As a clarinetist, I have spent much of my career interpreting music rather than arranging it. My instinct when adapting music from, say, a piano solo, to an ensemble piece (such as the Danzas Tristes Españolas by Víctor Carbajo, I’m currently revising for clarinet, cello, and harp) has previously been a matter of simply assigning notes from the original to the parts and hoping each player can work out exactly how it’s going to be played on their individual instrument. That’s how I’ve always done it, and it’s worked fine. Until now. Now, working with AI has changed that dynamic.
Just as letting AI write a story for me would take all the fun and creativity out of the process, I would never dream of letting AI transcribe the music for me. But, what I found was that by letting the AI act as a companion in the arranging process, it helped me understand better how to write idiomatically for harp and cello. Together, my AI friend and I went line by line through the score, finding ways to translate a dense piano texture into a clear, idiomatic trio for clarinet, cello, and harp.
For example, midway through the arranging process, I realised that the sound I wanted was more percussive than the piano score revealed. I wanted the music to have the flair of flamenco guitar. Just transcribing the notes and markings given in the original was just not going to be good enough. That’s when I turned to my little AI friend:
I wanted the harp to sound very dry, so I learned that adding étouffé would imitate the short, damped resonance of guitar strings.
I also verified that changing the beaming of chords would induce the harpist to alternate hands. For safe measure, I added “LH-RH” to drive home the idea.
To ensure an equally flamenco effect was given to the cello, I added sul tasto pizz. secco (quasi chitarra) for the cello to achieve a rounded, percussive tone closer to a mariachi guitarrón (rather than a sul ponticello effect, which is more brittle).
For the clarinet part, I re-beamed the melody to show its rhythmic vitality implied by the hemiola in the original.
Rather than taking creativity away, AI actually expanded it. It allowed me to access levels of creativity I would not normally afford myself, short of taking an orchestration course, that is. Instead, this process let me bring in exactly the tools I needed when I needed them, and my musical background gave me the instincts to know which tools to reach for.
This summer, I attended a couple of music festivals State-side. The first was the Lake Placid Chamber Music Institute Seminar, a week-long string seminar with yours truly in the role of “token wind player”. The second, Balkanalia, was a celebration of music and dancing from the Balkan countries (where I also got to play my tárogató). Held in a summer camp by a meandering stream not far from Portland, Oregon, it was more of a stretch for me musically than the usual fare of Beethoven and Brahms. Still, most of my efforts this summer were devoted to preparing the Clarinet Quintet by Brahms, one of the paramount works of chamber music for the clarinet. This afforded me the opportunity to work it up to a performance level.
To do that, I relied on the following tools:
Performing with a recording – I had several recordings (Martin Frost, Andreas Ottansammer, Karl Leister, and Yona Ettlinger). I sucked the recordings into the Practice Pro app on my phone where I could loop sections and slow them down until I was able to at least reasonably emulate some great recordings. Doing this also helped me learn the quartet parts intimately.
Tuning exercises – Too often I’ve left tuning until the end and then more or less hoped for the best, but this time I sat down with not one but two tuners. I’d play long tones, intervals (particularly those found in the Quintet) and scales. Playing also with the above-mention recordings in Practice Pro allowed me to repeat sections slowly until I was absolutely sure of my tuning.
Firing up that old metronome – While playing with a metronome helps ensure a consistent tempo, it was more for the subdivisions that I used the metronome here. Nowadays with metronome apps, you can program all sorts of fancy sub divisions. The Quintet’s Adagio movement contains figures for the clarinet that must sound almost improvised while being metronomically precise.
Alexander Technique – In order to play in a more relaxed many, I recently took up Alexander Technique. My biggest takeaway so far (and it’s a big one) is locating my centre of gravity while I’m playing lower in my body than I do. The result has been that I now support the air from the base of my spine rather than just midway down my back.
Performing for the locals in the Adirondacks.
Reading
In addition, I found the time to do more research into the life and times of a composer (in this case, Brahms) than I’d ever done before.
I particularly enjoyed reading Johann Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther, the book that kicked off the Romantic Movement. I also read Jan Swafford’s tome, Johannes Brahms: A Biography, and took a crack at Frederick Nietzsche’s Thus Spake Zarathustra (although it really antedates Brahms, it helped me understand the influences in Brahms’s later life when he wrote the Quintet).
Music Listening
As I read the Brahms biography, I listened to key works and made many exciting discoveries, including his late piano works, the Four Serious Songs, and many other chamber and choral works I’d never heard before. To give a sense of the various forks of interest I took, the list below provides audio proof of music I researched as I set out to understand where Brahms enigmatic Clarinet Quintet fit in the greater scheme of things.
What I learned
In retrospect, I wish I’d understood better what my status would be in Lake Placid (I came expecting to play the entire Quintet with “the best string players available”), but instead I played only one movement and even that was beyond the playing abilities of the players involved. While the Balkan music proved to be quite challenging (in a good way), the final performance venue proved to be quite challenging (but in a bad way) more or less guaranteeing a fiasco.
Morning tárogató warm-up by the river.
Still, I worked hard to prepare and learned more than had I done nothing at all (a trajectory that might otherwise have occurred). It’s in times like these that I’m reminded of Michel de Montaigne’s wise words, “My life has been full of terrible misfortunes, most of which never happened.”
Last night on YouTube, I interspersed viewings of hurricane Irma raging across the Caribbean with research into what other clarinettists consider to be playing in tune. My conclusions: This is a poor time to book a Caribbean holiday and, two, most people have not the slightest notion why they are proponents of long-tone exercises.
Playing long tones is like a religion that’s degenerated into empty gestures of devotion. Lacking any concept as to the intent of long tones, one tuning guru said, “The purpose of long tones is to, well, here’s how to do them…”, and he proceeded to play. Later, he added “Long tones are necessary so you can check your pitch”, but as he played, my tuner registered huge pitch swings (I don’t know what criteria he was using to check his pitch—he had no tuner in sight). For him, playing long tones is an act of faith.
Another proponent of long tones kicked off her presentation with the statement, “The reason for playing in tune is so you can play with a piano or other instruments.” While this isn’t entirely incorrect, it entirely misses the point of playing long tones. The primary purpose of playing long tones is to play in tune—with yourself. Each pitch is in tune relative to pitches around it, so once you’ve played a note, the note to follow must correspond in tuning with the first. Also, there are laws of overtones to consider, which is where Mr. Pythagoras enters with his observations about sound waves. A pitch an octave above its predecessor will vibrate at double the rate—if it vibrates at any other rate, you’re out of tune (or you’re not even playing an octave).
Out in the weird world of YouTube, there’s a tuning troll who wants to take issue about tuners and how people use them. He’s learned about Natural tuning and Tempered tuning and wants to use his knowledge to bludgeon the long-tone gurus for their well-intentioned but inaccurate videos. Tuning Troll has a good point, but I think it’s an erudite sideshow designed to distract from the simpler task of playing relative pitches in tune. And here’s why.
Tuning systems don’t even come into play when considering unisons and octaves, which is why they’re a good place to start. Parenthetically, they come in later when looking more deeply at relative pitches and harmonic structures. For example, the note B is tuned differently within a G major triad (it’s the third, which means in Natural tuning it needs to be lower than Tempered tuning would assign it) compared with an E major triad (it’s the fifth, which is relatively higher). For now, stick to unisons and octaves and the good old Pythagorian way.
I’ve left the identities of the above-misguided tuning gurus anonymous, but I’d like to call out this one excellent video on tuning. It’s by master clarinettist Jose Franch-Ballester. I’ve had the opportunity to sit down with him and learn first hand what his approach is, and in my sessions (and most importantly for you, in the following video), he explains the purpose of long tones. It’s almost all you need (well, that, and a couple of iPads) to get started playing in tune.
Quite apart from being unquestionably sexy and having a reputation as savvy trendsetters, musicians also have a nerdy side. When string players visit their favourite luthier to have their bows rehaired, they will talk with disturbingly fevered intensity about the relative merits of Appaloosa over Arabian horse hair required for the job. Pianists tie rubber bands to their fingers to increase dexterity, and are known to also have preferred rubber band manufacturers, about whom they argue on Internet forums. Of course, none are worse than oboists who have no social life whatsoever. How could they? They spend the greater part of their lives sealed up in basement cells shaving their reeds down to a microscopic fineness; then, emerge only to perform and complain about how much more work they need to do to achieve reed perfection. To a lesser degree, it’s the same for other woodwind players of reed instruments: As a rule, most reed players can’t tell a bad reed from a bad week.
By taking up the tárogató, I seem to have painted myself into a particularly arcane corner (even by musician standards), so it’s no surprise that I too find myself just as prone to the same sort of nerdy obsessiveness as what dogs players of other instruments. It was inevitable.
Working on Adam Hill’s “I Will Stay Here” for tárogató and electronics
When I commissioned my tárogató from Toth & Tarsa of Budapest, I was provided with a deluxe menu of options similar to what you might expect when purchasing a custom Tesla or investing in a teak plantation. I could choose the wood (cocobolo), the fingering system (I chose the German Albert system over the French Boehm only because I’d been playing a borrowed Albert system tárogató prior to investing in my own horn), and the mouthpiece style (I naturally chose one that would take a clarinet reed over one that took a soprano saxophone reed—there are no tárogató reeds).
My tárogató’s birthplace – Toth & Tarsa, Budapest, Hungary
When my tárogató arrived, I was delirious with joy and didn’t mind some of its funky tuning (“hey, it’s a folk instrument!”) and its limited range (only two octaves compared with four on the clarinet). Gradually, however, that nerdy musician thinking started to peer into the room and make suggestions about how—if only I tweaked this or bought that—my playing would improve unstoppably.
All my neighbours are out of earshot of my practising, so it is to their good fortune that they missed out on the months of squawking that transpired as I attempted to extend the range of the instrument. While clarinettists can chose from a number of method books that contain vast anthologies of fingerings for every note on the clarinet (I have one such book with over forty fingers alone for the altissimo G#), the tárogatónist must contend with a miserable starter’s fingering chart displaying but one fingering per note. Working on the two new works I commissioned from Jeffrey Ryan and Adam Hill forced me to extremes, so thanks to them and a lot of aforementioned squawking, I have now amassed quite a handsome new chart of tárogató fingerings.
Caution should be taken when attempting these fingerings as they have only been tested on the Albert system tárogató (nobody knows for sure what would happen on a Boehm system tárogató).
Just as tárogató reeds are not known to exist, tárogató mouthpieces are a rarity. You can’t just march into your local guitar and drums music store and demand to see their display of tárogató mouthpieces.
My tárogató came from Budapest with a pleasant sounding mouthpiece, but with nothing to compare it against, I really couldn’t be sure if it was good or not. My quest for a superior mouthpiece led me to Dr. Ed Pillinger of Middlesex, England.
Dr. Ed is a skilled craftsman who spends most of his days whittling away at custom clarinet and saxophone mouthpieces. But every now and then, some tárogató-wielding colonial who’s heard he makes a good Stowasser copy, rings him up. I now have two “Pillingers”: one is pitched at about A445 (European pitch), whilst the other is pitched appropriately for North America at A440. The doctor and I had to find a cure in the latter one when the former one proved untunable and untenable with piano (or anybody on this side of the pond).
Photographed on arrival (nothing makes social-media light up like the arrival of new tárogató mouthpieces).
With all this nerdiness now becoming a fixture in my life, I was instantly smitten when clarinettist François Houle let me try his new Ishimori Kodama II ligature (the thingy that holds the reed onto the mouthpiece). Smitten enough that I couldn’t be stopped until one of these babies was flying its way to me from Japan (of all places).
Ishimori & Co. wins “World’s Shortest User Guide” award for 2017.
All of these marvels together has done much to strengthen the tuning of the instrument (no more excuses) and improve my confidence in the upper register. I’ve yet to start affixing tape into tone holes, a laborious practice to coax individual notes into pitch by adding successive layers of electrician’s tape (or as I’ve recently learned, “Kapton tape” available at any fine purveyor of model train accessories). Tone-hole taping will undoubtedly commence once all the new equipment has had time to settle in.
A marvel to behold – New Pillinger mouthpiece with even newer Ishimori ligature.
So if ever you have romantic thoughts of the life of a musician as some care-free communion with the muse, think again: Musicians are about the nerdiest people you’ll ever meet.
Jason plays a custom Albert-system cocobolo tárogató made by Toth & Tarsa of Budapest, Hungary, a replica Stowasser mouthpiece by Pillinger Mouthpieces of Middlesex, UK, a Kodama II ligature by Ishimori Wind Instruments of Tokyo, Japan, and Légère Signature synthetic reeds formulated by Guy Légère of Montréal, Canada.
On 30 April 2017 (4pm), The Tárogató Project and St. Philip’s Church (Dunbar) presents “REFUGE” a concert of Hungarian music and stories (old and new) of refugees to Vancouver. St. Philip’s Anglican Church, 3737 27th Avenue West, Vancouver, BC, Canada
I just read Tony Schwartz’s recent blog on the Harvard Business Review describing the six keys to achieving excellence. I enjoyed it and was inspired. Then, I thought how my music training, apart from providing a lifetime of enjoyment playing music, has given me a first-hand experience achieving excellence. Sometimes, I forget that not all people have had that excellence, so they don’t know why things are tough or don’t they don’t get the results they want.
I’ve taken Mr. Schwartz’s six points and applied them to my experience in music to draw some inspiration in other areas of my life where I feel, er, less accomplished:
Pursue what you love. This is a no brainer as nobody in their right mind would pursue music for any reason other than he or she loves it. A couple of years ago when I started questioning the wisdom of leaving a promising career as an orchestral musician for technical writing (what?), I had an epiphany that has helped me rejig my career back into something I can say I love.
I was using my head to make big decisions (what shall to do with my life?) and my heart to make small ones (what should I have for lunch today?). I should have been doing the exact opposite.
I realized I’d been directing my life to things that were rational and, um, boring instead of inspiring. On a daily basis, I was being capricious in a way that was essentially undermining my plans. I needed to start doing the exact reverse: plan my life from my heart and my daily affairs from my head. “How do you get to Carnegie Hall?” — “Practice!”
Do the hardest work first. In music, the fastest way to do something is slowly. Orchestral musicians meticulously dissect a passage of music until they can play it with ease. Getting to the ease part can take a long time and a lot of patience, but things don’t necessarily come easy—even in music.
Practice intensely, I think people imagine that playing music is relaxing. Well, it is but only after conquering the Himalayan peaks of practice. I don’t know whether musicians practice because they love music or they love music because they practice so much. I think I practiced my way into loving music. It became all consuming in the best possible way. Don’t do things by half measure.
Seek expert feedback, in intermittent doses. There is nothing so humbling as bearing your soul before a more accomplished musician. I’ve always been suspicious of the self-taught musician. How can anyone grow surrounded only by there own opinions and habits? There’s no better way to acquire new abilities and to go beyond what you thought yourself capable of than by seeking out an expert to help you reach your goals.
Take regular renewal breaks.When I studied at the Banff Centre for the Arts, we would play chamber music in the morning and then go skiing in the afternoon. By the next day we were indeed renewed. Besides, when you’re doing what you love (or loving what you do), you’re integrating new information all the time—even when you’re asleep.
Ritualize practice. As a musician, I really liked playing scales. It was like a morning ritual. I had the most brutally difficult study book I’d found somewhere. It was called, “Vade Mecum” which I think means “Take along companion” and it was actually written for flute. It included every possible scale and arpeggio configuration in every register. Two hours of that and I felt like I could wrestle a bear!
