1)    Thoughts on playing and practicing music

2)    Programme notes for West Winds in Concert 2000 (see my special on James Barnes' Third Symphony)

3)    My Literacy Autobiography

4)    An analysis of the third movement of Beethoven's First Symphony
 
 
 
 

Thoughts on playing and practicing music

Individual practice:-

One of the first questions my flute teacher asked me was that how many hours should I spend per day practicing on my
flute. I was kinda shocked to hear from him that students studying to be professional musicians would have to at least
spend like five to six hours a day just on that. After all that was the first time that I was under any kind of formal music
tuition, prior to that it was just self-teaching all the way. With my busy schedules in work/school/social life I don't think I
could have allocated that much time for flute practice. But I gotta improve!
Professional tuition I must say really helped a lot. I think my flute playing now is better than before. It has all got to do with
foundation. To have someone constantly check for errors and bad habits no doubt is still a luxury for some of us, but I
was fortunate enough to be given the privilege. But that can only help you, to a certain extent. The rest is up to YOU.

I find that I do not prescribe to a fixed method of practicing i.e. scales, arpeggios, holding long notes till your breath runs
out. I'll play a few notes on the flute, probably a run up and down chromatically, and proceed directly to practicing a piece.
Frankly speaking I can't be bothered by following a strict routine, don't think I have the discipline to last one if I was made
to do it.

But I must stress the importance of scales - this advice was given by a senior of mine. You SHOULD know your scales
very well. I must say I am pretty lucky to be able to transpose a given melody in any key, so that means I would be able to
play you any scale you request ;p I am also blessed with perfect pitch (I still wonder where I got that..or did I learn it?).
If you know your scales well, playing music no matter how difficult it may be will be an easier task. After all...isn't all
(TONAL!) music based on scales?

Listening to what you play and what others play has its advantages and disadvantages. I don't exactly idolise famous
flautist James Galway but almost all of my flute CDs are recorded by him. He plays every note...almost....so I'll usually
look to him for a "reliable" recording of a piece. Some of Jean Pierre Rampal's recordings are worth a listen, too. It's
good to emulate these players, but it inhibits personal expression and interpretation. Everyone's ranting about the
search for one's own style  of playing. That is something I don't think I have found yet. Till I find it, listening and playing
with Galway (on the sound system) will do.

Having the interest in the music you're playing helps! Just pretend that you're in an orchestra and put on the CD player
of your favourite music and start playing your instrument with it. HAH! Some friends call it "karaoke". It's true to some extent.
Whatever scores I can't find I'll have to learn up the piece by ear. Tchaikovsky's Symphony No.5 was one of the first
pieces of classical music I ever listened to. I still listen to it every now and then...and if possible...play along.

Happy practicing!!!

Rasull - 14/06/99
 
 

Programme notes for West Winds in Concert 2000

Cry of the Celts – Ronan Hardiman (arr. Peter Graham)

If Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “The Phantom of the Opera” was a marriage of music with the art of song, the same could be said for Michael Flatley’s “Lord of the Dance”, but a marriage of music with the art of dance. Indeed, this dance-musical has been performed to great critical acclaim to audiences all over North America and Europe ever since its inception some four years ago. “Cry of the Celts” is the first act of this dance-musical and it is from this setting that Peter Graham draws inspiration from to arrange a concert suite. This suite however, was originally arranged for brass band, the Yorkshire Building Society Brass Band in particular, upon a commission made by the band’s conductor, David King. Shortly after the premier of this version, Graham was commissioned again to provide a version for symphonic band, which you will hear tonight.

This suite is in five movements. They are 1. Nightmare, 2. Suil a Ruin, 3. Breakout, 4. Lament and 5. Victory. Each of these movements feature various solo voices from the ensemble against a backdrop of Irish traditional, folk and even rock styles.
 
 

Variations for Band – John Howard

The chosen theme of these variations is the famous mediaeval tune L’Homme Arme, one which has long fascinated me (and many other composers).

The structure of the work falls into a number of self-contained sections:

Prelude
Two chords, motto-like in function in the work as a whole, build-up to an entry of the theme over a dissonant ostinato bass.

Theme
The theme is presented in unison, accompanied by a one-note drone.

Variation 1
Concentrates on the rising fourth and falling second of the theme.

Variation 2
At rapid pace, the theme is transformed into the major mode and played in even notes with ever-changing and irregular metre.

Variation 3
Slow and lyrical, featuring oboe, bassoon, trumpet and euphonium, playing the main tune against a marimba canctus firmus.

Variation 4
A dramatic dialogue between a number of elements: an ostinato bass derived from the theme, fanfares on trumpets and trombones, and a drumming idea; over the top of this, the woodwind play a descending long-note tune derived rather distantly from the theme.

Variation 5
Featuring the percussion alone, this variation is a kind of dance, reflecting one aspect of the theme’s character, and exploring the conflict between duple and triple time. The phrase structure of the theme is preserved.

Variation 6 (Finale and Coda)
The final movement has at least three roles to fulfil: it is the last variation; it is also the coda to the whole work; and it counterbalances the initial prelude by referring to the two chords from the beginning and eventually resolving them onto a third chord. Before that, we have a chorale prelude type of structure, with the theme in long notes in the horns, above a passacaglia bass (deliberately designed to not quite fit). A counterpointing tune is played by the upper woodwind in compound time (a sidelong glance at Vaughn Williams and Holst) and everything culminates in a final version of the theme in a sort of major mode this time, which leads us into the coda.
Apart from resolving the two chords, this allows the music to settle down to a gentler version of the theme, chant-like and performed as though in an echoing acoustic. The end of the work is on a defiant G.

Overall, the work has been exploring the older modality versus a more modern extended tonality (the theme is itself modal, in G but finishing on D) and the conflict of major and minor modes. I leave it to the listener to decide the extent to which the music finally resolves these ambiguities, which lie at the heart of the historical tension between melodic line and harmony.

(Program notes by the composer)
 
 

Punchinello – Alfred Reed

Alfred Reed is undoubtedly one of the most prolific writers of concert band repertoire of our time. The Julliard School of Music graduate has some two hundred published works under his belt, which also includes the genres of chamber ensemble, orchestra and choir. He is particularly adept at musical settings of a variety of subjects, exemplified by works such as Othello and Three Revelations from the Lotus Sutra. However, Punchinello is not based on any program or conceived in terms of any specific play, story or film (although an oil panting by David Hockney “Punchinello On and Off Stage exists). The overture itself is set in traditional three-part overture form with a warm, lyrical middle section set off by brilliant opening and closing groups of themes that are constantly developed with all the resources of the modern wind ensemble. The only clue to the music’s meaning is found in its subtitle, Overture to a Romantic Comedy.
 
 

Symphony No. 3 – James Barnes
Of Questions and Answers – A reflective approach to the symphony.

The very definition of the word “symphony” in a standard English dictionary itself ought to be challenged. Who would have known that within two generations or so, wind ensembles (and their music) have evolved to a level of acceptance on par, if not greater, than their orchestral counterparts. “Symphony”, defined as “a composition for full orchestra” thus need not necessarily be true in light of recent developments in the field of wind ensemble music.

But what do we understand by the term anyway? Perhaps a look back in time will answer that question.

The earliest symphonies were perhaps the Sinfonias of the Italian Baroque era (1600-1700). These works were usually the first installment of an orchestral suite, and the Sinfonia was a one-movement work. Joseph Hadyn was one of the few composers, or perhaps the only successful one, who worked extensively on this form, beginning with a three-movement approach and ending with a four-movement form. Altogether he wrote an astounding 104 symphonies in his long life – many of his symphonies became case studies for aspiring composers/musicians in conservatories, even till today.

The desire not to conform to accepted standards was perhaps felt strongly by Ludwig van Beethoven as he wrote his symphonies. In his time, his first symphony was met with mixed reactions from his contemporaries. In other words, the people of his time thought that the symphony was too avant-garde for them, like what we often think of modern music by John Cage and Philip Glass now. By the time Beethoven wrote his monumental Ninth Symphony, he was hailed as a genius. The symphony became a vehicle for artistic expression.

For some composers, this vehicle served as avenues of exploration into their own lives. Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky reminds everyone about eventually succumbing to “Fate” in his Fourth Symphony, written at a time in which he was experiencing a personal crisis in life. People thought Gustav Mahler was mad when he came up with his first symphony –  an outpouring of personal expression of his own life, which he likened to (using and quoting from) his own earlier vocal composition, Songs of a Wayfarer. The perception and role of a symphony in society was beginning to get more complex.

Ever fancy writing a symphony to save your skin? That was the case for Dmitri Shostakovich. The newspapers had printed a very bad review for his opera Lady MacBeth of Mtsensk District – it was obvious that the Russian dictator Joseph Stalin was behind this show of displeasure. Only about ten years ago from the date of the printed article (January 1936) was he made a national hero for his overseas successes, particularly from the American premieres of his First Symphony under Arturo Toscanini. That printed article turned the national hero into “an enemy of the people”. His solution? Symphony No. 5. He even went as far as to subtitle the Fifth Symphony “A Soviet Artist’s Practical, Creative Reply to Just Criticism”. It was composed and orchestrated in a short span of three months, and the jubilant reception it received at its premiere restored his status as a national artistic hero. Music and politics do mix, sometimes.

We have seen how the symphonic form has evolved from a purely entertainment perspective to fulfilling various roles in society. Let us now think of how we could approach James Barnes’ Third Symphony in this respect.

Although at first glance this work might seem avant-garde for the untrained ear, upon closer observation (as a performer) it is very much a symphony in classical form.  In four movements, each movement develops around one or two central themes and some of the movements are linked to each other through blatant statements of principal themes or variations of it.

The first movement is untitled. The main principle theme, a rhythmic figure in the tonality of C, is stated on the timpani. It is this theme that recurs in all the movements from time to time. This theme gives way to a passage for solo tuba, uncertain in its approach; this uncertainty is continued in the ensuing cor anglais solo. In between sections of eruptive music and a giant orchestral tutti, this uncertainty is further questioned by the flute and finally, towards the close of this movement, by the alto flute. How can we interpret this? Are these questions without answers? Why is there so much tension? A fellow performer/colleague expressed his dissatisfaction in understanding the first movement as a whole. Perhaps no one can really understand the first movement, except, the composer himself.

The second or third movement usually takes the form of a Scherzo or Minuet (this being more common in early Classical period of Haydn and Mozart). Barnes chooses a dark F minor setting for his second movement Scherzo, abound with influences from Bela Bartok and Sergei Prokofiev. Here Barnes displays his skill in writing music in sections, from exhibiting the nervous and yet sometimes light-hearted nature of the double reeds to exploring the rich sonorities offered by the saxophone family. Sarcasm and wit is the stuff Scherzos are usually made of (“scherzo” can, and has been, interpreted as a “musical joke”), and the central rhythmic theme in this movement is actually derived from the timpani statement in the first movement.

A slow movement makes up the third, yet untitled but given the subtitle “For Natalie”. This movement is a huge orchestral lament for the death of his (Barnes’) beloved daughter, Natalie, who was still an infant when she died. Barnes injects his own personal experience in dealing with this loss throughout this whole movement. From feelings of despair to perhaps what could be seen as renewed hope in life…

Renewed hope indeed! The fourth movement, Finale, celebrates the birth of his son, according to the composer himself. An exciting fanfare by the horns announces the start of the movement, later on this fanfare is given a virtuositic treatment by the horns and flugelhorns and subsequently by the whole wind ensemble. Here the timpani statement is heard yet again, on the trumpets, but in a major key, adding to the hope and jubilation already abound in this movement. The symphony resolves to end on a C major tonality.

The conclusion of the symphony may have answered Barnes’ questions but what of ours? Do we really need to know the answers?

This piece was commissioned (and premiered) by the United States Air Force Band in Washington DC and is representative of the direction in which wind ensemble music is evolving to – to be on par with their orchestral counterparts. Many composers have over the years produced various symphonies for wind ensembles e.g. Alfred Reed, Vincent Persichetti, Vittorio Giannini that are widely performed to critical acclaim in concerts and competitions worldwide. Thus, with the advent of all these, it is therefore necessary to challenge the stereotypes that are usually associated with a “symphony” in question.
 
 

Rasull 03/02/2000

Does this essay have to have a title other than
the boring “My Literacy Biography”? (by Mohamad Rasull)
 

After having read so many essays and perhaps written just as many of them, I can safely say that the education system I have gone through has supplied me with sufficient literacy skills to pass examinations and obtain average grades. Literacy skills, as I understand it, deals with the issues of comprehensive (but not necessarily critical) reading and writing. As I further my journey into the academic world I ask myself the question of whether these skills are sufficient enough to pass university exams...and life’s own exams. Surely I cannot remain content with what I have achieved so far. There must be ways to improve, to be able to read, think and write in a critical manner.
As I look back and reflect on my English writing experiences, I realise that I have never gotten into trouble with the spelling and grammar police. In whatever essay I write to even chatting on the Internet, in all, whatever that involves the written (or typed) word, I always make it a point to check my sentences for spelling mistakes or suitable grammar, and will not hesitate to rewrite the sentence to make it sound better and more understandable. But in doing so sometimes I write too long a sentence! (See the sentence before this, abound with commas and all…) Perhaps this is the result of having aced all my spelling tests back in my school days – from primary one up to secondary four – accepted nothing less than full marks for each test. Most of these tests were often announced beforehand, with more than sufficient time for me to have learnt up the words by heart (which I never really bothered to!). I hated studying for these kind of tests and always relied on my experience and what I have learnt in class and from reading books. I was actually learning! Back then, to me it did not really make a difference whether or not I had studied for the test, and never understood why all my friends had to – the work of the kiasu syndrome I suppose. I did study for the major exams, but of course!
I could not remember any form of ‘ten-sentence composition writing’ as described by Radha N. (Memory Work) but I guessed I must have gone through a similar experience. To me, composition writing has been more of a ‘story-telling  session’ rather than describing or arguing about some issue that has been brought up. This bring back the memories of green alien invaders from Mars and beyond, of getting lost in Dracula’s mansion, among all things. There was classroom rivalry about being able to produce the most number of written pages in an essay, and I actually had a reputation for writing one of the most! Looking back into what I actually wrote, that is, the content, most of it happened to be just plain elaborate detail (you could go on and on describing the Martian alien spaceship, for instance). Of course this might seem boring to anyone or to my teacher at first glance, but I suppose there was something in my writing these narrative essays that warranted all those Bs (and sometimes As) that I obtained.
Naturally, together with many of my classmates (in secondary school) except for a deviant one or two, we stayed away as far as possible from the “argumentative” essay – for obvious reasons! It was never given as a compulsory essay topic in class and as far I can remember we only had brief discussions on how to tackle such a topic. Even the teacher, the one we see as the holder of knowledge in her hand, was discouraging us to attempt such topics especially in an exam setting. According to her (most of my English teachers were female) it was either you could convince the examiner or you could not, and even if you could, there was still the question of how strong enough your arguments had to be to hold water. I fully agreed with her in that respect. Anyway I was pretty content with writing about my exploits with Martian invaders and Dracula look-alikes. I earned the coveted A1 in English at O level.
Alas, this period in my writing had to end. The feared General Paper did not allow for any kind of Martian invaders into their territories. You had to be really smart enough to incorporate ‘em invaders in writing a GP essay. At this point of time I still stayed away from the “argumentative” essay and never brought myself to even try writing one. But classes were getting more discussive in nature, and I tried my best in participating in these discussions.  However I could not really find a place for all the insights I gained in all these activities in my essays, as they were pretty much of the descriptive type. I realise now that I was good in incorporating my own knowledge, from readings books and articles and my interests (in music, especially), in an essay. That basically meant the regurgitation of facts in my own creative words. A degree of personal reflection, if there was any, was only injected when the essay questions given in class explicitly stated that we should be writing in the first-person perspective (for example, “Based on your knowledge of XXX, what do you think of YYY?). The emphasis on “critical writing” was not evident then (I went to JC in the years 1992-1993). I never had the feeling of being able to formulate my own opinions and supporting them with equally convincing arguments, as I thought (and still think) that these kind of stuff were for the true academics in the community.
Has all these literacy practices helped me to become a qualified junior academic writer? I shall analyse my writing in university to attempt to answer this question.
Perhaps one of the greatest mistakes in my life was when I chose to do Engineering at the Nanyang Technological University, of which I only spent two years in. Most of the subjects I had to do then required the use of the calculator more than use of the pen. However there were three modules that were language-intensive – Economics, Technical Report Writing and Communication Skills. It is clear from the subject descriptions that the first emphasises content, the second emphasises how to express the content in a more academic fashion and the third, how to convey content to others in a clear and concise form, be it in the manner of writing or speaking (we had to do a presentation on a topic of our choice). Much of the essay writing I did in these modules was of a descriptive nature, which fitted well in my ideals so far. I got away with Bs and Cs, and figured that my writing skills were of a sufficient standard to pass whatever exams were required.
After that stint I subsequently signed on with the Ministry of Education as a teacher undergoing training at NIE. I must say that I am more at home here, and tackling academic subjects which cater more to my interests, that is, Mathematics and Music. There was one essay in which I had to write in my Music class, and that essay was the analysis of the third movement of Beethoven’s First Symphony. It was my understanding of the word ‘analysis’ that really bothered me as I started doing that assignment, as our lecturer did not explicitly state how the analysis should be treated. To me, that would have affected my writing very much. After seeking help from a few friends as to how I could approach the topic, I set to work and came up with a decent essay to submit. After reading it in lieu of writing this essay, I realised that it did not really sound like an academic essay at all – a more personal and informal style of discussion, but in the third-person perspective. Although most of the ideas were my own projections of collected sources (I looked up many books on Beethoven symphonies and reflected on the information I gained from these), I did not subconsciously use the pronoun “I” to assert my opinions. That was probably because I felt it was not right to do so.
The beginning of this course in Critical Reading and Writing has introduced a rather interesting perspective, in the sense of challenging “laid-down conventions”. What I have seen to be the accepted way of writing an academic essay is being discouraged, but for a good reason though, as it improves readability and user-friendliness. I hope by the end of this course I will be able to use the knowledge and skills I have gained to effective use in handling not only in handling my course work but also in what I have termed earlier – life’s own exams.

The End
 

Rasull 03/02/2000

An analysis of the 3rd movement of Beethoven Symphony No. 1

This analysis is broken into two major parts, the Menuetto proper and the Trio, both of which a general description will be given followed by a discussion on it.

Menuetto
The third movement of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 1 begins with a deviation from convention, just like the first movement, with its C7 minor chord. Beethoven keeps the listener guessing as to where the tonality of C is eventually reached.  The first three bars only gives a slight hint at even a very unstable C major – the violas, cellos and double basses half-heartedly emphasizing their C’s, and this modulates to a definite G major towards the end of the first eight bars. One would then expect this set of eight bars to be answered, musically, by perhaps a short developmental section lasting about 16 bars, by the end of which, the tonality of C will be reached. Beethoven, however, writes another 70 or so bars, firstly developing on what may seem as the “reverse” of the opening ascending motif. The music then modulates along the minor direction before reaching the unlikely key of Db major. At this point, Beethoven plays around with the original motif and its “reverse”, exemplified by the falling figures on the flutes and violins and the ascending figures in the bassoons, violas and cellos in bars 25 to 33. He then decides that the music was to embark on another ascent towards the dominant tonality. Only in bar 58 is a sure tonality in C is reached, even then with slight uncertain skips a semitone above and below. This section ends with a resounding tutti deeply rooted in the tonality of C. All of this is to be done at an unusually fast tempo, of a dotted minim being equal to 108 crotchet beats per minute, as indicated by Beethoven himself. It is given the marking “Allegro molto e vivace”.
The essence of all this was that already in the first 80 bars of the third movement, Beethoven had, and probably would have wanted to, deviated from convention. He does it in the following two major ways:
(a) Tempo
Beethoven called his movement a Menuetto, or minuet. A minuet in a Haydn or Mozart symphony would have been much slower, often in a court-like manner. In fact, minuets were what the aristocrats of his time danced to, something only for the rich. However Beethoven’s minuet is clearly at a too fast tempo to deem it suitable for dancing. The minuet was approaching the form of a scherzo instead. From this we can see two things. First was that Beethoven introduced this “scherzo” to replace the minuet as a standard movement in symphonic form. Indeed many composers after Beethoven had continued this practice, and sometimes to great dramatic effect. The (non-three-timed, however) “Stalin” scherzo of Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 10 is one such example. The second thing that could be seen stems from the meaning of the word “scherzo” which is a “joke”. Labelling the movement a Menuetto while giving it the tempo of a scherzo is a joke in itself. Beethoven would have probably imagined the aristocrats dancing to his impossible menuetto, thus getting back at them, at a time where division of society into the rich and poor was prevalent.
(b) Dominance of the dominant (of a key)
Beethoven’s contemporaries did not respond favourably to his first symphony, in general, one of the reasons being because the harmonic material employed by Beethoven is not dominated by the tonality of C but that of its dominant G. Again here Beethoven deviates from convention, unlike his predecessors Haydn and Mozart. But why did he choose the dominant (G)? And not, let’s say the sub-dominant (F) or the median (E)? Beethoven probably would not have wanted to develop material largely based on the tonic, otherwise the result would have been similar to a Haydn or Mozart symphony. He wanted something more original, perhaps even to change the whole conception of a symphony strictly adhering to its designated key, but yet within the bounds of consonance. Thus the dominant proves to be the best choice – this symphony as a whole is dominated by the dominant. Whereas this symphony ends in the key of C, it was enough for others to further twist the convention to suit their own agendas, like Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 5 in E minor which ends in E major instead. The dominant of any scale creates a certain amount of tension in the music of that scale, a tension which was perhaps not (yet) tolerated in Beethoven’s time but is, now, given the harsher dissonances that have been introduced (and even brought to convention!) by modern composers.
However Beethoven did adhere to convention in the area of instrumentation (with a slight exception that shall be explained in a moment). The strings are the leading forces of melodic and rhythmic content of this whole section, whereas the winds punctuate the music at strategic points i.e. generally at the end of phrases, and also to strengthen the presence of the dominant, particularly in bars 48 to 50. The exception here lies in the usage of the timpani, not like a “bass-drum” in a military band to provide or sustain a downbeat, but to add a percussive colour to the movement. Indeed at the tempo in which the menuetto is set in, the quaver beats become a show of virtuosity, for any timpani player could tell you that it takes a considerable amount of effort to play bar 51 (at least) of the menuetto and still maintain the evenness of each quaver beat.

Trio
The trio is the second small section of the 3rd movement, which starts off with a variant of the opening motif of the menuetto, this being played on the oboes, clarinets, bassoons and French horns, with end-of-phrase flowing gestures of agreement from the violins. Beethoven’s genius in harmonic scoring is reflected here - the main rhythmic pattern (consisting of a minim tied to a crotchet) is essentially the same throughout the whole movement, but he makes use of chords and dynamics to create different moods. The series of static chords beginning the trio sets a peaceful and calm mood in contrast to the festive atmosphere a few bars earlier (in the Menuetto section). This same series of chords is used to bring back the mood of the movement to where it started – bars 122 to 126, through accumulation of sound from subsequent entries of different instruments. This section, just like the menuetto, is dominated by any other tonality other than C (though related to C).
In the respect of instrumentation, there seems to be a reversal of roles. The woodwinds are now leading the pack, with the strings providing the appropriate support (the flowing gestures of agreement as described earlier). The wind choir that starts off the trio section, however, does not include the flutes. Beethoven must have had a reason for not doing so. The reason was perhaps due to the nature of the flute during his time having bad intonation, especially in the third high register. Elaborating further, Beethoven could have still added the flutes to the choir, which would have made more instrumental sense. To have done that he would have them either play in the same pitch as the oboes or an octave above. In the earlier case, the flutes would have been a redundant addition, their voices being masked by the powerful double reeds. The latter case would have exposed the flutes’ bad intonation problems. It is probably these reasons why Beethoven excluded the use of the flute in this instance.
 

End of Analysis

Rasull 03/02/2000