every piece of music has been born of some sort of creative impetus, just as a creative struggle commences in learning the notes. So, if you can uncover even a portion of this original story, the melodies and harmonies will tell this story in a new way. For example, was the work written during a time of worldwide turmoil (Hindemith’s sonata), or was it commissioned by a wealthy duke amateur musician who never paid the composer (Mozart’s concerto)? Was the composer a violinist who performed with and married a harpist (Louis Spohr and Dorette Spohr)? Did the composer rely on a close acquaintance for input on the part (Benjamin Britten and Osian Ellis)? Was the part written by a composer who was open to cadenza modifications (Pyotr Tchaikovsky and Albert Zabel)? Was the composer suffering from a serious health condition at the time of composition (Claude Debussy and his Trio for Flute, Viola, and Harp)? Each of these life circumstances lives between the written notes of the compositions.
A newfound balance
When working on a program of older repertoire, I’ve found that adding one new piece to my practice routine can elevate older music in my repertoire, especially if the new piece is strategically chosen. For example, I was hired to perform the Debussy Trio (an old standard in my repertoire) a couple years ago, and although it wasn’t on the program, I decided to start playing Toru Takemitsu’s And Then I Knew ‘Twas Wind at the same time since I had never played Takemitsu’s work, which was based on the Trio. The nuances and quotes from the Takemitsu piece greatly enlightened my work on the Debussy Trio—it was almost as if I was practicing both pieces at the same time, because I would continually hear one piece when playing the other. This is an ideal example of a symbiotic relationship between two pieces, but you might dig deeper to find other pieces with links. For example, if you are relearning Renié’s Piece Symphonique, it would be a good time to look for compositions by César Franck or Théodore Dubois, as she greatly admired both of these composers. If you are re-learning the Mozart Concerto, you might look for some F. J. Naderman or J. B. Krumpholtz works to complement your practice. Ultimately, any type of new repertoire can cast fresh light on old war horses, but you must be willing to make different connections rather than treading the same well-worn practice path.
The practice path less-traveled
Although the printed notes and markings on the page remain unchanged, your accumulation of personal experiences are new each time you approach an old piece, so embrace these differences in your approach! Don’t be afraid to rework a fingering that has always caused problems or reconstruct a phrase that always seemed unbalanced. If you need a kickstart for your new perspective, make a map of the piece by outlining the main key areas and themes. Approach your relearning as if it was the first time you played the work; this can also help you to exercise patience if your fingers falter and hesitate as you bring back the old notes. Better yet, start from the end of the piece and work backwards, since your fingers undoubtedly have had more practice time on the first notes than the last. Have you ever tried playing a phrase backward note-by-note? Does it sound crazy and challenging? Yes to both (think about the famous pedal sequence in the Pescetti Sonata or the Debussy Danses)! But, by doing this, you’ll enhance your understanding of the note relationships, and that is the whole point: to have a deeper understanding and ownership of the notes on the page.
Exploring familiar territory
In the 21st century, we have a myriad of resources at our fingertips: an endless supply of YouTube videos of nearly every harp piece, Skype lessons, annotated scores on IMSLP, and albums recorded by almost every well-known harpist. Although these tools are each valuable, none will take the place of your personal, renewed exploration of familiar territory. After all, some of the most remarkable discoveries can occur on your own harp bench. •
