Emotions and Music

It must be rare to find a person completely unmoved by music of any sort. I haven’t met anyone for whom there isn’t at least one piece of music that means something to them. Desert Island Discs, created by Roy Plomley, Private Passions, chaired by Michael Berkerley, and Inheritance Tracks on Saturday Live illustrate the point. Any feeling known to mankind can be conveyed through combinations of sounds, rhythms, melodic shapes, dynamics, via the personality of the performer him/herself.

A student asked recently what I thought about putting ‘feeling’ into the piece being learned. Stravinsky has said there is no emotion in music but not all would agree with the great 20th century maestro.

When a student, a teacher advised me, ‘let the music flow through you’, another way of saying, ‘relax’. My mission at the time was to do my best, make the effort, do well…..it has taken years to understand and to undo the tendency to wind  oneself up, the result of which was being too stressed to play properly. A professional string player gently remarked to me in rehearsal, ‘no stress’, also meaning, ‘relax’. Making effort of the wrong kind causes tension, inhibits the desired flow and one ends up exhausted, miserable, likely with stiff muscles and a bad back.

I return to Gustav Holst who was quoted as saying, ‘music is a job’. Producing music for an occasion, church service, function, party etc. is an administrative act. Composing, preparing performance scores and a soundtrack to listen to are all jobs that one sits down and does, often, these days, at a computer. Directing rehearsals, doing practice, conducting a performance is a big, logistical exercise if lots of people are involved. A solo performance can be equally demanding. So, where does the emotion come in?

Firstly, you like and fall in love with something you hear. Something draws you to the tune, harmonies, rhythmic drive, and the sound of the instrument or voice. You feel inspired to have a go yourself, buy or download the music, join a choir, band or orchestra and get going. Learning and practice is hard work, sitting, listening, absorbing are the easier parts, and the best experience comes when you are fully tuned in to the musical narrative.

Secondly, the job of learning, as previously described, should be matter of fact.  The player’s job is to learn the notes and discern what the piece is about. As organists, selecting the right sounds or best possible sounds is another part of the preparation to communicate the composer’s intentions. The beautiful chorale prelude by Böhm on Vater Unser im Himmelreich is a beautifully decorated version of the chorale melody, supported by harmonies and a walking bass line. It has a mood of dignified solemnity, and to my way of thinking, there is no room for ‘wallowing in it’, whatever ‘it’ means. It simply needs to be played with an understanding of the composer’s intention, including knowing the Vater Unser Chorale text, the Lord’s Prayer. Carefully played notes will do the rest. No need to rush or gush. Imposing one’s feelings will distort the music. This is easy to do when young, possibly playing Herzlich Mich Tut Verlangen by J. S. Bach for the first time, enraptured by breathtakingly beautiful harmonies. The music’s character is what matters, and this is what students have to learn. Playing with soul and expression means being faithful to the music. This is where expression of energy can be felt by the listener.

Years ago, I disliked Stainer’s Crucifixion. It seemed mawkish, sentimental. One of my tutors asked me to page turn as he accompanied the choir and soloists. He knew I needed to observe and learn some basic aspects of organ accompaniment. This experience changed my view of the piece. Sung by a professional choir, they ‘did what it says on the tin’ without the mawkishness I so loathed and the drama unfolded.

Since then I have been happy performing it. The choir sang without sentimental wallowing, and the music, so well allied to the text, flowed, and moved its hearers. This was 40 years ago, and the memory of the occasion and the effect it had on me remains fresh, clear and strong.

Yet, as I discover, when talking to people about music, that what I judge to have been a good, competent, or exciting performance has left another completely unmoved. More often than not, the sheer sound or volume level, is what has been heard, rather than the actual music. A catchy, colourful, enchanting piece will excite many, but may not satisfy one who desires to be deeply moved, and a deeper, more meaningful piece will fail to move because it is not understood by the listener.

A couple of years ago, I attended an organ recital in St. Paul’s Cathedral in the company of Summer School students. It was a riveting performance of old and new virtuoso repertoire, but most were unhappily bored in that big echoey space. Knowing most of the programme, I could follow exactly what the guest recitalist was doing.

Sadly, the sheer speed of his delivery meant that musical detail, lost in the wash of that great acoustic, went over the heads of those who didn’t know that music, or were not yet technically able to play it. A listener who cannot engage with a performance feels restless, uncomfortable. This was a mismatch between audience and player.

St. Paul’s Cathedral now allows all guest organ recitalists to play on the nave console. One might guess that, being able to see the player, as described above, the audience might be engaged with the performance. Not so. Listening to Norman play in April 2016, I was appalled by the behaviour of a small but significant number of attendees who either talked or walked out in the middle of a piece. On another occasion some were seen eating their lunch! Another remarked that these afternoon recitals have the character of ‘promenade’, but it still seems wrong to me. In the Royal Albert Hall I was horrified by someone sitting in front of me getting up to go home, climbing over other audience members in the closing pages of the Brahms Requiem. Those disrupted were clearly angered by the action of someone who clearly didn’t know the etiquette of classical music concerts. Constant photography during live performances has become de rigueur and is unwelcome, unprofessional, and disrespectful. Thankfully, the organ music lovers who come to our chapel recitals have a much more wholesome attitude towards what we know, cherish and enjoy.

Marilyn Harper