In 2011, declaring that "our art is passed from one generation to the next, not by books but by mentoring," NEC faculty member Paul Katz launched CelloBello, a website designed to connect cellists of all ages and performance levels. Among the site's resources are "Cello Lessons," consisting of footage filmed in Katz's studio with NEC students; "Legacy" videos from Katz's own mentors; and the blog streamed through this page, and coauthored by more than a dozen prominent cellists.

Conversation with Bernard Greenhouse

 Reprinted from Internet Cello Society 11/28/98

By Tim Janof:


greenhouseTJ: You studied with Felix Salmond who also taught Leonard Rose.

BG: When I was 18, I had to choose between entering a pre-med program or trying out for Juilliard. I chose to try for a Juilliard fellowship, which I was awarded, and I began to study with Felix Salmond. He was sort of a funnel for talent from all over the United States, since there weren’t many cellists at the time. There were only eight cellists at Juilliard, as well as at Curtis, and each one was a very gifted player.

TJ: Did you attend school with Leonard Rose?

 BG: No, he was at Curtis, in Philadelphia, though we were quite aware of each other because of our common teacher. I remember going to my lessons where Salmond would often say, “Oh, Bernard, I just came from Philadelphia where I have the most wonderful talent in the world, just a great, great young talent, Leonard Rose.” After a while, I grew tired of hearing about Leonard Rose, and I would bristle each time he mentioned him. Naturally, being an ambitious youth, I had a high opinion of my own talent, and I wanted him tell me how great I was.

A couple of years later, the Curtis Orchestra came to New York to play a performance of “The Marriage of Figaro” with Fritz Reiner conducting, and we had to share our rooms with some of the musicians. As luck would have it, Leonard Rose was my guest. He took one look at me and said, “So you’re Bernie Greenhouse! Every time I have a lesson, Felix says, ‘Oh, I have the most wonderful talent in the world, just a great, great young talent, Bernard Greenhouse.’ After awhile I began to hate you.”

We both had a good laugh over this and decided that this was Salmond’s way of urging us on.

TJ: Did you continue to feel competitive with Leonard Rose after this?

BG: Yes, there was a certain amount of competition between us, though less on my part because I knew that I wanted to study with teachers after Salmond. Leonard Rose completed his studies with him, and then pursued his career. After studying with Salmond for four years, I was ready to move on to another teacher.

Felix Salmond was enormously gifted when it came to “sound.” Frank Miller, Victor Gotlieb, Leonard Rose — some of the best talents in America at the time — came away from him with a beautiful sound. Unfortunately, Salmond was not a truly great cellist himself. He was a wonderful musician and a fine artist, but his technique was very limited. Consequently, his repertoire was very limited too.

TJ: If he wasn’t a great cellist, then how did he teach so many first rate cellists?

BG: You don’t have to be a first class cellist to be an effective teacher. He kept us in line by insisting that we use all of his fingerings and bowings. You could not come into his room and make changes because you thought you had a better idea. I now think this approach was wrong because it prevented us from learning how to think for ourselves. As a result, many of his students never went beyond using his editions, and weren’t terribly creative artists.

TJ: Did he play with a more modern technique, or was he from the old school?

BG: He was very much a product of the old school, which was why I was anxious to go beyond Salmond’s teaching and to begin my studies with Emanuel Feuermann. Feuermann was a great help in developing my left hand.

TJ: What sort of exercises did Feuermann have you work on?

BG: He didn’t work with exercises, he was mostly concerned with repertoire. He believed that concertos and other major pieces provided plenty of opportunities for technical study. He discussed and demonstrated the technique of the left hand in a completely new way, minimizing the use of extensions. Before him old-school German teachers like Klengel and Becker relied much more upon extensions, which required that you practice eight hours a day in order to build up enormous strength and endurance. With Feuermann the left hand was supple and moved freely. He showed me the technique of how to get around the instrument with minimal effort, taking advantage of arm weight when fingering.

TJ: Did he also work with you on bow technique?

BG: Yes, he did to a degree, but I found it extremely difficult to imitate him. He had the most natural bow arm of any cellist I’ve ever heard before or since. Even Heifetz admired his bow arm. I learned mostly about left hand technique from him.

TJ: Was he a kind teacher?

BG:  He was rather sarcastic actually. In spite of this, I would hear rumors that he spoke well of me to others. But he knew how to push my buttons, and would say things like, “If you practice five or six hours a day for the next few years, you might play as well as Frank Miller or Leonard Rose.”

TJ: Did Feuermann talk about musical issues or was he mostly a technical teacher?

BG: He was mostly technical. He would demonstrate a great deal during lessons and would ask me to imitate him. When I attempted some of the more difficult passages he would either smile or ridicule me when I couldn’t do it. He expected everybody to be able to play with the natural ease that he had. On the positive side, he provided a clear vision of how I wanted to play from a technical standpoint, which was very inspiring.

TJ: Do you consider him to be more of a profound artist or profound technician?

BG: I don’t think of him as one of the great creative artists in history, and I didn’t think so even then. I think his legacy is that nobody had been able to play the instrument with the same ease and unerring intonation before he came around. He is probably the best cellist, technically speaking, I’ve ever seen or heard.

There were three cellists who made a great impression upon me in my student days. The first was Feuermann. The second was Cassado, who had a great feeling for the instrument and a superb technique. The third was Raya Garbousova, who came from Russia and exhibited a profound technique and a wonderful performance presence. Of course, the one who was the most impressive was Feuermann. But then I became aware of Pablo Casals. When it came to making music, once you were in the presence of Casals and knew his playing, the rest faded away.

TJ: Before we discuss Casals, you studied with one of Casals’ proteges, Diran Alexanian.

BG: Yes. I was principal cellist of the Navy Symphony Orchestra in Washington, D.C. when I first met him during the Second World War. I met Mischa Schneider, cellist of the Budapest Quartet, on a train to New York and he invited me to sit in on his lesson with Alexanian. I thought the lesson was fabulous so I decided that every time I had a weekend pass and a chance to go to New York, I would have a lesson with Alexanian. This was the beginning of a long association with him.

TJ: Wasn’t Alexanian a pretty analytical musician?

BG: He was extremely analytical but also very musical. Casals had chosen him as his substitute teacher at the École Normale in Paris because of his wonderful musical intuition. He had a profound influence on many of the great musicians of that era — Fournier, Piatigorsky, Tortelier, violinist Alexander Schneider, to name a few. In fact, Feuermann never played in New York without first coming to play for Alexanian.

He was a superb pedagogue, but he wasn’t much of a cellist. He never touched the cello during lessons, except to show an occasional fingering or something. When he did play, it usually sounded terrible, but one excused him because he was not a cellist and he didn’t claim to be.

TJ: Did you consider Alexanian’s technique to be more old fashioned?

BG: Yes, he was definitely a product of the old school. He had enormous hands, which enabled him to do things without great extensions that smaller hands would have much difficulty in achieving. He sometimes took his large reach for granted and expected others to play with his fingerings, which created difficulties with some of his students.

He was also an extremely intimidating character. If you didn’t have a healthy self-confidence, he could overwhelm you. Raya Garbousova, for instance, went to work with him, which I think was a mistake. She came out a different person, much less self-assured. Fortunately, I wasn’t afraid to challenge him. I used to spend hours arguing with him about his cello technique and the stiffness of his bow arm, which was always interesting and informative. Our discussions were always on a high level, and he treated me almost as an equal.

TJ: How did he discuss music? Did he break down phrases note by note?

BG: He was very detail-oriented, so much so that it wasn’t always easy to understand him.

This reminds me of the time he and I went to Prades to see Casals after a separation of about 14 years. Casals had invited just the two of us to hear him play some sonatas with piano. Casals was so nervous to be playing for Alexanian that his knees actually shook as he picked up his cello to start.

Alexanian and Casals eventually got involved in a discussion about a single note in the C Minor Bach Suite, which lasted about half an hour. They couldn’t come to an agreement as to which note was the key note of a particular phrase. Three months later I was in New York at Alexanian’s home, and he showed me a postcard from Casals that said, &34;I think now, Diran, that you were right about that note in the C minor.&34; Three months later!

TJ: Looking back, do you think that Alexanian’s highly analytical approach may have been a little extreme?

BG: I think it was rather extreme. He had a hard time getting through to many of his students because of this. He could be a bit unforgiving if you didn’t follow him. If you didn’t have the technical ability to keep up with him it could be disastrous. He insisted on his way of playing and his way of making music.

TJ: How did you end up studying with Casals?

BG: Alexanian helped to arrange a meeting with Casals. He wrote a letter to Casals in Prades, asking whether he would listen to me play and perhaps give me some lessons. Casals wrote back that he couldn’t, since he was too busy taking care of exiles from Franco’s Spain. With that letter I decided that I would go to Fontainebleau to study with Hekking, in the hopes that I would get another opportunity to study with Casals. When I arrived in Paris, I sent a letter to Casals asking whether he would at least listen to me play once. He sent a postcard back saying that, if I would donate $100 to Spanish charities and come to Prades on such and such a day, he would listen to me.

So I met him in Prades and had a nice talk with him for about a half hour. He asked me to come back the next day and play for him then. When I returned the following day I was shaking like a leaf. He noticed that I was very nervous, so he said, “You take your cello out and warm up a little bit. I’ll come back in a few moments.”

As I warmed up, I gradually started to feel a little better. After twenty minutes went by, I noticed that Casals hadn’t yet returned. I turned my head and saw his head in the doorway. He was standing just outside the door with the door opened a crack. He had been listening the whole time. He walked into the room, smiled, and said “I wanted to hear you play when you weren’t nervous.” I’ll never forget his wonderful sensitivity to my feelings.

Then he asked me to play many things in the cello repertoire. He wanted to hear the Haydn D Major Concerto, the Brahms F Major Sonata, and some Bach, of course. After 45 minutes or so he told me to put away the cello so we could talk. He said, “I would like to send you to a great artist because I believe in the apprentice system, the association of a youngster with an artist. Unfortunately, I don’t know who to send you to. But if you agree to stay in the village for at least six months and take several lessons, perhaps two or three lessons per week, I’ll teach you.”

That, of course, was a great moment for me. For weeks I didn’t even send for my things in Paris. I just stayed on and began my work with him, which was the most wonderful time of my life. I stayed there most of the year, returned to America to play some concerts, and then went back to study with him for another seven months.

TJ: Did he dictate bowings and fingerings?

BG: Definitely. I studied Bach’s D minor Suite for three weeks. He insisted on certain bowings and fingerings for each movement, which meant that I had to write into my part exactly what he did. We went through the entire suite in this manner. After a while, this started to bother me, so I finally said to him, “Mr. Casals, I am concerned that I will end up being just a poor imitation of you.”

He replied, “Don’t you worry about that. You just put your cello down and listen.”

He then played the entire D minor Suite, changing all the bowings and fingerings from what he had taught me during the last three weeks. I sat there absolutely aghast as he finished. He smiled and said, “Now that’s the real lesson of how to play Bach. You must learn it so well that you remember every single idea that you have had in your practice. Then you forget everything and improvise.”

This was very difficult to do, especially after such rigid training the prior three weeks, but it was a profound lesson. I eventually played each Suite in a recital in New York, but it took me a whole year to learn each one to the point where I felt I could improvise as I played.

TJ: Did he work on technical issues with you?

BG:  He didn’t work on technique with me. He felt that I had a good command of the instrument. I did get the idea of using arm weight when bowing from him. He was very complimentary about my cello playing, though not so much about my music making. For instance, one time he told me that I sounded a little too much like Kreisler, which meant that he didn’t like my style of playing. I had been greatly influenced by the Viennese musicality of Fritz Kreisler, and it was part of my playing at the time.

TJ: He didn’t like Kreisler’s playing?

BG: He loved Kreisler’s playing, but he didn’t want me to imitate him. He had a great friendship with Kreisler, but the Viennese style was not for him.

TJ: Do you consider Casals’ technique to be more old fashioned or more modern?

BG: He was modern to a great extent. He had a great fluidity in his playing, which was very different from the Klengel or Becker school. He didn’t play with the ease of Feuermann, since his hands were smaller and rather pudgy, though enormously strong, but nobody could play like Feuermann at the time.

TJ: Did Casals play differently live than on recordings?

BG: Definitely. Some of his recordings, especially the encore pieces, sound a little exaggerated. I never heard him play that way, live. I studied with him when he was 70 years old and still had enormous ability on the cello. As he got older, his playing became more exaggerated and less accurate, which is when many of his recordings were made. But when I studied with him, his playing was still wonderful and I never heard anything that was less than musically superb.

TJ: So we shouldn’t really judge him by his recordings?

BG: Definitely not. Once in a while you’ll hear something so exaggerated that it makes you jump out of your chair, especially in the later recordings. But there are also recordings, especially the earlier ones, like of the Chopin Nocturnes, that are splendid. In these recordings, you hear musicality that is unsurpassed. Nobody could ever match his level of artistry.

TJ: What was he like as a person?

BG: He was very genial, though at times he could be very stern. His stern side didn’t usually come out when music was discussed, though he was very insistent on his ideas. It came out for issues outside of music. He was very firm about people who didn’t understand that Franco was a tyrant. When it came to politics, for instance, his jaw would tighten any time we spoke about what was happening politically in France or America. He was very disturbed that the United States recognized Franco. Of course I was very much influenced by his political ideas.

TJ: When you finished your studies with Casals, did you pursue a solo career?

BG: I did for 12 years, but it was very difficult. The cello was not a very popular instrument in the United States at that time. There were two main cellists in the United States — Piatigorsky, who was doing fairly well, and Feuermann, who really struggled, only playing twelve concerts in the season before he died. Piatigorsky performed quite a bit, but he didn’t really have a full scale career like the major cellists of today, such as Rostropovich or Yo-Yo Ma. Agents weren’t interested in booking cellists, and orchestras would often only engage one cellist per year, if that. I really struggled.

In order to make ends meet, I joined the Bach Aria group, which afforded me some financial security as well as giving me the great pleasure of playing some of the Bach Cantatas, which have some wonderful cello arias.

During this time, violinist Daniel Guilet asked me if I would like to record some Mozart trios with pianist Menahem Pressler, who was in Israel at the time. I didn’t know Pressler’s playing, but Guilet was very enthusiastic about him. Later, when I was recording the Haydn D Major Concerto with the Indianapolis Orchestra for MGM Records, Guilet contacted me, suggesting that I ask Pressler if he’d be willing to come to New York and do some recordings. Eventually we all met in New York, started rehearsing, and formed what was to become the Beaux Arts Trio.

TJ: Do you find that you have to expend a lot of energy just to be heard as a cellist in a piano trio?

BG: That depends more upon the pianist than the cellist. We were fortunate to have a really superb pianist who had a sense of sound color in the piano, which enabled the other instruments — the violin and the cello — to be heard. He would never overpower us.

TJ: As a cellist in a piano trio, you spend a lot of time doubling the pianist’s left hand, particularly in the Haydn trios.

BG:  That’s true, but I actually think I had more influence on the performance of the Haydn trios because I had more time to think about the music, instead of worrying about technique. Of course, there is plenty of beauty and difficulty in the rest of the piano trio literature to keep me busy.

TJ: The Beaux Arts Trio was one of the first professional full-time traveling piano trios. Was it difficult finding work?

BG: It wasn’t easy in the beginning. Piano trios were not accepted in the chamber music world, which embraced string quartets for the most part. In our first season, our managers got us 80 or so concerts, but 75 were community concerts. We didn’t mind at the time since we were busy learning repertoire. Eventually, we became accepted as a professional chamber group and we were able to give up the community concerts and play for fine chamber music societies throughout the world.

TJ: Do you think that the art of phrasing and rubato is becoming extinct?

BG: I wish that I could say that it still exists, but I find that there’s less and less communication in phrasing, less individuality, and less creativity. Instrumental technique, whether for piano, violin, or cello, has increased enormously. We now have hundreds of cellists with technique that would have been called astounding 75 years ago. We have 13-year-old prodigies who would have been considered musical geniuses 50 years ago because of their fabulous technique. We now have the means to produce music with an ease that was unheard of when I was a young man.

The problem is that I cannot tell the difference between the finest talents anymore. When I listen to a recent recording, I can’t tell who’s playing, since they sound mostly the same. Occasionally I’ll hear a moment of creativity and individuality, but it still lacks the stamp of an individual artist. Young people want desperately to succeed, so they imitate success without trying to find a way of speaking the language of music for themselves. Copying success can be very destructive.

TJ: In your videotape, “Cello Master Class with Bernard Greenhouse,” you said something like, “We must wake up to the fact that there is more to cello than a beautiful sound. We must learn how to build phrases.”

BG: Exactly. I try to zero in on this very idea with my own students. We must develop a freedom of expression that is personal, that has nothing to do with what we hear others do. There are special techniques for making music that have to be learned, and can be used to create one’s own musical style. These techniques are difficult to learn today because those who studied with the really creative and individualistic artists of our past, like Casals, Szigeti, and Enesco, are largely gone, and are not around to fight the trend towards musical uniformity. In my own teaching, I am trying to revive an interest in the technique of phrasing and music making so that talented musicians can put their fantastic technique to good use.

TJ: In your video tape, you also said, “Everything in music has to have an architectural feeling about it.” What does this mean?

BG: There is a structure involved in building a performance. You start by building a simple phrase, then another, then another, and so on. You then combine these phrases to build a structure for the overall work. When done well, this approach will result in an “architectural” feeling in the work, since each phrase will have context within the overall work.

Casals emphasized the “arch” in music making. Each phrase has a beginning, reaches the top in a beautiful arching way, and then comes down to the starting point. He called these “rainbows.” He was very insistent that every phrase have this feeling of motion toward the top, and then a receding motion to the bottom. Each piece consists of smaller rainbows that are part of larger rainbows, which gives the piece a sense of form. This is what he called the “architecture” of building phrases.

TJ: You also mentioned that there are “consonants” and “vowels” in music. What are these?

BG: This relates to another concept that Casals emphasized — articulation. He insisted that every note have a definite beginning, even if it was to be played pianissimo. A consonant is heard when the finger audibly comes down on the instrument, giving the note a sharp beginning. A vowel is played when the finger is placed less percussively, giving the note a milder beginning. In other words, a consonant is more articulated.

TJ: You caution your students to not become overly involved in the beauty of the music, to not lose control their emotions. Why?

BG: I have to be careful how I explain this to my students. Of course, you must be emotionally involved in the music, but there is a limit. You don’t want to start crying while you play. If you show that much emotion, you take it away from your audience. Your goal is to get the audience members to feel these emotions, not for you to distract them with your own display of feelings. There have been times when I have been extremely successful in creating a beautiful phrase, and I have seen people take out a handkerchief to wipe a tear away, which is a tremendous compliment. But it’s enormously difficult to be overly expressive if you let your own emotions go, since you also lose technical control. You tend to lose your audience too, since they can be repelled by such displays.

TJ: How do you go about analyzing the pieces you play?

BG: I try to develop an understanding between myself and the composer, which doesn’t necessarily come through highly theoretical analysis. Remember that we are playing beautiful music, not studying mathematics. My goal is to attain a sympathetic feeling toward the music, which then shows me the path towards more technical analysis if necessary. For instance, when I study the Beethoven G minor Sonata, I begin to understand each phrase when I develop a sympathy for what Beethoven is trying to say, and what he may have been feeling as he composed. I don’t think of my approach as the kind of analysis that one would do in a music theory class.

TJ: Why do you encourage people to play closer to the bridge with the bow, particularly when playing forte?

BG: Moving the bow closer to the bridge creates a sound that has more of a forte character, much more than what one achieves when playing midway between the bridge and the fingerboard. When one plays forte closer to the fingerboard, it sounds like the cello is being forced to do something that it doesn’t want to, like shouting with one’s hand over one’s mouth.

My priority is to have an enormous range of tonal colors. You can’t be fully expressive without having a wide palette of colors available. The speed of the bow, the position of the bow, and the amount of pressure are the three primary things we can vary to alter the tonal colors on the instrument. Like a painter who mixes his colors on his palette, we mix ours with the bow.

I don’t ask people to play closer to the bridge because I want to hear a “bigger” sound. The cello is not a trombone or a trumpet, and there’s a limit to how much sound one can get out of the cello. I think my fine colleague, Rostropovich, has shown us the limit. I’m impressed by tonal variety, not sheer volume.

TJ: You take advantage of arm weight when you play, in both arms.

BG: Definitely. But arm weight is not the most important thing, it’s being able to attach the weight of the arm to the spine, since the back has an enormous influence on the ease of playing, a notion I got from Feuermann and Casals. The smaller the amount of body you use, the more difficult it is to play with strength. When the back is more involved, you achieve a feeling of freedom and power that you cannot attain when you play only with your arms, hands, and fingers. The motion should starts from the back, not from the arm or shoulder. When you put your finger down, for instance, it’s not the finger that is creating the strength, it’s your back that’s pulling the finger down. You should use the large muscles of your body in order to create the ease and strength.

TJ: How do you achieve subtle shades of vibrato, if you use arm weight and your back as the primary ingredients for any motion? The large muscles are not known for their subtlety.

BG: Vibrato doesn’t depend on strength as much as it does from which part of the arm you’re using. If you’re on the C string, your entire arm should be used, since the C string requires a wider vibrato in order to be discernable. If you play on the A string in the lower positions, and if you want a luscious sound, you should use a movement that hinges more at the elbow. If you play in the upper registers of the cello, the wrist becomes more important. As you can see, there isn’t only one type of vibrato motion, there’s an enormous variety of vibrato types that vary depending on where you are playing on the cello, not to mention the shades of vibrato available when you strive for a variety of tonal colors.

Remember also that the bow is always working in conjunction with the left hand. There is as much crescendo or diminuendo in the left hand as there is in the bow. The right and left arms always work together to create sound.

And most important, we mustn’t forget that the goal of all this technical discussion is to create music that says something, not just to play with a beautiful sound. I implore all musicians to express their unique inner selves deeply and creatively. Don’t look to recordings or to your neighbor for answers, study the score, learn about the composer, and look inside yourselves.

The Spine: Our Very Own Superhighway

I only learned about the importance of the spinal column to cello playing as I was introduced more deeply into the Alexander Technique. Of course I knew the superficial facts about the spine and especially how vital it is to the health of the nervous system. But its particular relevance to cellists was not brought home until I began training in the work of teaching the Technique.

Here are a few interesting facts about the spine to start off 1:

  • The spinal cord is surrounded by rings of bone called vertebrae.
  • Both are covered by a protective membrane.
  • Together, the vertebrae and the membrane make up the spinal column, or backbone.
  • The backbone, which protects the spinal cord, starts at the base of the skull and ends just above the hips.
  • The spinal cord is about 18 inches long. It extends from the base of the brain, down the middle of the back, to just below the last rib in the waist area.
  • The main job of the spinal cord is to be the communication system between the brain and the body by carrying messages that allow people to move and feel sensation.
  • Spinal nerve cells, called neurons, carry messages to and from the spinal cord, via spinal nerves.
  • Messages carried by the spinal nerves leave the spinal cord through openings in the vertebrae.
  • Spinal nerve roots branch off the spinal cord in pairs, one going to each side of the body.
  • Every nerve has a special job for movement and feeling. They tell the muscles in the arms, hands, fingers, legs, toes, chest and other parts of the body how and when to move. They also carry messages back to the brain about sensations, such as pain, temperature and touch.

What the above facts do not tell us is what happens in day-to- day life to us as cellists when, unknowingly, we compress our spine in practicing and playing our instrument. How and why does this happen?

The S-curves of the spine (there are four, some say five if you count the coccyx), as well as its discs, are springy, to allow us to absorb the force of gravity as we move about in space, and they also function as shock absorbers as we walk along the ground. But this spring in the spine only occurs if the weight of the head is balancing properly on top of the spine, which allows a natural lengthening of the spine to occur. The head and neck are key to this process, and yet this head to spine relationship is so rarely noticed, let alone taught, in the cello studio.

Sadly, cellists tend to either pull the head forward and down, or back and down, onto the spine, restricting the vital impulses of the spine and cutting the energy flow to the arms and fingers. This pulling out of balance of the head is accompanied by a collapse of the spine; the entire body loses its tuning, its axis, its means of functioning.

On another level the fine energies of the spine are life-giving. They are what enable the rhythmic vitality, the tonal resonance, the vital communicative power of the player, the flow of musical expression. If all the gestures a cellist makes– -right and left hand– arise from a lengthening spine, they awaken a different sound at the instrument, a deeper, authentic power. This has been my experience of the Alexander Technique, as I watch my students transform and blossom into fluent and expressive players. Those who ‘have a back and a spine'; can be distinguished from those who don’t. And it’s not what you get in a gym. It is a result of very fine, subtle work in undoing those habits of compression and tightening which may have been acquired unknowingly, sometimes many years ago.

When my students, well into the Alexander work, ask me why such important information is not better known and not widely taught, I don’t know what to say. Perhaps we are just beginning to recognize something that we are losing  in the new world of the 21st century.

_________________________
1 http://www.spinalinjury101.org/details/anatomy

 

 

The Rep…More than Quartet

BraunschwConsort

More or Less…
String Trios, Quintets and Beyond 

It is generally agreed that the string quartet is the ultimate chamber music idiom. While there are surely those that differ with that assessment, I confess that I agree from my perspectives as both a listener and a performing artist. Many of the greatest composers from Haydn to the present day have tried their hand at quartet writing. Many have succeeded in giving us their best creations, some of which are regarded to be some of the greatest creative work of human kind.

When asked about repertoire for other combinations of strings, most musicians can come up with a relatively small list of trios, quintets, sextets and more. However, in reality, there is a lot of music for string ensembles that are not quartets. Although the most well known examples are in general the best pieces for those combinations, a lot of the lesser-known works are quite good. These pieces are particularly useful to use with student groups. Much the same as there are pieces used as “preparatory” concertos and sonatas for string players, these lesser known chamber works can provide all of the same challenges and educational benefits as the great masterpieces without the pressure of having the performance compared by audiences to performances and recordings of great and famous ensembles. In addition, whereas audiences of chamber music too often and unfortunately tend to want the “standards” and might be leery of going to concerts with works they don’t know, student groups do not have that pressure.

Knowing about these pieces, or at least knowing where to look to explore the possibilities and obtain parts can be enormously helpful to a coach in choosing repertoire for a group. For example, if the group happens to be a quintet with two violins, one viola and two cellos, the work that will come to mind is Schubert’s Quintet in C. But, perhaps the group is not really ready to tackle that type of monumental masterpiece, or some members of the group have already worked on it. Most students don’t know that piece very well, and might be just as happy to play the Quintet by Dotzauer or Berger, or perhaps one of the thirty-odd cello quintets by Onslow (!) or one of the over one hundred by Boccherini (!!!). In other words, there is a ton more music out there to choose from than is generally thought to exist, and a lot of it is great learning material for student ensembles.

STRING TRIOS: The number of trios that are well known by a lot of musicians is small compared to the string quartet literature. Nonetheless, there are several standards, most notably the five trios Beethoven wrote before his Opus 18 String Quartets. After that, many people get stumped about the repertoire and often skip forward to the Serenade by Dohnanyi. For me, there is one really great masterpiece for string trio that is often overlooked: Mozart’s Divertimento in E-flat, K.563. This is a magnificent six-movement piece that is technically difficult and surprisingly virtuosic, especially for the viola and cello. So what else is there for student groups to explore? Of the better-known composers, there are two trios by Schubert and over twenty by Boccherini. There are also trios by Haydn, Reger, Sibelius, Strauss, Villa-Lobos and many, many more.

The most common variation on the standard string trio is the version with two violins and viola. Dvorak’s Terzetti (op. 74 and 75a) are probably the best known of these works, but there are other choices. The trios by Kodaly and Fuchs are wonderful but difficult. Other composers include Frank Bridge, Martinu, and arrangements of other notable composers such as Beethoven’s Opus 87 Trio for Oboes and English Horn.

If the group consists of two violins and cello, there is music by Haydn, Boccherini, Borodin, CPE Bach, Mozart, Pachelbel, Tartini, Vivaldi, Hoffmeister and others. There are even trios for two violas and violin. Have a look into the trios by Hummel.

STRING QUINTETS: The most common version of five string instruments is string quartet plus an extra viola, also known as the viola quintet. There are a number of wonderful works for this combination. Most notable are those by Mozart (6), Brahms (2) and Dvorak. More overlooked but excellent pieces include those by Beethoven (op. 29) and Mendelssohn (2). Beyond that, there are many works by quality composers that can be great choices for student groups. Some of the more notable composers who wrote for this combination include Boccherini, Bruch, Bruckner, Martinu, Nielsen, Resphigi, Spohr (7) and Vaughn Williams. There is also an excellent Quintet for three violins, viola and cello by Loeffler. When it comes to string quartet plus an extra cello, also known as cello the cello quintet, nearly everyone knows of the Schubert previously mentioned. Few works in any genre can compare favorably to that amazing piece, but the next best known is probably the Glazunov and Boccherini’s A major Quintet with the famous last movement. However, there really is a lot of music written for this combination, and most of it compares favorably with the last two works mentioned. Besides the over 100 quintets by Boccherini, the music of George Osnlow (1784-1853) has a lot to offer. He wrote over seventy works of chamber music including many cello quintets. His cello quintet in C Minor, Op. 38 is especially interesting. Known as “The Bullet Quintet”, it was written after a hunter apparently shot him in the head while he was sketching music themes in the woods. The piece chronicles the drama of the event and his recovery! Other notable composers include Bax, Borodin, Goldmark, and Milhaud. The quintets by Berger and Dotzauer are also interesting and there are two arrangements of the Brahms Piano Quintet for cello Quintet. That work was originally a cello quintet, but Brahms re-wrote it for piano quintet and destroyed his manuscript of the string quintet version.

If there is a double bass involved, the most famous and best work is the Op. 77 Quintet by Dvorak. Some other pieces can work substituting a cello part with a bass. This can work well in the music of Haydn and early works of Mozart such as the “Early” Quartets and Divertimenti. There are also quintets by Boccherini (3), Dittersdorf (6), Milhaud, Hindemith and the Rossini String Sonatas.

In many cases, where to get the music is as big a problem as what to choose. Thanks to the Internet, there are now many easy ways to find music, and much of it can be free if you have a printer and Internet access. All one really needs to do is type in queries such as “string quintets” or “string trios” to find a tremendous amount of information. To purchase music and get specific editions quickly and reasonably, one website I find very useful is www.sheetmusicplus.com. Besides having a huge selection, throughout the year they have excellent sales on various editions such as Henle and Barenreiter. One site in particular is extremely useful and well known. The IMSLP/Petrucci Music Library has free downloads of a vast amount of music (both scores and parts) that are in the public domain. This includes many well-known masterpieces, but also includes many of the more obscure works by less famous composers. The site is www.imslp.org. Once there, simply click on the Petrucci Music Library box and you will be sent to an amazing site that might actually convince you that computers aren’t all bad!

Yo-Yo Ma on Intonation, Practice, and the Role of Music in Our Lives

Reprinted from Strings Magazine, September 17 2015

By Martin Steinberg:


A cellist walks on a beach and picks up a bottle. A genie pops out and says, “I give you two wishes.” 

The cellist says: “Wow, I’d like to have world peace.” 

The genie thinks for a second and says, 

“That’s too hard! What’s your second wish?”

The cellist says, “Well, I’m turning 60 and I want to play in tune.” 

The genie thinks for a second and says, “What was your first wish again?” 

Musicians, take heart. That joke was told by the cellist Yo-Yo Ma during an interview ahead of his 60th birthday on Oct. 7. After 55 years of playing, yes, even Yo-Yo Ma needs to practice.

“What all string players have in common is that if we don’t play for awhile, we actually start from ground zero,” Ma says. Ma was four when he started the cello.

At seven, he was performing with his big sister for an audience that included two US presidents. Now nearing his milestone birthday, he’s ever youthful, always learning, asking questions, constantly building bridges.

And striving for perfection.

Despite all his achievements—more than 100 CDs, 18 Grammy Awards, and other honors, including the Presidential Medal of Freedom and the National Medal of Arts—he’s going full tilt toward more accomplishments.

In the weeks before his birthday, Ma’s agenda was packed. At Tanglewood, his scheduled performances included all three Brahms trios with Emanuel Ax and Leonidas Kavakos and the six Beethoven cello sonatas with Ax. That was followed by a six-country European tour with Andris Nelsons and the Boston Symphony, featuring Strauss Don Quixote in advance of next year’s 400th anniversary of Cervantes’ death. At the London Proms, he was scheduled to play all six Bach Cello Suites in one night. In September, his new album, Songs from the Arc of Life (Sony Masterworks), with long-time accompanist Kathryn Stott on piano, was to be released, as was a documentary focusing on musicians in his Silk Road Ensemble—a collective of musicians, composers, visual artists, and more that explores Eurasian culture.

The journey began in 1955 in Paris, where Ma was born to immigrant Chinese musician parents. His sister, Yeou-Cheng Ma—a violinist, pianist, medical doctor, and children’s orchestra administrator—remembers that their father started Yo-Yo on the violin at age two and a half, then piano, but he didn’t like them.

“He didn’t want to do something that I already did because he could see that I already knew how to play,” Yeou-Cheng Ma says. “He was a very smart kid, very intuitive . . . and a charmer, even at a young age.”

So he didn’t play any instrument for the next year and a half, during which time the family moved to New York. One day, he saw a newsreel about a New Orleans jazz band and noticed the double bass. “He was thrilled,” his sister recalls. “He said, ‘That one! The big one! That’s what I want!’” But since he was so little, he was given the second-biggest one, a cello. Their father, Hiao-Tsiun Ma, taught him the Bach Suites, measure by measure. At age seven, Yo-Yo and Yeou-Cheng performed Breval’s Concertino No. 3 at a fundraiser for the Kennedy Center. The audience included President John F. Kennedy and former President Dwight Eisenhower.

Ma went on the study with Leonard Rose at the Juilliard School, but dropped out and entered Harvard at age 16, majoring in the history of science. Since then, he has been on a magic cello ride around the world, figuratively and literally. As he approaches the start of his seventh decade, Ma says he is swimming and walking, watching what he eats, and assessing his goals—“What’s worth really, really trying hard for?”

About the genie joke. You don’t have intonation problems. What are you talking about?

Mark Salzman wrote this wonderful book about a cellist (The Soloist) . . . seeking perfection. Of course, you cannot achieve perfection and you kind of get paralyz

ed, so you have to find equilibrium between the possible—what’s realistic and what is ideal.

What is your proudest accomplishment?

Family. I love my family. They’re great people, and I’m just so, so lucky to have them. That’s by far.

In your career?

To have been part of these children’s television shows Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, Sesame Street, [and] Arthur, because what happens when you go on a child’s show is that they’re not a guest in my world, but I’m the guest in their world. If they accept you, it’s permanent, it’s theirs. And that is so important because to me that is the basis of all cultural understanding, or any artistic understanding, which is you have to stand on the inside. So if you’re accepted into a child’s world, that’s the greatest gift of all.

I’ve had the great luxury of meeting kids who saw [me] many years ago, and I see them as teenagers, 20 year olds, 30 year olds, and they can tell me, “This did this to me at that time and therefore I did this at that time.” And that’s incredibly rewarding.

I didn’t expect that answer. You never fail to surprise.

I think that, and probably being part of building the Music Garden in Toronto [as part of Ma’s “Inspired by Bach” series]. There’s a music garden that Julie Moir Messervy based on the First Bach Suite. Because that’s another symbol of what culture means to me . . . . Culture is kind of like a living seed and it can grow in places that are not fertile . . . . Gardens are not just existent in nature, but somehow there’s a human element of tending it, caring for, of enriching, of selecting.

And then, of course, the garden is there to be enjoyed, to be used, to be part of people’s lives in different times and seasons. To me, it is the ultimate metaphor for culture. And for culture, I would say, what we tend in our human garden is probably things like the arts, the sciences, and philosophy.

I’ve been thinking of these things because I’ve always wondered, what is music for? And lately, a lot of musicians are interested in music and health. What is it that actually becomes a passion? Is it the sound, is it the activity, is it what state of mind you get to, where you are actually in the activity of teaching music, of playing music and joining with others into creating music? What part of the brain does it use? How does it affect your state of mind? How does it affect the other things? And so whether you’re a child or an adult [or] a retired person, what do these things do to your brain?

And what are educational systems based on? Where did our high school subjects come from? Our studies are from 1910, so [do] we need to reboot that? How does art fit into that, how does that fit into arts funding and science funding? What are we educating our children for? Is it a transactional thing? Do you pay that money in order to get better jobs or is there something about education that is different?

I think those are serious questions that the nation’s considering. Not just this nation but every nation. “Oh, we’re falling behind in the sciences! Oh, we have to do STEM [science, technology, engineering, and mathematics]!” But wait a minute? Do we have common philosophy? Is it e pluribus unum, which is on every quarter, or is it “all for one and one for all?” Or is it just for me? Because is what’s good for me good for everybody?

So these are the questions and when we think about them it affects the sounds that we make. And I think for Strings, and the edition of Strings that you are writing for, I think that’s something—yes, strings are like vocal cords and how we use our voice, whether we use it to alert, warn, soothe, pacify, communicate, what are we communicating, who are we communicating to, what’s the purpose of the communication? Is it to join, is it to separate, is it to point to something larger, is it to something in the micro world, in the macro world?

I think those are incredibly interesting things that I would like to continue to consider after turning 60, because by many standards, I’m old. I’m part of AARP [laughing] and I can get a discount on the bus. So is my contribution less now that I’m old, or what is it that I can contribute for certain? Whatever I do is becoming less interesting than what other people do . . . . I’m less at the center of my world than when I was 20, when I was trying to say: I can do this, I want to do this.

This seems to be fodder for a very important book on society.

No, just musings of a middle-aged person going through what everybody goes through. I’d like to be able to think about these things, but also be able to try and play in tune. But while I’m playing in tune, not to obsess over intonation, but the obsession of trying to play in tune because transcending technique allows me then to communicate the content.

Do you still practice a lot?

I actually enjoy practicing more and more . . .  as a child, I practiced because I had to practice and you didn’t want to mess up. But that’s not a good thing. You want to please your teacher, you want to please your parents, you want to please your peers. And now I practice because I’ve experienced so much love that you practice out of loving a phrase, loving motivic change, loving a structure or harmony change or the way a sound can get to something.

I think that part of practicing is great because it unites what you want to do in engineering, as in technically, where do you put your arms and your fingers and your body—micro movements—with that desire and the feeling of what it needs to be. That’s a wonderful process because it’s a constant of going toward something bigger than the notes and yourself, and very lovingly so.

Whenever I catch myself playing something that sounds mechanical but dead, it’s because either I’m not paying attention or it’s something difficult that I haven’t solved. Sort of like a physicality issue that, you know, sudden tension, so I freeze up and become more internalized, so I can’t love it. Loving something implies going outside yourself and fear means retreating into yourself. I’m scared. Well, go back into yourself. That’s a metaphor for societal fears when a whole people are scared of something that they can’t control and sort of hits them, what do they do? It becomes more tight, they will make much, much more conservative decisions. The counteracting of that is culture. Hey, wait a minute, I want to know what that fear is. I’m going to research that fear. What exactly is that fear? Is it exactly what I think it is? Is that what I feel or can I analyze it? What’s the truth behind the fear? So you kind of have to look at that—that’s a key in performance. When someone performs, you want that person to be open and not to have any barriers. Any barriers that are set up between the performer and the audience actually impedes the communication of what needs to be.

I often tell people the world needs more Yo-Yo Mas, and this is a perfect example. Just these ideas alone, if people could hear them, everything that’s headed in the wrong direction can turn around.

I don’t know. We’re so invested in thinking, in trying not to screw up. Basically, I have your back. We don’t want to make obvious mistakes, so we cover up. But actually, to really create trust, you have to trust that it’s OK to make a mistake, and you’re not going to be punished for it. We acknowledge and do better the next time. It’s one of the hardest things to do because we don’t want to look like fools. [New York Times writer] David Brooks has been talking lately about what we work for: our CVs or do we work for our eulogies? There are different things that you work for, curriculum vitae, and people talk about a person differently in the eulogy. There you talk more about character—this and that—and so which one are we working for? That’s a kind of philosophical question, isn’t it? That comes with a philosophical part of culture. What are we as a society working toward? So what are we working for in a community, what are we working for in a political party, what are we working for in classical music?

You’re about to perform the Elgar Concerto, and have done so many times. How much time must you devote to it at this point?

The thing is, you know, there is engineering, neuromuscular finger work, and there’s head work. So for anybody who’s really really passionate, basically it’s whatever it takes and it’s also head work. It’s kind of all the time. It’s sort of like you’re downloading a program in your computer, it’s in your brain. When I go on to do the Elgar, I start thinking about it, on and off, all the time. So I’m thinking, “Huh, how about trying it this way?” So you’re always in some ways trying to hear something a certain way, solving a problem a certain way, and rethinking it and thinking there’s a better way to build this mousetrap. So you want to align your physical self and your mental self into the state of mind that is required of that piece.

Do you ever envision your life after cello?

Like après-ski, hot chocolate by the fireplace, with pizza?

You’re not going to lose any weight like that. 

You’re right. Maybe a cup of herbal tea and some nuts. Well, I’ve always been interested in people and culture and arts and sciences and philosophy and typology, so I think I’m always going to be thinking about it, and the older I get, the more I’ll get interested in young people because that’s another form of culture.

The young people’s world—we may occupy the same space, but they will think differently and have many different reasons to do what they do and I’m deeply curious about that. I like to think of it in K through 12 and beyond and how people learn—why they learn—and so I will always be thinking about these things.

 

 

Opening the Beethoven A Major Cello Sonata: Obsessing Over the First Five Bars

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By Brian Hodges:

The five Beethoven Cello Sonatas are iconic for a number of reasons. First and foremost, they’re some of the first pieces to include the cello in a true duo partnership, something the violin had been enjoying for a long time.

While the first two sonatas (Op. 5, 1 and 2) are actually listed as Sonata for Piano and Violoncello, things have changed by the third sonata, Op. 69 in A Major, with the cello now getting top billing. The sonata was written during Beethoven’s middle period and immediately one can sense his expansive creativity at work in full force.

The opening is one of the more notorious openings in all of the cello literature. It starts with the famous melody played by the cello alone, like a soliloquy.

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What looks simple contains a host of difficulties and issues to work out.

Tempo

As seen from the example above, Beethoven indicates Allegro ma non tanto for the tempo indication. ‘Tanto’ means “not so much”, so the implication is fast, but not overly so.

Whatever your exact tempo is, securing a consistent and correct tempo at the onset is quite difficult given that Beethoven starts with two half notes and a dotted half. It’s tricky to feel just exactly where the pulse is. Generally, players tend to take the first three notes in one tempo, then when the quarters start, they blend into a different tempo altogether. Next, in bar 4, and the end of bar 5, there’s a strong temptation to slow down. So, with all that, we’ve now had roughly 4 different tempos in the first six measures.

The key is to subdivide. Put the metronome at either a quarter pulse, or even an eighth pulse. Feel the smaller divisions in the half notes and dotted half, which will then transition smoothly into the quarters without changing the tempo. Even in performance, always think subdivisions. This will keep you honest and give a clearer sense of the opening melody, not to mention giving your pianist something to grab onto.

Despite keeping a steady pulse through the first five bars, many cellists slow down a tiny bit before the low E in measure 6. Their rationale is that it’s the end of the phrase, so it’s appropriate to set the downbeat of the sixth measure. But, in actual fact, it’s not the end, it’s just the beginning, and the cello part neatly hands off the melody to the piano. By slowing down, you’re making it difficult for the pianist to come in with any stability, especially since they’re coming in on the fourth beat.

Fingerings

While fingerings are entirely personal, there is a general consensus that one plays the majority of the opening theme on the G string. Many players start in first position, then shift up to fourth position by the second note. Some performers, however, play the opening A in fourth position on the C string, preferring to cross over a string rather than shift. The thing to keep in mind about whatever fingering you decide to use is to keep it simple. Keep the shifts silent, and string crossings as smooth as possible. Listen to when the piano has the theme in measure 13. Emulate the sound of the piano, in order to keep it as straightforward and pure as possible.

Assuming you are using the common fingering of starting in first position on the A and shifting up to fourth position for the E, make sure you prepare your left arm for the impending shift. During the last third of the A, your left arm should be starting the shifting motion and initiating the shift. Your second finger (as well as the rest of the hand) can start to open up once the arm starts to move and take over the shift, once you leave your first finger. Practice this slowly and keep the movements as efficient and smooth as possible.

Vibrato

Many cellists forgo vibrato on the opening theme to create a more “pure” tone. As is well documented, vibrato did not have the ubiquitous presence it has now in string playing, serving as more of an ornament than a constant. Of course, this is a personal choice, but a little vibrato can be nice and shouldn’t disrupt the line too much.

The real advantage to using vibrato is that it can mask the wolf-tone that can crop up on the F# on the G string (third note of the theme). It’s a real let-down for that beautiful theme to be corrupted by a stuttering wolf-tone.

Bowings

Beethoven’s slur markings, if taken at face value, can be very impractical. They can often stretch over entire phrases, leaving one to think he wants the entire passage slurred. Generally speaking, those long slurs are more phrase markings than actual specific slur markings.

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From the manuscript, we see that the first bar is slurred, and the next two bars are slurred. If we were to follow that exactly, you’d need to get way out to the tip for the second bar, if you’re starting down bow. Beethoven’s slur doesn’t work the best in that scenario, so many players break the slurs up.

An interesting alternative is to start up bow. Change to down bow on the second bar and keep Beethoven’s original slur intact all the way to the fourth bar. I find that it supports the phrasing quite nicely.

Of course, there are numerous solutions and possibilities, and it’s inevitable that you’ll change your mind, as I have, many times. Whatever your decide, it should support the phrasing.

Phrasing

For something so simple, this opening theme can be very frustrating; a fair amount details to keep track of in just five measures. Like the fingerings and bowings, there are a variety of ways to shape this passage.

The general shape of the phrase shows the notes moving up, gradually working their way down, a little coda, before finally setting on the low, pedal E. My advice is to get out of the way of the notes—go with the shape. We can very easily over-phrase it making it incomprehensible. Beethoven has done most of the work for you; allow the notes to go where they want to. Use your bow speed and variances in arm weight to define the shape as you want it.

It is very possible to obsess over these five bars and turn it into something that it’s not, when, in reality, it’s a simple, catchy tune. While keeping track of the details, don’t forget to step back and see the bigger picture, and enjoy this gift that Beethoven has given us cellists.

 

Footnotes

1 Ludwig van Beethoven Werke, Serie 13: Fur Pianoforte und Violoncell, Nr. 107, (Leipzig: Breitkopf und Hartel, n.d. [1863], 65-94. Public doman.

Ludwig van Beethoven, Sonata for Violoncello and Piano in A Major, Op. 69, scan of manuscript facsimile, Beethoven-Haus, Bonn.


 

IMG_4394Cellist, Brian Hodges is an active soloist, chamber musician, and teacher. With his wife, Betsi Hodges, he has given recitals across the US, Canada and Italy. Brian is Associate Professor of Cello and Coordinator of Chamber Music at Boise State University and is principal of the Boise Baroque Orchestra. He performa regularly with Classical Revolution: Boise, which has been featured at the Idaho Shakespeare Festival and on Radio Boise. Originally from San Antonio, Texas, he soloed with the San Antonio Symphony as a winner of the Young Artists Competition. He went on to study at the Eastman School of music earning his Bachelor of Music degree in cello performance and stayed on to complete his Master of Music degree in cello performance where he was the teaching assistant to Marcy Rosen. He recieved his Doctoral Musical Arts in cello performance from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro where he was a member of the graduate piano trio in residence. He has been on the faculties at the Townsend School of Music at Mercer University in Georgia, as well as Spring Arbor College and Albion University and has served as co-director of the Jackson Symphony String Academy in Jackson, MI. During the summers, he has been on faculty at the Green Valley Chamber Music Festival in Las Vegas, the Summer Music Institute in San Antonio, TX, and the String Camp of Rochester.


WITHOUT CRAFTSMANSHIP, INSPIRATION IS A MERE REED SHAKEN IN THE WIND. JOHANNES BRAHMS