In the meantime I’ve been looking through my slightly chaotic archive of pieces by Billy Mayerl, to see if there were any I’d forgotten about. Many of the pieces were posted to me years ago by people who thought I might be interested in learning a particular piece long out of print. Mayerl’s later pieces are intriguing. There seems to come a point when, for better or worse, he abandons the cheery ’syncopated style’ which was his trademark and takes to writing in a kind of early-Debussy style of smoothly flowing quavers and semiquavers. These later pieces have their own charm, but they lack the bite and crunch of his earlier, jazzier numbers. As a pianist, though, I can certainly understand that one might get fed up with writing the kind of ‘Oom-CHAH, oom-CHAH’ jumping bass lines which characterise those pieces and give the pianist’s left wrist such a brutal workout. Oh boy, do I still remember what that felt like when I made the ‘Loose Elbows’ disc!

More on Mayerl is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

My disc has been in and out of print for some time now, but people never stop asking where they can get hold of it. It sometimes pops up, for an astonishing variety of prices, on collectors’ websites, and Amazon has recently made individual tracks available as mp3 files. But no record company has shown interest in a new disc of Mayerl’s music.

Recently, at a series of London concerts, several people asked me if I had a new Mayerl recording in the pipeline. I realised I was fed up with saying no. Instead, I’m wondering about recording some new tracks played by me in my own home. In these days of recordings being manicured to within an inch of their lives, I think there could be something special about hearing what a musician sounds like by their own fireside.

My plan is to record some new Mayerl pieces, and sell them track by track as downloads on my website. If it goes well, maybe I’ll move on to other composers.

But first I’d like to get some idea of whether people out there would buy my new Billy Mayerl tracks – pieces that don’t appear on the ‘Loose Elbows’ disc. Feedback would be welcome – either as a ‘comment’ on this post (which will be visible to everyone), or by writing to me privately at susan@susantomes.com. An easy way to do that is to click on the ’send her an e-mail’ link under my tiny photo, in the left hand column of this page.

Billy Mayerl piano music recording project is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

At the concert there were two different string quartet groups, giving me the chance to listen to two of my favourite violinists as quartet leaders. Readers of this blog already know how much I admire Viennese violinist Erich Höbarth, with whom I’m halfway through a Mozart Series in Perth Concert Hall. The other quartet was led by American violinist Daniel Phillips of the New-York-based Orion Quartet.

Both these players are to my way of thinking ideal examples of how to approach chamber music. Their performances are totally focused, without ever showing off or deliberately drawing attention to themselves for effect. Many musicians add a layer of ‘mime’ to signal their feelings and point out certain musical twists and turns to the audience. I can’t dismiss this kind of approach, as I know from experience that many audience members like it, even rely on it. However, speaking for myself, I’m more fascinated by musicians whose gestures are economical and whose concentration draws the audience in. Any dramatic visual effects arise from their efforts to express the music, but otherwise their understanding is transmitted entirely in sound. It feels as if the music is too important for mere display. This is not to say, of course, that they are not interesting to watch – on the contrary. They are interesting precisely because they are not trying to manipulate what I see.

Not showing off is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

I felt some kind of vicarious pleasure in the success of the film precisely because it is such an unlikely one to do well in today’s climate of in-your-face, crank-up-the-volume movies. It left me with the happy feeling that if you follow your instinct and insist on doing what you believe in, you’ll be sure eventually to find people who appreciate your work – lots of them, in the case of The Artist.

‘The Artist’ is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

While she was working on the translation this week, Noriko sent me this charming photo of her little black cat watching over her, with Japanese New Year decorations in the background. You can see my book on the floor, as well as Noriko’s dictionaries and the notebook in which she writes her translations longhand.

My Japanese colleagues is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

Gradually, however, as I acquired more and more performing experience, there came a point when I couldn’t help realising that I did actually know a lot more about certain pieces than my students did. I also discovered how to put certain things into words, or more to the point, I gained the confidence to say them. I’m still inspired by  Sebök’s dazzling powers of observation, but in the meantime I’ve also found that young musicians’ hunger for new ideas can be inspiring in itself.

So I’d like to thank everyone who took the trouble to get in touch over Christmas and say that they’d enjoyed working with me. I enjoyed it too. A very Happy New Year!

New Year greetings is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

One of our Christmas presents this year was Dan Lepard’s Short and Sweet, a wonderful new book of baking recipes – breads, cakes, pies, desserts. The word ‘short’ presumably refers to pastry and not to the book itself, which is notably long (and sweet).

My eye fell almost at once on the cheesecake recipes. I often try to make cheesecake, using various recipes, but am rarely satisfied with the results. I’ve never really managed to replicate the first cheesecake I ever loved, sold at the cheese stall in Cambridge market in my student days. Immoderate consumption thereof was probably one reason why I put on so much weight in my first student year.

Anyway, on Boxing Day I thought I’d have a go at Dan Lepard’s recipe for East End Cheesecake, the closest he says he could get to the famous variety sold by Grodzinski’s bakery. My cheesecake looked lovely on a sky-blue plate at a dinner that evening. Before I had tried it myself, a couple of my guests tasted theirs and suddenly cut across the conversation with glad cries of, ‘Wow! This is gorgeous.’ It was, too. The ingredients were not so different from other cheesecakes I’ve made, but there were a couple of innovations in the method, notably the instruction to boil cream and butter, and to pour this boiling liquid onto the cream cheese before mixing. That slightly caramelised cream-and-butter combo gave a delectable fillip to the taste, evoking a high-class Middle European Konditorei rather than a suburban kitchen. So Dan Lepard’s ‘East End’ recipe is my new favourite.

Short and Sweet is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

‘I’m making my Mum’s Christmas present’, she replied. ‘It’s a pair of long socks with the opening lines of ‘Beowulf‘ knitted into them. I’ve been at it since May! My Mum loves Beowulf.’ I looked closer and saw that, indeed, the socks were covered with tiny words in Old English script. To make it even more impressive, the basic colour of the socks was a kind of oatmeal, with the tiny letters standing out in a delicate mushroom brown, so the effect was subtle unless you knew what you were seeing.

After I had realised that an artwork was unfolding in front of me, I couldn’t concentrate on my book, but had to keep sneaking a look at the tiny Anglo-Saxon words as they emerged from the gently clicking needles. I don’t remember when I last saw anything so skilful.

Beowulf is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

Like several of his compatriots, such as Sandor Vegh, Gyorgy Sebok and Gyorgy Kurtag, Rados’s style of teaching is intense, vivid and unpredictable. He speaks very quietly, so in a big hall we all had to strain to hear. He focuses above all on how to make the underlying structure of the music clear. He also talks a lot about how to read the ‘grammar’ of each musical sentence. Today he said that even if a piece of music seems to be in a language we do not yet know, we can still sense whether the shape of a musical sentence is plausible – whether syllables are being articulated, whether there is movement through the sentence, whether there is space to breathe. I don’t know whether this ‘parsing’ of musical phrases works in all types of music (not all music resembles speech, after all), but treating music as if it were a compelling piece of oratory often brings it to life in a very immediate and satisfying way.

His determination to do justice to the music sometimes makes him ruthless towards the performers. This is a very different style of teaching than the one we’re used to here, particularly in our present era of ’supporting the student and bolstering their self-esteem’. Bolstering their self-esteem appears to play no part in the Hungarian method; on the contrary, it often feels (as one of the participants said afterwards) as if the intention is to make them realise how small they are, and what a long way there still is to go. Some people rise wonderfully to the challenge ; others just clam up and turn away. I think most people sense that the focus is on the greatness of the music, not the ego of the performer; that’s as it should be, but it’s asking a lot for young musicians to respond instantly and positively in front of an audience containing their friends, tutors, agents, and competitors.

My favourite moment today was when Rados spoke about the many different ways to play something quietly. ‘You seem to think that ‘piano’ is always something lovely, sweet, tender, melodic, romantic,’ he said to one of the groups. ‘But it can be so many different things. Here, for example, it is a secret fortissimo!’ He chuckled and went on in a low tone, ‘You know, in a Hitchcock movie, the most dangerous words are whispered.’

‘The most dangerous words are whispered’ is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

For this series, I’ve been preparing nearly twenty works by Mozart – duo sonatas and solo piano pieces. It’s not often that one gets the chance to be so steeped in the work of a particular composer, tackling so many works in a short period of time. I’ve known these works for a long time but have never had a reason to practise them, round and round, so intensively.

Musicians always say that Mozart is one of the most demanding of composers because his music is ’so exposed’. Every note counts and has to be heard in the right relation to the notes around it. Everything has to sound clear and balanced, but not effortful, because the lightness and sense of fun are also essential. On the other hand, the apparent lightness must never conceal the deep feelings running through, or underneath, many of the passages. The balance between the elements of the music is more beautifully judged, and on a finer scale, than that of any other music I know. The more I look into it, the more I respect it. It’s nice to be spending so much time with this music. When the work is going well, I find that it has a very good effect on me.

Living with Mozart is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

The photo shows the Cosima Piano Quintet at the start of a coaching session yesterday, part of the first Marryat Chamber Music weekend which ended last night with a wonderful concert by four young ensembles made up of post-grad and young professional players from countries as far apart as Kazakhstan, Israel and Tasmania as well as the UK. Such a rich cultural environment is a great help when we’re all exploring different ideas and ways of doing things. Some people were surprised and amused or bemused to discover that their way of doing things seemed ‘typically British’ (or Eastern European or whatever) to others. It’s good to be surrounded by examples of other ways to do things, because they can often be directly inspiring, without any need for words or theories.

Exploring other ways of doing things is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

What I like about this group of students is that most of them do something completely different for their day jobs. Just a few are full-time music students, but others are doctors, lawyers, journalists, psychiatrists, editors, and there’s even an aerospace engineer. I’m so used to being surrounded by people whose main occupation is music that I find it very refreshing to be in the company of people who are experts in other things, but have kept piano-playing as a hobby which means a great deal to them. In some ways I find I envy them!

‘Pianistes’ is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

‘I simply do not want to breathe the air which is filled by sensationalism and distorted values. Let’s admit – all of us have something to do with the poisonous development of our music world, in which “stars” count more than creativity, ratings more than genuine talent, numbers more than sounds.…I simply do not have enough energy to support gatherings and collaborations on highly exposed stages with “rising” or approved stars of today’s music business for the sake of ovations and name-dropping.

…A time has now come in which the overall devaluation of the word “interpreter” has resulted in a misguided fixation with glamour and sex appeal….This is not anymore “my” time. I leave it to those who believe in it, be it the audiences or the new breed of performers, who have overwhelming capacities to please crowds, but who are often themselves quite EMPTY and artistically lost, chasing a hunger for recognition over ability.’

Kremer’s conscience is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

I was playing the piano at the back of the ensemble and was turned at right angles to the audience, so I couldn’t see them, but suddenly I heard what sounded like an angelic choir singing along with ‘Simple Gifts’, perfectly in tune. I turned to my right to see all the children unselfconsciously singing along with us, their little faces seriously raised towards the stage. It was a most beautiful effect, a choir of young children suddenly added to the instrumental ensemble, and I must say I had tears in my eyes. Had Copland been in the church he might have wanted to rewrite the piece and add a choir of children to his original score. But of course what made it particularly sweet this morning was that their contribution was spontaneous, unrepeatable.

Children’s voices is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

Having a bit of jury experience myself, I know that voting systems can often produce strange results. Funnily enough, I can usually live with ‘strange’ results better than with compromise results. Last time I was on a jury, we used to compare notes after each voting round, and we generally found that only about half of us were happy with the outcome. I don’t know what system they used in Cardiff, but I found myself thinking that they must have thrown away their score cards and gone on their gut instinct. For the winner, Valentina Nafornita, wasn’t the most accomplished on the night. It was, however, easy to hear (and see) that she had star quality and the potential to be very special. How to mark ‘the potential to be very special’? I’ve never met the voting system that supplies the answer. Yet in music you so often find yourself needing to vote that way – a vote which requires imagination, a vote for the future.

Voting systems is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

These four states of being are personified in the film by a shepherd, his goats, a large fir tree under which one of the goats dies, and charcoal made by burning the tree. There’s no dialogue to speak of, and the focus is on the nature and scenery of a village in Calabria. But this is no gorgeous Italian landscape; it’s poor, bare and the grass looks thirsty. The camera lingers on scenes which hold little of conventional beauty, yet there is plenty of poetry.

At the start of the film we see an elderly shepherd coughing painfully as he stirs a powder into his bedtime glass of water. Next we see motes of dust settling slowly on to the floor of the local church in the sunlight. We see the old shepherd arriving to collect a handful of dust swept from the church floor by an old woman. She blesses the dust and folds it into a page torn from a magazine. Later that night we see the shepherd carefully unfold the page and tip the dust into his bedtime drink, coughing painfully as he does so. He clearly believes this holy dust is curing him, but is it in fact making his cough worse? There are several heartrending paradoxes like this in the film.

Le Quattro Volte is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

It always amazes me how different types of music attract different audiences to the Wigmore. Last night I didn’t recognise anyone in the audience; it was clearly a jazz crowd. As they listened they were utterly silent, and the concentration of their listening was almost as enjoyable as the playing itself. Not all jazz venues are tremendous acoustically, so it was a real pleasure to hear two such good jazz musicians in such perfect acoustics. Did I mention that they were handsome too?

Jazz at Wigmore is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

‘The other day, I was coaching students in Mendelssohn’s D minor piano trio, one of my favourite chamber works. As part of their coursework, the group had written a programme note which said, ‘Mendelssohn came from a wealthy family and never had to worry about money. Because of this, his music lacks depth and emotion.’ I asked if this was their own opinion, and they said they had ‘read it in a book’.

I too have seen Mendelssohn dismissed like that in books, but I don’t feel that’s the right way to account for his delicate style. Because his music flows gracefully and is even-tempered, he’s often accused of being someone to whom it all came too easily. But for me there’s a great strength at the heart of his music which comes from the feeling that forces are in balance. He’s generous, yet restrained; disciplined, but full of fantasy. There’s plenty of emotion, but he uses it sparingly and purposefully, as vibrato should be used. Many of his piano parts are so demanding that the sheer abundance of notes can take up all your attention in the early stages. It takes a while before you can see through the veils of notes to the bones of the music, but when you do, you perceive the beautiful structure and clarity of his musical planning. In that respect playing Mendelssohn sometimes feels like playing Mozart transposed to the nineteenth century. There are few other composers whose piano music – when you finally master it – can give the performer such an exhilarating feeling, like flying.

Recording Mendelssohn has been one of the greatest challenges I’ve had in the studio, because it’s so hard to be both accurate and serene under the pressure of his torrents of notes. But it’s so satisfying when it goes well. I never feel that Mendelssohn was simply showing off, more that his piano writing reflects the lightning reflexes of his thoughts.’

The joy of Mendelssohn is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

“It’s really something to have fame put its feathery crowbar under your rock and then upward to the light to release you, along with seven grubs and a sow bug.”

I was in Cambridge yesterday and was walking through my old college when the door of the Lodge opened, and out came one of the Fellows in his long academic gown. Spotting me, he called out, ‘Happy Birthday! You see I read the right newspapers!’ and strode off across the lawn, gown billowing behind him. I beamed and felt six feet tall for a moment, at least until the wind and rain beat me down to size.

Fame’s feathery crowbar is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog

I had always known he was a talented pianist (when he was 18, he was offered scholarships to all the prestigious UK music colleges) but I think it was only at that concert that I understood the true depth of his musicianship. Although he was no longer strong enough to play all the notes, it was inspiring to witness his utter determination to make clear the musical shape and emotion, to extract every grain of meaning from the twists and turns of the harmony, and to relish communication with his three lovely colleagues. As one of the musicians in the audience said afterwards, ‘It was such wise playing’.

Music was meat and drink to Jacob, and he was just the kind of person that the music world needs. He had an inexhaustible appetite for playing his beloved chamber music, and on music courses he would gather people up to play during lunch breaks and late into the evening. He was also one of those rare musicians interested in the whole range of music. Not long before he died, we met for lunch and he told me he was off to the dress rehearsal of a new opera by Peter Maxwell Davies, ‘just out of interest’. He continued to go in to the Royal Academy to take part in lessons, classes, concerts, and competitions (which he won) – even when it seemed medically inadvisable. But Jacob insisted that music was literally keeping him going, and his doctors seemed to agree. He spoke eloquently about the strength he drew from music-making with his friends, and from the support of his devoted family. Though there must have been many dark moments, I never heard him speak bitterly about what was happening to him, even though it must have seemed monumentally unfair. Somehow he continued to be friendly, caring and courteous. He was a truly inspiring example of courage under fire.

Remembering Jacob is a post from the Susan Tomes: Pianist & writer blog