Editing and Improvising
Thanks to Martin’s kindness, patience and relaxed teaching style, I have learned simple editing, using the freely available programme called Audacity. My first editing lesson was taught by Riccardo, assistant organist at St Barnabas, Dulwich.
Having loaded recordings onto the computer, I open the Audacity programme and upload the recorded track. Next, using the ‘Effect’ menu, I select ‘Amplify’ which makes the blue squiggles (the recorded music) look bigger. Using the ‘Magnify’ symbol, the tracks become longer, meaning that, visually, what is recorded can be seen by the eye in more detail. This means that what needs to be cut from the recording with the ‘scissors’ symbol, can be highlighted and cut. This usually means footsteps walking to and from the recording machine, extraneous, exasperating growls at attempts at getting particular bars right. By the time I have finished that process, what remains is what is acceptable. Then, the edited track needs to be saved. This is where the jargon becomes totally non musical. One looks for ‘Export’. I thought that meant sending goods abroad….how words change their meaning. How unnecessary it is to know the meaning of rallentando.
Piecing together the ‘Te Deum’ – a Buxtehude chorale prelude – was achieved by Martin. The advantage of two screens meant that he could see a lot of squiggly blue, the music, in one go, whereas my single screen is limited. I was amazed how deftly he was able to chop tiny bits of silence out and effortlessly and join the sections together. Some of these edits are audible, as are my page turns, but somehow, that is part of the charm of these recordings, they come with some quirks and the photography is wonderful!
Young people seem to have a knack for learning new skills. It is never too late to learn anything new, but for me, a middle aged retiree, it takes more than several repetitions for the task to sink in. When at school, my colleagues and I were required to master computer skills to write reports, to communicate generally, and in the music department, we used two programmes in class. Younger pupils used Cubase. During insets, we learned how to lay a drum track, add a chord sequence, then a melody line. This was taught to the pupils. I was baffled when networked machines crashed repeatedly, work hadn’t been saved from week to week. I was out of my depth and frequently had to summon the technician who would patiently, with a few quick clicks of the mouse, restore everything to order. During my last years, pupils were required to add music to a short film clip. They enjoyed this part of their course and I enjoyed watching them add funny sound effects to bits of Tom and Jerry cartoons. It was much more fun than Grade 5 Theory or listening to Beethoven. But I forgot, despite being shown several times, how to add a soundtrack to animations, whereas the pupils produced amusing work of good quality. To do this, no knowledge of music reading was required, only the ability to plonk out a few notes on an electric keyboard. Such lessons felt like pandemonium but the results at the end of each half term were worthy of admiration.
The programme used for GCSE and A level pupils was Sibelius, a sophisticated music writing programme for which knowledge akin to Grade 5 Theory and beyond is necessary. I was happier using this programme because it dealt with familiar crotchets and quavers. Since retiring from the classroom I have not used either programmes because the need is no longer there, but working on computers in general, learned during the course of my teaching career, remains in use every day, hence giving me a start in how to edit my own work.
Watching pupils learn computer skills so quickly was thought provoking. The whole process of learning anything has been speeded up to an alarming or exciting degree. From being a dull requirement, learning is much more zingy! Those showing us middle aged teachers how to use music programmes encouraged us to ‘play with it’ and see what it could do. Frightened of losing work, of breaking the computer, making it unusable for others, I quickly became dispirited and realised that at some point I would have to make way for younger and quicker colleagues.
The whole notion of playing with it and of it being fun struck me as what we should be doing when improvising at the organ. Many are terrified of it and say they are useless at it. My husband and younger son are both extremely good at it, whereas I can just about manage a Gospel Fanfare and continuation after an Offertory hymn. If such a delivery has been successful, it is because a certain amount of thought has gone into it first. One feels safe that way. Using the texts and rhythms of hymns and gospel readings, also of visual images in films, stimulates musical ideas, and after that it is up to you to learn how to make them continue purposefully. How does one keep going?
This boils down to personal confidence, summoning up courage and sense of fun to keep going, just as in sightreading. The great composer and pianist, Franz Liszt, played a loud, wrong note in a performance. Unruffled, he had the presence of mind to use it to great advantage, by improvising a long arpeggiated passage, possibly a diminished seventh chord, and was able, with such a flourish, to return to the correct note, and carry on. The audience loved it, apparently. Who wouldn’t? He fell into a musical hole and climbed out of it with great style. The inhibiting factor for most of us is not wanting to look or feel a complete fool.
The fiddly business of editing requires me to be bold enough to apply some of the features in the effects menu. In my head I know that it won’t ruin the recording if the process goes wrong, because the ‘undo’ function will restore it to what it was. Ultimate learning occurs through receiving instruction, observing the demonstration, having a go at it, and not getting stressed if it goes wrong. So often, the best learning comes when something either new or familiar happens in unexpected, short bursts leaving an impression of wonder and joy, and an urge to go and try it out as soon as possible.
A note on recordings generally: we have all become used to hearing perfection at the touch of a button or click of a mouse. It would be lovely to be able to achieve perfection every time one plays but lapses in concentration occur, something startles, and the result is an error, even if it is small. This is realistic playing, and human.
Marilyn Harper
