They were talking on the radio about the good things that reading can do for your brain. Reading a book, that is, as opposed to scrolling through social media.
When you read, you read one word at a time. Your brain tries to guess the next word. the interaction between your mind and the author’s mind is absorbing.
Your imagination supplies images conjured up by what you read. You can pause, look away, reflect on the story, read on at your own pace – the pace of your understanding.
With luck, you sink into that enjoyable state where you’re not consciously reading word by word but are just somehow imbibing the meaning. You’re not bombarded with sound, video and ‘more things like this’ which come at you without your active choice and make your imagination redundant.
As I listened to the programme, I wondered if they could have said the same thing about reading music: an absorbing, peaceful activity, a one-to-one with the composer which recharges your mind and spirit.
It occurred to me, however, that music is different in one important respect. Yes, you read along the line one note or phrase at a time, but unlike with prose, music comes with a tempo which the composer has envisaged as integral to this particular piece.
It needs the right tempo to feel like itself. If you can click into the groove, music flows naturally and its character is evident. If you ignore the tempo and play much too slowly or too fast, the sense of the music will be altered. It may even be hidden.
So perhaps the element of tempo makes reading music different from reading a book. Music is more similar to dance, perhaps.
Yes! Definitely this occupation “recharges your mind and spirit”. I always enjoy sitting – away from any instruments – reading the scores of favourite music, hearing the music in my head. But there is a special pleasure to be had from sitting reading unfamiliar music. Recently I’ve been writing some folk style pieces for a friend. For inspiration I’ve been browsing through a volume for Irish mandolin, a double spread at a time, trying to hear these pieces as stylistically as possible in my mind. Simultaneously I’ve found myself imagining the physical sensation of playing these pieces on a violin or a piano, as well as on a mandolin. This is a skill set I’ve developed over many decades, as I write and arrange professionally, or for pupils and friends – often finding ideas starting visually and aurally in my head, when I’m walking somewhere. There was a key moment in my teens, when I’d been shopping for the sheet music of the Khachaturian violin concerto. I’d been charged with bringing it to my next lesson and found myself sitting on bus struggling to ‘hear’ a few bars at a time, deciding that this form of reading was an essential skill I needed to work at every day. Nowadays I sneak it in very early on with all my pupils!
I mostly feel that tempo is greatly overemphasized. As long as rhythmic relations are true – the geometry of the music – much music will stand a slower or quicker pulse.
Still: I went to an up-tempo Messiah at Christmas during which most of the notes disappeared into echoes and although the Lord was despised and rejected of men he was despised so very crisply and cheerfully and for so very short a time that it can’t much have bothered Him.
So perhaps there are limits to the geometric view.
Rob, you’re right: rhythmic relations are so important, and will survive at various tempi. All the same, I still feel that there is often an ideal tempo for a piece of music, and when you find it, everything falls into place.
I think good writing has a rhythm too (I am always amazed at the ability of a single comma to slow a sentence), but perhaps it is more flexible and changes more often than in most music. Then again the more constant rhythm of music can have a peaceful, healing quality of a different kind…
James, yes! Good writing has a rhythm too. I often find myself revising sentences for ‘musical’ reasons.
Does anyone else here sight read music out of curiosity just to understand how the music works? I am not patient enough to properly learn compositions but I love exploring piano pieces just to see what is going on. This is especially fun when they challenge your perceptions of what the piece is about. I am very much a bookworm and will read about all kinds of topics and authors yet, in last few years, this has been mirrored with sheet music.
It is really good fun learning to read music, discovering how it is put together and experiencing the colours of the harmony. I think it was learning some of the easier Scriabin compositions which piqued my interest as his early stuff sounds like industrial strength Chopin. Sight reading is really addictive and it has changed my perception of quite a few composers as well as discovering others like Louise Farrenc about whom I knew nothing a few years ago. Sometimes you only want to read the music once and there are other times when you appreciate that some piano pieces are far more approachable that you might have perceived. I particularly like exploring more obscure composers to find out what they are about ,how their personalities impose themselves on their music and why they are not as appreciated as they should be. Sight reading for fun has very much broadened my tastes and made me see music in a different light. You really get to understand a piano composer by sight reading their music as opposed to just listening on a CD or the radio. I would never have listened to Haydn had I not bought one of his sonatas to learn. Sight reading really opened a door for me that has exceeded just listening. If people are passionate about certain pieces of music, it is difficult not to want to explore an learn. (Never listened to Schumann before but bought the “Scenes from Childhood ” to read over the Christmas prompted by Susan’s book and am now converted. It is very enjoyable to play because your fingers automatically fall in place. Never thought I would have liked this composer’s music until playing this. )
I am intrigued by the comparison about anticipating a word when reading a really compelling book. I find this is the case with me with writers like Ian Rankin. It is like running down a hill and your legs cannot move fast enough. Having grown up through jazz, I find that this sensation is also the case with notes when you play composers like Bach, Clementi or Haydn. There is certainly a degree of “muscle memory” as you ears tell you in advance what note will follow the previous. Not sure this happens with more “modern” composers and I find I am always wrong footed even when reading children’s music by composers like Bartok. There was an article on the internet this week about Herbie Hancock being told by Miles Davis to avoid the “butter chords” when playing. This is the approach to harmony I love the most but “muscle memory” when the music is as sophisticated as this is well beyond my ability and why I appreciate so much. Your ear tells your fingers where to go with Bach but there is no hope for people who play for fun like me doing this with the “walking on eggshells harmony” of someone like Ravel who is constantly walking the tightrope of risky harmonies. Personally, a lot of the appeal in music comes from hearing startling and original harmonies like this. When you have a brilliant harmonic sequence in music, it is like building up to a cliff hanging moment in a book.
The analogy with books is a good one. I buy manuscripts almost as much as normal books these days. I agree that the tempo does help with sight reading although, for me, it is things like spicy chords whether a piece of classical music or jazz that really ticks the box.
Does anyone else have this compulsion to want to read all sorts of music?
Cheers
Ian
Ian, your appetite for learning and discovery is impressive! I am so pleased to read that you got hold of Schumann’s ‘Scenes from Childhood’ and were converted to his music through playing them.