Author: rileylaurie

There’s no denying that we tend to treat professional musicians differently from non-professionals, and exceptionally good amateurs differently from those who skills are average. It seems natural to be deferential to those whom we deem special in some way, to be perhaps overly polite, and even to be timid around them. Maybe we should take a look at this phenomenon.

When I was touring, I was on the receiving end of the best hospitality and the kindest interactions I could imagine. I got used to it. Even though I’d paid my dues coming up in the ranks and sometimes being treated with disdain before my skills were polished, once I began to consistently experience very positive attitudes, it was too easy to forget the past. It seemed so natural to be treated well.

The phenomenon of unequal treatment is unfortunate, especially since it’s not difficult to treat everyone as though they are special  –  after all, everyone is special in some way, whether or not we are aware of how. A good musician is just another person who happens to have a respectable set of skills

On the other side of the coin, we also tend to let “special” people get away with things they shouldn’t.  We often ignore questionable behavior that wouldn’t be tolerated in anyone else. Bad manners and inconsiderate actions are not the price we have to put up with to be around a really good musician.

On the other hand, we sometimes go off the deep end in the opposite direction, being less forgiving about of questionable behavior in professionals it than we might be with others. Professional musicians have the same fallibilities and weaknesses as anyone else; being good at something doesn’t make them super-human, and that’s exactly why they should neither be put on pedestals for who they are nor disparaged for who they are not. Pedestals are unfair to the person on the pedestal, because they aren’t allowed to be real people.

Then there are the performers who are deemed to be divas. (I’m reminded of a joke that struck my funny bone: “What does a professional (fill in your favorite instrument here)-ist use for contraceptives? Her personality.”) Sometimes the Diva title is deserved and sometimes not. Concert promoters, for instance, get the brunt of the many demands that famously come from performers.  But there are certain things a performer needs in order to do their best performance and give the audience what they came to hear. Those things are different for each performer, and in most cases they’re justified.

My own contract, for instance, asks for the green room and the stage to be the same temperature (so my instruments will stay in tune)  –  between 70 and 75 degrees (so my fingers will move); for stage lighting to not be changed during the performance (so I can always see my strings); for no other activities to be scheduled for me for a few hours before a concert (so I can get a nap, a meal, and tune my instruments); and so on. Without knowing the reasons for those requests, someone could make negative assumptions.

Livingston Taylor asked for a fruit plate in his dressing room  –  seemed like a good idea. But whoever it was who required a bowl of M&Ms with all the yellow ones removed was going too far. I understand that Donovan used to travel with a large entourage but would never ride in the same car, or stay in the same hotel, or eat with the others. This may have been an ego thing, or it may have been necessary to avoid being bombarded with too much fawning. I suspect it was a bit of both.

We do sometimes have a poor understanding of how our own well-intentioned behavior comes across to an professional. For example, just before a concert, people sometimes try to strike up conversations with me while I’m tuning my instrument; obviously they have no idea how rude that is. I try to politely tell them I’ll be able to talk after the concert. Because of that, I’ve occasionally been mistaken as an unfriendly person.

On a more extreme note, some naïve people hold forth with long-winded monologues or too many questions just so they can bask in the perceived light of a professional’s presence. Not everyone fits that category, of course, and most professionals do enjoy a conversation with actual content.

One problem that arose for me when I was touring was that because people usually asked many questions about my career and my music, I spent too much time talking about myself and not enough asking about them. I had to be careful not to forget how to make a conversation equal. More professionals could do well to learn that!

Years ago at a conference the band I was with did a panel on what it’s like to be a professional. I said that we were just folks and that many people could become professionals if they worked as hard as we did at our music and stage skills. I don’t think the band members ever forgave me for that. But I truly believe it. I’ve seen too many very accomplished and talented people rest on their laurels while less “gifted” but harder-working artists surpassed them.

At a recent music camp I attended, there was a fabulous guitarist who partook in the sessions and was welcomed by everyone because he played brilliantly. But he was rude, drunk, and overbearing. I wondered why people put up with him. Probably because they were in awe of his music skills. I think, though, that if he had been made welcome only if he behaved himself with the same polite demeanor as the other participants, he’d be a lot more pleasant and just as good a player. Someone has to stand up to folks like that.

Wouldn’t it be a wonderful world if more very good musicians treated everyone else well, and everyone else treated each other with the same respect as they do the best musicians?

This is a continuation of the previous post (Part 1).

The last post discussed how to make a melody stand out from an accompaniment clearly. In addition to the actual melody line, other elements that make a melody “make sense” are: emphasis, tempo, beat, rhythm, and accuracy. Harmony choices in an arrangement are also important. The melody is recognizable when the correct notes are all there and when all the other elements are in place. Let’s look at each of them.

a.      Emphasis

If the melody doesn’t stand out in an arrangement, it gets lost. Assuming all the notes are there, you can define the melody clearly by making the tone quality distinct. As stated in the previous post, on some stringed instruments this can be accomplished by using the fingernails to pluck the melody notes, and the finger pads for the rest of the arrangement. Or play the melody notes closer to the soundboard or bridge. Or just pluck the melody notes a little harder, as long as you don’t lose finesse or compromise good tone.

b. Tempo

Tempo is, obviously, how fast or slow a piece is played. If you play a familiar tune at a significantly different tempo than the one in which it’s usually heard, it may not be immediately obvious what the tune actually is. (This can occasionally be a nice effect when done purposely and if melody recognition isn’t of primary importance.)

c. Beat

Beat is the pulse of the piece. Beat is not synonymous with tempo; a beat exists regardless of how fast or slow a piece is played. No matter the tempo, if you want the melody to be recognizable, keep the beat reasonably steady; in other words, don’t slow down, speed up, or pause erratically. A tune has no “hook” if it’s all over the map. Practicing with a metronome is a good habit (and doesn’t make your music stiff  –  honest  –  if you use it correctly).

The beat is the heart of the music; without it, our attention wanders just as it would if you were hearing people speaking a language you don’t understand. (Which brings up the fact that there is some music that is purposely devoid of beat, rhythm and tempo, and therefore has no time signature. It is played for the purpose of encouraging the mind to wander or to promote deep relaxation or sleep. There is also a Celtic vocal style called Sean Nos – “old style” – that often has no beat. Neither of these is usually notated; they are improvised or learned by ear. There is some Gregorian Chant that does have an ancient type of notation with no time signature).

d. Rhythm

Rhythm is the combination of the time signature, the beat, and the note values indicated in the notation. The rhythm of a piece is its foundation and therefore determines its character. (Bossa Nova, Samba, and Tango for instance, are types of rhythms.)

e. Accuracy

Everyone knows that a melody is recognizable when played accurately, and less so when it isn’t. Accuracy is more than just getting the notes right  –  in fact it’s getting all of the above factors right. It comes only with practice. Yet often students ask why they can’t play like (insert your idol’s name here) when they’ve only been playing a piece for a week or two. Accuracy isn’t so much a function of effort –  you can’t force it  –  it’s a result of patience. After much patient practice over a long period of time, when a piece of music feels like you can flip your “play” switch and it just flows out of you, and it’s accurate and expressive, that’s real musicianship.

By the way, if one is already adept at one instrument, learning another one may not necessarily happen as quickly as one would like. Knowing in our heads how something is done is not the same as being able to do it with all the techniques and kinesthetics habituated. Allowing oneself to be a beginner for a while brings better results than expecting to play well sooner than can be reasonably expected.

f. Harmony

On instruments on which a full arrangement can be played, the arrangement itself makes a difference in how the melody is perceived. Harmony choices can make a familiar tune recognizable or not. If you play a well-known tune with different chords from the ones commonly used for that tune, it will be less recognizable. It’s fun and perfectly acceptable to do this on purpose to add interest and variation to a piece (you can even turn a major piece into a minor one, for instance), but if you want a piece to be very easily recognized, you may wish to use the chords or harmony intervals people expect to hear.

Finally, it helps to be aware of when melody recognition matters and when it doesn’t. If you’re not concerned about familiarity, or you want to do something innovative in a situation where it’s appropriate, there is no correct or incorrect way to arrange a tune. How often I’ve heard someone say, “You can’t use those chords there,” or, “That’s the wrong tempo,” or, “You didn’t play all the notes” (i.e. you didn’t follow the notation exactly). They may be right if you’re playing in a jam session or ensemble, but if you’re playing solo and have chosen to play something differently, you have a right to do so.

Have you ever wondered what tune someone was playing, only to recognize it quite far into the piece when it should have been apparent much sooner? Let’s assume that rather than being arranged in a purposely obscure way, the player intends it to be recognizable, in which case the problem is not with the listener but with the arrangement or delivery of the piece. It doesn’t matter what instrument you play; this can happen!

What’s going on and why does it matter? It matters because people enjoy recognizing tunes, and even if a tune isn’t commonly known, listeners enjoy being able to follow a melody. A melody is like a story line; it’s enjoyable and makes sense if no important parts are missing. Therefore, melodies of both familiar and unfamiliar tunes should be clearly audible within the arrangement (except for some New Age music, and some therapeutic music that does not use a melody structure), and all the melody notes should be played.

That said, playing a melody accurately doesn’t necessarily mean you have to account for every syllable of lyrics that exist for the melody, if they do. If, for instance, you were singing “Oh Shenandoah”, the three syllables of the word Shenandoah are all on the same note. In an instrumental version, playing all three of those notes can sound trite, so you can play, say, two notes by making the first note two syllables long. The accompaniment can pick up the unplayed melody note with a harmonizing note. This slight change doesn’t render the tune unrecognizable. However, if you left out the last two syllables of the first phrase “I long to see you”, and replaced them, say, with chords, people would wonder what happened. Why? Because those two notes are defining ones in the melody.

What I’m saying here applies mostly to solo playing. If you’re accompanying someone who is responsible for the melody, you don’t necessarily want to reiterate the melody except perhaps during a solo interlude. Chording along is just fine, or playing counterpart, or harmonizing.

There’s actually a traditional style of banjo playing from an area called Round Peak that approximates much of every melody instead of showcasing it. It was originally used mostly as accompaniment to a melody-only instrument such as fiddle. Now it’s also a solo style, but as a listener you have to know the melody to appreciate what’s being played, and fill it in with your imagination. The non-melody notes are often harmonies to the unplayed melody. Essentially, the rhythm is more important than the melody in this style, and the player goes for whatever note sounds good and is easiest to reach. By contrast, “melodic clawhammer banjo” style focuses on very precise melody playing. IMHO this is better suited to solo playing.

I recently had the pleasure of hearing a brilliant and inspiring performance by a well known banjo player. Of course I bought a CD. When I played it, however, I found that the melodic ambiguities in his tunes that I had assumed were due to a bad sound system were actually due to his delivery. There are many places where the melody simply disappears into the arrangement, to the degree that it can’t be inferred. He was also playing in duet with a guitarist, who was also approximating much of each tune, so between the two of them there was a lot of skilled note-playing going on but often no melody.

They obviously had the skill to play all the notes, but I think they might have fallen prey to a common syndrome in which the player assumes subconsciously that the audience can hear what’s in his head even if he’s leaving it out of his music. That assumption is so common that it drives much of what goes on –  or doesn’t  – in a lot of playing. The player “hears” (imagines) all the notes as they should be, but the listener hears many skipped or flubbed notes. It doesn’t occur to the player that what’s coming through is incomplete or sloppy. Recognizing this syndrome in oneself and correcting it can make the difference between progressing musically or not.

Once you become obsessive about making the melody heard (which is a good thing), you can then deal with other factors that can sabotage a melody. Recently, for instance, a harper mentioned that she had trouble making a melody stand out against its accompaniment (right hand vs. left hand) when the two hands play in the same range. This is a common problem that sometimes results in melodies being mis-heard. On any instrument that can play multiple parts at the same time, this problem is actually easy to address. To make it stand out, you can change the tone quality of the melody line by:

• playing it with your fingernails while using finger pads for the other parts; fingernails produce a brighter tone and a more outstanding attack.
• playing the melody notes closer to the soundboard or bridge for a slightly more outstanding tone.
• playing the melody a bit louder, as long as you don’t lose finesse or tone.

Another common problem for any instrumentalist can be playing incidentals and ornaments as though they were melody notes. Historically, incidentals and ornaments in traditional music were improvised, but now many written arrangements include them. They are notes that are supposed to be played as enhancements to a melody, but not as melody. Ornaments are usually written as tiny notes, while incidentals usually look like melody notes and the notation usually doesn’t indicate that they aren’t. If you haven’t heard the basic (incidental and ornament-free) tune often and don’t have it in your head, it’s easy to think all single-line treble clef notes are melody. If you listen to a number of different arrangements for the same melody, you can pick out incidentals because they differ from arrangement to arrangement while the basic melody is fairly consistent. When become intimately familiar with the specific traditional styles in which ornaments and incidentals occur, you can often hear what’s melody and what’s enhancement the first time you hear a piece.

Incidentals and ornaments are meant to be played in a way that does not make them sound as important as the melody notes; they should be played a bit more softly. If played at the same volume as the melody, they change it.

Now, just to tease your brain, let’s look at the difference between incidentals and variations. Whereas an incidental is an enhancement to a melody and not part of it, a variation is actually different version of the melody. Variations, when used, usually occur after the original melody has been played all the way through at least once. A variation is a different but related melody and should be played as melody.

A good example of variation is an improvisational style from the Renaissance, in which a simple melody is made more and more complex with each repetition. Another example is Piobrach, which is a traditional style in Scottish Highland bagpiping; the player begins with a simple tune and with each repetition it becomes more complex. Bluegrass music, too, is full of complex variation. However, in many other styles of music, variations don’t necessarily have to be more complex than the melody.

Next time: Part 2  –  more elements in making melodies stand out

How nice it would be if we could automatically be good musicians, with little or no effort involved; just sit down and play brilliantly! Many people assume that’s what musicians do! I think what is largely responsible for that assumption is our culture’s misuse of the word talent.

When someone picks up a new instrument, or sings for the first time, if they find they don’t sound like a professional, they sometimes decide it must be because they don’t have the talent for it. After all, we’ve heard all our lives that talent is what (or maybe all) it takes. But that would be like expecting yourself to design a skyscraper without studying architecture.

Ability doesn’t just happen. Yes, there are the Mozarts and the Jackie Evanchos of the world, but Mozart had encouragement from knowledgeable mentors right from infancy, and Jackie has had extensive coaching to polish her lovely voice.

Because of the way we use the word, the myth of talent as “automatically fully developed skill” is perpetuated to a degree every time someone says, “You’re so talented!” Actually, the Webster’s Dictionary definition of talent is: a characteristic feature, aptitude, or disposition of a person or animal, the natural endowments of a person, a special athletic, creative, or artistic aptitude, general intelligence or mental power, ability. This could be mis-read as meaning what we expect it to mean. But if you read carefully, you see that a talent is whatever ability or disposition someone has. The definition certainly does not say that no coaching or education has to take place in order for an aptitude or inclination to become a skill.

Of course there are certain authority figures in our lives who declare what we “can” and “can’t” do. I find it shameful that anyone  –  parent, teacher or other  –  gives any person an idea that they can’t learn something, or oppositely, an idea that they have such natural talent that no skill development is needed. Making music well requires much patience and practice whether you have talent or not. When those with talent don’t bother to work at development, they can be left in the dust by those with less apparent talent but a lot of ambition. And anyone who has worked hard to develop a skill should get credit for the work they’ve done, instead of just being told “You’re so talented!”, which ignores the effort involved.

I once met someone who said I should never be paid for playing music, because it was a natural talent that should be freely shared! She had no idea of the depth of that insult. (Strangely, this lady was a psychic who charged $60 per hour for a reading. The irony of it was amusing.)

One may be “talented” if consistently exposed to music and encouraged to participate in it on a daily basis at an early age. I guarantee that someone who did not have such exposure and opportunity will appear to have less talent, because the neural pathways that process music-learning are less developed. But that usually doesn’t mean they can’t catch up, given the right circumstances or the will to do so. Integrating music (playing the notes reasonably accurately, producing good tone, playing smoothly and with good rhythm and understanding of appropriate tempos, dynamics and expression, and appropriate use of stylistic nuances) is something that comes with time, practice, and lots of exposure.

Another concept that begs to be questioned is that talent implies that someone is more special than someone else. Especially with children, this is damaging, IMHO. It inflates egos or deflates delicate self-esteem. Willingness to work toward musical goals trumps any concept of individual specialness. In the end, the one who plays best (if comparisons must be made) is the one who worked hardest.

It’s easy to use “talent” and “lack of talent” as excuses for what we will and won’t do. But excuses aren’t necessary. If you’ve not worked as hard as someone else, instead of saying “I don’t have the talent”, you can in good conscience say, “I have no desire to work that hard.” Here’s the important thing: music is supposed to be fun. You’re entitled to work as hard as you wish, and to not work harder you wish (unless your parents are paying for your music education!). Do as much as you enjoy and your music will always be pleasing to you.

“But you’re playing it wrong!”

“That’s how I learned it from so-and-so.”

“Well, it really goes like this.”

How often have you heard that? Probably quite a lot. In classical music it is, of course, important to play a piece exactly as it was written. But in many other styles, “right” is much more flexible;

It’s not just that you can arrange a tune in a different style, such as making a Celtic tune into a jazz tune, or a march into a tango, but in keeping with certain traditional styles, the chords and/or the arrangement can be up to you, sometimes the melody is subject to a certain amount of interpretation, and lyrics can vary. A tune may appear in differing iterations from player to player or region to region. (In fact, songwriter Si Kahn often sings different lyrics to his own songs, changing one or two words, or whole phrases, but not necessarily the meanings.)

In traditional music, the wish for tunes and arrangements to be exact and immutable is common among newcomers who don’t realize that the folk process is part of the genre. As long as slightly differing versions can be played together in sessions, there’s really no problem. If the differences are too great, someone gets to sit out the tune, or introduce their version.

So  – what exactly is the folk process? It is the tendency of melodies and lyrics to change, a lot or a little, as they are passed from person to person and generation to generation. It’s that simple.

An example most people might recognize is The Bonnie Swan, sung by Loreena McKinnit. She didn’t compose the lyrics; she adapted them. This tale (the drowning of a young girl by her jealous sister and the subsequent making of a fiddle or a harp out of her hair and bones) has been told and retold in song since Medieval times. I first heard it as a very simple song called Oh the Wind and Rain, sung by Margaret MacArthur, and later recorded another version (learned from Jean Farnworth) on my first album MistCoveredMountains. There are probably hundreds of versions of this song.

Another example is the Irish tune Star of the County Down, which is played as a march (4/4) or as a waltz (3/4), and can be either an instrumental or a song (the style of the lyrics doesn’t sound as old as the tune probably is, IMHO).

Michael Cooney once did an entire 45-minute set tracing the etymology of the song Goin’ Fishin’ (if I recall correctly it was popularized by Country Joe and the Fish). It was fascinating to hear not only how the lyrics and the melody had changed over time, but how the meaning of the song had morphed. One older version went: “Say you’re goin’ fishin’ all of the time, well I’m a-goin’ fishin’ too. Bet your life your sweet wife can catch more fish than you!”… and it wasn’t literally about fishing at all, as was the watered-down popular version.

When it comes to arrangements, the folk process is even more evident. You can find any given melody with any number of different arrangements, or create your own (traditional and folk music are the music of the people, and we are the people). The only limitation would be that if you play it in a session, it has to be jam-able (in the commonly used key and time signature for that tune, and with predictable chords). In performance, however, you have free reign.

Keys in which tunes are played are also somewhat flexible. Most traditional tunes have a specific key by mass agreement, because it’s easier for session groups to not have to decide on a key every time the tune is played, and/or because some instruments commonly used in these genres are best played in those keys. But if you play solo or with a performance group, you can play in whatever keys you wish.

Since the folk process occurs when people remember a piece differently from the way they heard it played (or they change a piece for whatever reason), the use of notation and tablature prevent the folk process. In the big picture, this is neither good nor bad. Personally, I enjoy hearing different versions of tunes and songs, but it’s also fun to know exactly how something was played a hundred or more years ago.

(There’s a new trend in some sessions to use notation and/or tablature. As I mentioned in a previous post, that’s because these days, musicians don’t have as much opportunity to learn the way traditional musicians did in the past  – by hearing it so much that we absorb everything about it  –  and therefore notation and tablature have become extremely helpful for the less experienced. But someone should explain that just because there is notation or tablature doesn’t make it the law, that providing it is a courtesy and not a requirement, and that using it should be optional.)

Because of the folk process, tunes tend to morph regionally. One region’s version isn’t better or worse than another’s, just different. When in another region, it’s a good idea to make an effort to play it their way, but sharing your own region’s version can be interesting as well.

In these respects, therefore, traditional and folk music differ greatly from classical music and other genres in which change is not acceptable. We must recognize that every genre has its own rules and we can’t apply one’s rules to another.

 

The folk process is also somewhat influenced by mis-heard lyrics. Google “Mondegreens” if you want a good giggle.

 

The upshot of all this is: relax. If a tune isn’t being played the way you’re familiar with it, just enjoy it the way it is. It can be fun to learn several versions of a tune or song, and it’s always a good idea to accept other musicians’ ways of playing their repertoire. Most importantly, remember that change, informality, and improvising are traditional. Embrace the folk process!

Below is a new blog post.

In addition, you’ll notice that this site has a new look, and several new pages.  That’s because I’ve made it into a full website. It now contains  my online store, complete bio, testimonials, info on therapeutic music, and more.

Why this new website? To better represent ALL of the musical styles, instruments, products and ideas that are of interest to my readers, students, fans and peers.

Please bear with me as I continue to update this site, especially the online store. It will probably take a few more weeks to get everything just right; creating a new website is a complex process. Meanwhile, my harp website (www.laurieriley.com) will remain  functional until I get this one completed.

Please browse the pages you see listed above, and enjoy!

Some research indicates that when we actively (rather than passively) listen to music  –  in other words, when we focus and pay attention to the music we hear  –  it is processed in the same area of the brain as language. The same is true when we learn music by ear. In all respects, music is a language; a system of communication.

without sufficient prior listening and participatory exposure, learning music from notation forces us to use only the part of the brain that also processes mathematics. Although music and mathematics are intimately related (see my book Singing the Universe Awake), true music-learning should utilize also the part of the brain that processes language. If music is to be played in a way that is more than robotic, it must be learned as language is learned  –  aurally first, and then later refined through the use of written symbols. Expecting a new student to learn music notation is putting the cart before the horse. Yet most music students are handed a book of notation in their first lesson, and learning to read music begins immediately, before they’ve processed the piece aurally.

Let’s look at how one develops linguistically. Imagine a toddler living without the stimulation of hearing adults speak. Without hearing people speak, recognizing that it is a form of communication, and learning its meanings from constant exposure to it,  he or she would have no way to even begin to understand or use language. Luckily, most children are spoken to constantly, and they make noises (and even have fun with them), and over time they begin to recognize that adults and older siblings are using specific tones of voice to convey meaning. Later they recognize specific words as well as subtle nuances of meaning conveyed by the modulations and dynamics of speech. As the child tries to master this, mistakes are made, but no matter. The process is natural and stress-free. No one is judging.

Notice I said that first the child recognizes tones of voice. A voice can sound angry, happy, encouraging, and so on, and one need not always understand the words to get the gist. If you do know the words, the tone used is so important that it can even override the meaning of the words. If, for instance, you consistently said “no” in a happy way, the child would come to think of “no” as “yes”. A word’s meaning is conveyed largely by the tone of voice. The same is true in music. The meanings of the notes and the melody are conveyed by the way they are played. How can we expect music to be meaningful if we’re playing only the notes without the musical expression? The notes alone do not convey anything except a series of pitches.

Now imagine a toddler being told, “You must not speak until you can read and write.” The child’s ability to speak would be stunted forever. Language cannot be learned effectively just from the written page. It has to be heard, mimicked, and experimented with before it becomes coherent and meaningful. Yet we expect to learn music from the written page alone, and we’re told it’s wrong to learn it by ear! How insane is that?

And what if a babbling toddler were told, “Those noises are wrong. Don’t make any noise unless it’s a word.” This would be impossible. The child would give up and never speak. Yet this is exactly what we are told about learning music  –  to play only structured tunes, exercises and pieces. Is it any wonder that many people give up on learning music?

Aside from the problems associated with non-aural learning, many music students also tend to think that advanced skills should develop more quickly than they do. But how long does it take to learn good language skills? At first we speak in a way that is far from skilled. After a few years we are doing much better, and later we begin to experiment with subtleties such as slang and humor. It takes years to develop advanced vocabulary, and a long time to learn to read well. Music is no different.

Often at a first music lesson, the teacher opens a book, sets it on the music stand, and proclaims, “Here is the music.” Well, you could listen all day to that book and never hear any music. The page itself is silent. There is no music there. What is there is a tool from which music can be brought forth. It’s not just the notes and symbols that make it meaningful, but how it’s expressed. But true expression cannot be learned from the page.

Many students believe they can’t learn any music by ear. Yet when coached, they almost always do it easily. If you “can’t” learn by ear, it’s usually because no one has ever taught you how. If you were a dancer who had only ever learned ballet, how would you expect to know automatically how to bellydance? You wouldn’t. They are different skills, but when both learned, they create a richer database of experience.

Please note that I am not saying one should learn only by ear. In language if one learns to speak but never learns to read and write, one is illiterate; in other words, important skills are missing. Likewise, well-rounded musicianship involves aural and technical skills and the ability to read and write music. Learning music as a language makes one a well-rounded, skilled and expressive musician. If you’re human you can learn by ear. You learned to speak, didn’t you?

The audience sits ready to hear the musician in concert, looking forward to an enjoyable performance. The musician stands backstage, ready to begin. He or she may feel quite confident, or may be scared to death. Chances are that if the performer has practiced adequately, he or she has some confidence that the concert will go well. On the other hand, excess adrenalin can make the hands shake or sweat, the head spin, and the mind go haywire. A well-practiced set can become a disaster.

It’s considered common wisdom that stage fright is normal for the neophyte but is less of an issue as one gains skill and experience. Yet this is often not true. There’s a story about Pablo Cassals (the renown cellist) who upon injuring his hand actually felt relieved to think he might never have to perform again. This is not an uncommon feeling among professional musicians. (His hand healed, by the way, and he continued his career.)

Although there are those who exude confidence, for many amateurs and professionals stage fright is the bane of our existence. You can’t always tell which performers are scared, because part of being a good performer is knowing how to look confident. Yet putting one foot in front of the other to walk onto a stage can feel like walking to a gallows, when what we really want is to enjoy our own performances! Why perform otherwise?

The strangest thing about stage fright is that it’s the fright itself that can cause a performance to be less than perfect. You know you have the musical skill, so “there is nothing to fear but fear itself.”

Where does stage fright originate, and why does it persist? The answer is simple: stage fright persists in our musical culture because we have come to expect performances to be note-perfect. Among musicians of all ages and skill levels, that attitude alone is responsible for more grief than can be measured.

It probably arose with the advent or recording. We can engineer a recording to be perfect, and/or play a piece over and over until we’ve recorded a “perfect” version”, so we can present to the listener something that tells a lie about performance. It’s necessary, of course, because a recording gets played again and again, and no one wants to hear the same mistakes over and over. But since most listeners are not necessarily musicians, or perhaps even though they may be musicians, the perfection of a recording creates the impression that all performances can and should be perfect.

Sustained perfection is not humanly possible. Expecting anyone to do what no one can do is not just unrealistic, it’s insane. We may as well expect ourselves to sprout wings and fly.

I once attended a recital of J.S. Bach’s Well Tempered Clavier (a set of twelve pieces) by an accomplished pianist, who made a mistake about two-thirds of the way through the concert. She stopped, went back to the first piece and started the entire set over, whereupon she made it through without audible error. The audience had to sit through what we’d already heard, it became a very long concert, and though she got through the second time without error, why did she do this to her audience? Not because she had lost her place or could not play through her mistake. It was because she wanted to prove that she could play it perfectly. Yet all she did was prove that she could sometimes play it perfectly. This lady was more concerned about her idea of “perfection” and about her pride than about musicianship.

It’s fair to say that audiences can be hard on performers, too. Some years ago, a friend of mine (one of the most accomplished harpers alive today) performed at a local venue, and I was unable to attend; later I asked someone how the concert was. The report I was given consisted of one sentence: “He hit a bass string that buzzed really loudly, right in the middle of one piece.”  That was the entirety of the report; it was the main thing the listener remembered. Yet I know for a fact that there were hundreds of beautiful and well-played notes before and after the one “bad” note; this harpist cannot be anything other than brilliant.

Perfection and musicianship are not synonymous!

In fact, striving for perfection can get in the way of musicianship. We tend to give undue negative attention to mistakes, not because there is some inherent importance to them, but simply because we are taught to. Those awful piano recitals when we were kids, for instance, were like sending lambs to slaughter, accomplishing nothing more than hammering into young, impressionable minds the idea that our worth as human beings should be judged by whether or not we can play a piece of music perfectly. When our identity is at stake, no wonder we develop chronic stage fright.

The fact is, in most performances good players simply cover and play through imperfections so you don’t notice them. When a mistake occurs that cannot be hidden, many good performers will make a joke and keep going; the audience most often will enjoy the humor and appreciate that the performer is human. If we were not so hard on ourselves, and if we nurtured audiences to look for the beauty and wonder in a performance instead of eagle-eyeing for mistakes, it would make our music more joyful to play and to hear.

Playing Accurately vs. Playing Perfectly

Of course we want to play accurately; that is, we want our music to have recognizable melodies, harmonies, rhythms, and so on.  We should strive for the music to be audibly “all there”. But accuracy is not synonymous with perfection. Accuracy is simply precision, and it’s part of good musicianship. We can play in a precise way and still make occasional errors.

Many amateur musicians slur over notes or let thunks and clunks happen where notes should be; that’s not accuracy. Or one may allow their music to have inconsistent timing or imprecise rhythms; that’s not accuracy. If you’re not playing accurately you need more practice. What doesn’t work in the privacy of your living room won’t work in performance.

Once you’ve attained accuracy, your errors will decrease as well, but I know of no one who has ever achieved the ability to play music without an occasional error. Therefore, being afraid of making mistakes is, as I said before, insane. Don’t buy into that. If you’ve practiced well, there is no reason for fear, and anyone who would fault you for an occasional error isn’t listening for the actual music anyway.

Making Your Music Your Own, Within the Style You Play 

There are purists whose aim is to preserve every piece of traditional music in the exact form they find it. This preserves musical styles, but the folk process (the natural tendency of aurally-learned music to undergo change) is an essential part of our heritage, too. Folk music is the music of the people. We are the folk.

There are some some forms of music in which the folk process is not appropriate. Written music serves the purpose of preventing the folk process, which is absolutely necessary for classical music and original compositions that a composer wishes to be preserved intact.

Within each musical style, there is a set of usually-unwritten and often unspoken “rules” that make the music sound right for the style. In certain social groups in various regions, locally and globally, there are subtle and profound differences within musical styles, much like the regional dialects that we hear in spoken word. Music is a language; therefore it develops dialects just a spoken language does.

Awareness of these musical dialects comes with exposure. Therefore, for instance, people who grow up with one style of music sometimes don’t know there are others! I recently met an elderly man at an old-time music camp who played mostly Texas Swing music, which is a distinct old style that is easily recognizable and is characterized by certain rhythms and chord progressions, and he played it very well. Occasionally he would join an Old-Time jam (“Old-Time” refers to music originally from the Appalachian back-country, which is also quite distinct from other styles). In conversation he remarked to me, “This Old-Time music is OK but I don’t like it all that much. I’d rather play regular music.” I asked him what he meant by ‘regular”. He said, “You know, all the other music.” It was clear to me that he was actually referring to what he grew up with  –  Texas Swing  –  and that in his experience that was “all the other music”.

Interestingly, classically trained and other “paper-trained” (no insult intended) musicians sometimes assume that if a piece can be read from notation, it’s right. But notation lacks certain information; without the impossible-to-notate nuances of musical dialect, it comes out sounding not so right, at least to the ears of those who do know the style. (It’s fair to say that as an ear-learner, I am a sad case when it comes to playing classical music, so it goes both ways.)

Here are a few observations about Celtic music styles. There isn’t just one “Celtic” style. There’s Irish, Scottish, Breton, Galician, Manx, Welsh, and CapeBreton, and within those there are variations depending, for instance on which part of the country the musician comes from. For example:

*CapeBreton style fiddlers use a tone that may sound harsh and scratchy to, say, a Scottish Fiddler.

*Irish and Scottish music are characterized by specific rhythms and ornamented melodies, and harmony types that depend largely on 5ths and octaves.

*Scottish music contains specific ornaments that you won’t hear in Irish music. There are also Scottish dance music styles you won’t find in Irish music. For a list and explanation please see The Harper’s Manual (available at www.laurieriley.com , click on “books”). Although the book is for harpers, it contains info that most musicians can use.

*There is an Irish singing style called Sean Nos, meaning “old style”, from which the tradition of Irish tenors emerged. For female singers, the voice is quite high-pitched and sometimes sounds thin. From this style of singing came the Appalachian (American Southeast) “High Lonesome” singing style still sometimes used by male and female singers in Bluegrass and Old Time music.

*Breton music has French influences. Medieval French music sounds simple to the unitiated, until you try to learn it. The melodies are repetitive but quite complex in format and in rhythm, and don’t stop or pause where you might expect them to if you’re accustomed to playing Irish or Scottish music.

*Galician music has Moorish and Celtic influences. It can sound quite Middle Eastern and Irish at the same time.

*Manx music has Norse and Celtic roots. Nordic music has differently timed ornaments and uses interesting modes and scales. See Beth Kolle’s book “The Northern Folk Harp” for some great tunes.

The way instruments are used in each culture differs greatly from the way they are used in Eurocentric classical music. For instance:

*A classical guitarist wants a round tone and plenty of sustain, while a Flamenco (Spanish Dance style) guitarist wants a more brash sound that can be heard above the clatter of stomping feet.

*A traditional fiddler from just about anywhere often concentrates more on stylistic essences and a bit less on tone production than does a classical violinist, for whom tone is paramount.

*An Irish flute player plays a wooden flute and aims for a somewhat nasal tone, whereas a classical flautist strives for a round tone on a silver flute. (I use the term flautist out of respect for those who prefer the term rather than flutist, though I’m told many classical musicians these days feel it’s too affected. But if I didn’t use it, someone would correct me!)

*A Bluegrass mandolin player aims for speed and rhythm, whereas a classical mandolinist aims for accuracy and expression.

This is not to say that there isn’t some overlap. Cello, for instance, is a classical instrument, but is used very effectively in Scottish music (i.e. Abby Newton). And there are some classical violinists who can play Celtic styles wonderfully. And one of my favorite Irish pennywhistle players is James Galway, the famous classical flautist.

Well, I guess I’ve said enough for now about styles. I’ll change the subject completely for the next post.

Personal Style

Whether you’re aware of it or not, you have a personal style of playing (in addition to the genre of music you play). Your personal style is not necessarily something you develop on purpose, and though many musicians do make conscious decisions in that realm, your life experiences in general seep into your playing and/or singing, and make your way of expressing your music unique. Nearly every aspect of your personality is at play (pun intended). There are usually both negative and positive affects, and working on eliminating the negative ones and nurturing the positive ones makes us better musicians.

An obvious example of subconsciously derived personal playing style is that someone who has a gentle personality often plays delicately, and someone with a strident, loud personality often plays loudly and stridently. But many musical mannerisms are far more subtle.

Musical mannerisms are what grab your listeners and either endear you to them or not. And the listener often can’t put a finger on what makes them like or dislike a performance, aside from obvious basic skills. Your subconsciously derived musical mannerisms also give your audience a window into who you are; because you cannot help but express your innermost being through your music, music is one of the most personally exposing activities we ca engage in, and when we have an audience we are sharing our souls with strangers!

The only exception I can think of is with classically trained orchestral musicians, who must learn to blend into the orchestra and therefore must have no individual musical mannerisms that would cause them to stand out and be a distraction. But that doesn’t mean they can’t choose otherwise of they play solo, as we can readily see among famous classical soloists.

I once watched the great Segovia coaching a master student in the playing of a certain piece of classical guitar repertoire, dictating every nuance of the piece, not allowing the student to do anything his own way. Yet I guarantee that as a soloist the student went on to perform the piece his own way to an audible degree.

Personal style differences are easiest to discern when the musician is very good. Less experienced musicians’ personal styles are often not fully developed or are lost among various skill issues. But then, even “issues” can identify certain musicians. When I was younger I was often told my singing voice sounded like Judy Collins. I was embarrassed, because I knew she would have been insulted (I used to have a good, well-trained voice but I was no Judy Collins!). After listening closely to see what people were actually hearing, I realized that what she and I had in common were some very similar imperfections. Her mastery outweighed those imperfections, but mine did not. It was interesting that people identified our two rather different voices as “similar” by the imperfections we shared rather than noticing the quality disparity! Over time I took notice of how certain musicians, especially singers, seem to copy other musicians, purposefully or subconsciously, and how often what they copy are the imperfections rather than the good qualities. As a voice teacher it’s often hard to convince a student that the emulated affectation isn’t helping them achieve mastery.

So… as musicians we’re influenced by our own inner quirks and by what we’ve heard others do, and the results may be positive or negative, and we may be totally unaware. If you’re unsure about what you might be doing, video yourself and get an honest critique from someone you can trust to tell you the truth. Then work on what needs improving and nurture what’s positive.

Genres and Their Regional Styles

In a previous post I wrote about musical genres, so I won’t reiterate that. There are so many styles of acoustic music that it would take a very thick book to discuss them all in detail. I want to write here about being aware of style differentiation.

Suffice it to say that when we start to learn an instrument, we choose a musical genre in which to concentrate. Any genre can be further divided by regional and national style. For example, in each region of Ireland there is a different fiddling style. One can tell where a fiddler is from just by hearing him or her play. This is true on many countries and regions.

The main reason regional styles develop is the same reason regional accents and speech idioms do. Before there was efficient transportation, regions were separated by geologic features such as mountains or oceans or great distance, and music styles evolved in semi-isolation. In the Appalachian area of the southeastern U.S., someone from the next valley over was called a “furriner” (foreigner)! To this day one can often pick out differences in fiddle and banjo styles from one area of the Appalachia to another.

Interestingly, Bluegrass music is an offshoot of Old Time music that came about because of the difference between those who call themselves “Hillbillies” (yes, they really do, and proudly) and those who live in lowland areas. Old Time music was traditionally played mostly by mountain people, and Bluegrass was originally played mostly by flatlanders. Further, both Old Time and Bluegrass music are products of the mixing of two very different cultures: Celtic and African  –  the people who settled there. (Various styles of music are often intimately intertwined with the development of the instruments themselves. The banjo’s ancestor originated in Africa. It is now used for playing mostly American tunes that can be traced to Ireland and Scotland.)

In the modern, cosmopolitan world we have more of a melting-pot than we used to, so regional differences have faded a bit for many things such as fashion, speech, manners, morals, and music. But some influences are still strong and regional music styles continue to morph and grow everywhere.

Personal Styles that Become Iconic

Styles, both regional and national, are sometimes influenced by certain respected individuals. To name just a very few, Kim Robertson has highly influenced harping style on an international scale, Ken Perlman has had a specific influence on clawhammer banjo, Doc Watson influenced guitar playing, and so on. Nearly every very well known musician influences the styles that become popular on their instrument. Also, many who are not well known but who are locally respected can inspire others locally, from whence it spreads to other regions, going far beyond where anyone knows the person who originally provided the influence.

Modern Influences on Traditional Genres

Modern influences have very much found their way into what used to be traditional music. That’s part of the Folk Process, a process by which aural-tradition music changes as it passes from person to person and generation to generation. Some nuances cannot be traced.

These days I see a disturbing trend happening in folk and traditional music, as many students are taught all their music from the printed page, and more and more groups play only from sheet music. It’s rather generic and devoid of stylistic nuance. Traditional music was, through countless generations, learned aurally, with all its rich nuances. What have we lost? Why has this changed? Because in our modern society, music is no longer the background of our lives. Sure, we hear it in commercials and we hear highly engineered pop and rock on TV and radio, but most of us don’t grow up with our parents and siblings and friends playing music every day in our homes, most of us don’t have music gatherings in our homes on a regular basis, and Americans don’t spend our evenings at family-oriented pubs where music is played by people we know, all evening, every evening. We’ve lost our music anchor, and are adrift in a roaring sea of commercial music from which we cannot learn our part. So we’ve become dependent on the printed page, which provides symbols that tell us the notes and the timing, but which is not the music itself, and definitely not the soul of the music.

If you really want to learn the music you’ve chosen, go to sessions and listen in person to players of a variety of the instruments that are used in that genre. You can’t get the whole picture just by listening to the kind of instrument you play. Go to as many performances as you can. Take as many workshops as you can. Seek mentoring. Learn from people, not just paper.