Between Baroque and a Hard Place

Between Baroque and a Hard Place

Nothing worthwhile comes easily…

 

I went for a violin lesson last night. I was rather apprehensive as the last lesson consisted of playing a study as quickly as possible without stopping. My teacher played along with me, each time faster and faster, shouting “keep going – we don’t stop for mistakes!” It was pretty hair-raising.

My homework was to play the study at a pace which I would describe as “far too fast” using different slurs and bowings.

 

I hadn’t done my homework.

 

I couldn’t face the shame of playing the study “far too slowly”.

 

After fretting about this, I decided at the last minute to leave the study at home and to take a violin/cello duet that I had been working on with my partner, an Allegro by Handel, a piece which I felt reasonably confident about playing.

 

I arrived at my lesson and confessed that I hadn’t done anything with the study and had brought another piece with me.

 

“Baroque!” exclaimed my teacher “You do realise that this is what I do don’t you?”

 

Of course! My teacher is one of the leading lights in the baroque playing world.

 

“Do you want the long baroque lecture or the short baroque lecture?” she asked.

 

"Um, the long one please.” I replied tentatively.

 

She opened an old violin case and took out her baroque violin, a beautiful instrument with black and white edging either side of the slender finger board.

She explained that the strings were gut rather than metal, the bass bar was shorter, the bridge was lower and the whole instrument was tuned a semitone lower than a modern violin.
“So I couldn’t possibly play this with you playing yours, it would sound awful!” she exclaimed. “Play me your ‘A’”.
I played my ‘A’ string and she played the ‘A’ on hers.
“Urgh, you see, awful isn’t it?” She asked.
“Urgh, yes, disgusting.” I agreed, trying to appear more offended by the sound than I actually was.

 

Then she handed me a baroque bow, looking dangerously taught. “Have a go with this.”

 

I held the strange bow and was about to play, at the same time developing a terrible tickle in my throat. She took hold of the bow to move it nearer to the bridge and said “You need to play it around here...”

 

I coughed, politely covering my mouth.

 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, unexpectedly finding herself holding the bow on her own. “This has happened to me before with a child, I was adjusting the angle of her violin and she just let go. I said to her ‘I’m glad someone was holding it!’”

She returned the bow to me. “Ok,” she said “Let me hear you play.”

 

I raised my bow and started to play the incessant series of quavers.

 

Bop bop bop bop bop bop bop bop…

 

“Ok, stop, stop” she commanded after I had played a mere four bars.

 

She played the piece for me. My jaw dropped. It was absolutely wonderful. I felt honoured to be a private audience to this incredible sound.

 

“That sounds much nicer.” I said, not wanting to go over the top with praise.

 

For the next forty or so minutes my teacher talked...

 

There are pauses, but not really pauses, like a breath, but much shorter than a singer’s breath.

 

Although not written into the music, there are stresses, but not really stresses, similar to the start of a new sentence, but very subtle.

 

She talked of notes being dotted but not really dotted, more held onto, some notes being cherished a little more and others a little less, yet barely noticeable.

 

She described a stream flowing over smooth rocks and stones.

 

Where there are three notes such as ‘G’, ‘D’ and ‘G’. It is almost as if it is a single ‘G’ with the ‘D’ as an ornament. There should be a diminuendo across the three notes, but not really a diminuendo, more of a gentle decay.

 

She talked of architecture. Of the soulless nature of a house with flat windows and doors compared to a house with a porch, bay windows and balconies. Of fabulous rococo ceilings with some notes being the gold leaf and other notes being the white plaster.

 

She said to pay attention to bar lines but also to ignore them and let the music determine which notes belong together.

 

She talked of two voices conversing within the music, of curving and pivoting the bow, of swelling and shaping notes like a wave rising and falling in the deep ocean.

 

My head was now swimming in this deep ocean.

 

Then I heard a ‘bing!’ sound.

 

“Ah, I think my cake’s ready.” She said and left the room.

 

I quickly packed up my instrument and music and waited for her return.

 

“Oh! I hope I haven’t put you off!” She said.
“No, not at all.” I replied “There’s a lot for me to think about. Thank you very much. It’s been really very interesting. What sort of cake is it?”

 

“Just an apple sponge. Would you like to book another lesson?”

 

“Yes, I’ll email you some dates, thank you again. Goodbye!” I said before leaving.

 

I’ve definitely got some serious practice to be getting on with.

 

“Nothing in the world is worth having or worth doing unless it means effort, pain, difficulty… I have never in my life envied a human being who led an easy life.” ~Theodore Roosvelt~