Fifty years ago, what would eventually be known as the Early Music Movement started. Period instruments came onto the scene, mostly played extremely badly, and everyone in the instrumental world of music at least became aware of the small but important body of literature, from the baroque period, that informs playing-technique for baroque music. Europe led the way with period instrument ensembles such as Harnoncourt’s Concentus Musicus Wien.
In the world of organ music, the Orgelbewegung created a Renaissance of organbuilding in baroque styles. Returning old organs to their original condition, or as close as we could imagine to that condition, became normative.
All of this happened when I was just a boy, and it would have a huge influence on my life as a musician. I was trained in period instrument performance practice at Oberlin – which prided itself on leading the country in that aspect of music-making. Eventually that led to my desire to found my own period instrument ensemble which I did when I founded American Bach Soloists at my home church (St. Stephen’s, Belvedere) thirty years ago.
All of this created a mental construct of right and wrong when it comes to making music of any period in history, not just baroque.
Fast forward to this weekend. I am playing both harpsichord and organ with Sir Andras Schiff (conductor) and the San Francisco Symphony. The program is Bach and Mendelssohn – a perfect pairing! Schiff plays two Bach concerti on the piano, I play harpsichord on one of the orchestral suites (Schiff conducting), and organ for Mendelssohn’s Lobgesang.
There once was a day that I would go into virtual spasm over hearing Bach played on the piano. This week of rehearsing and performing became an interesting test for me. The test is not what one might assume: abandoning my pre-conceived notions about what is right and wrong in music interpretation. That was certainly an aspect of what I needed to overcome. But the more significant test was to become aware that I have an attachment to my self-righteous assumptions of music-making.
Attachment, and its opposite, non-attachment, are key words in California circles, in Eastern philosophy, and even at the core of Christianity (although rarely mentioned). We hang on to our stuff because we believe it creates our identity. We hang on to our ideas because we believe they create our identity. The list goes on and on: the food we eat or don’t eat, our appearance, what soap we use, etc. All of these things, these ideas, these philosophies are yet another way to attach and help us feel part of the “right” group. But the real life lessons happen when we recognize that those things, those ideas, are not who we are; they are simply vehicles that we use to move around our world. Other people have other vehicles.
Freeing up my attachment to “proper” performance practice allowed me a new insight into the music of Bach, into the great and towering musical strength of Sir Andras Schiff, and to my symphony colleagues. It opened a degree of joy that surprised me.
So, will I change my performance style and abandon my performance practice awareness? Absolutely not. But removing my tendency to judge and criticize that which is different from me, and my mode of artistic expression, is enormously freeing.