VOICE MAIL. There was one long message, and my Maestro™ said “unlisted number”. The voice was of a very old person, though not frail. Apart from a slight German accent she spoke impeccable English: “Professor Lidov, this is Clara Schumann. We haven’t been introduced, but I think you would know me. You can’t call me back, for we have only outgoing. Now, your piano pieces: they did catch my fancy! Not the musical style, frankly. I shouldn’t make comparisons, but I can’t say I truly understand the way you young people have been composing, with those irregular rhythms and harmonies. Well, for me, nothing compares to Robert; that’s my problem. But at least I can hear you are suggesting figures, musical images. We do think it is a positive direction. Now, my young man, if you want to get that across, you really must look after your titles and perhaps a few program notes! Don’t you agree? It’s no use talking about hexachords or submediants when you want people to listen with images! Please don’t mind my intruding. I’m just going to read to you some ideas I jotted down.”
Well, most everything below is from the answering machine. Not the song lyrics I cite for Number Four, which of course, she didn’t know. Not Number Twelve either (she advised me to omit Number Twelve). As for the rest, I couldn’t improve on her suggestions. Also, she called me “young”! That is a gift from Heaven.
1. Invocation – To Mnemosyne and Amnemosyne. Mnemosyne, the figure of memory in classical Greece. Amnemosyne, her sister, does not have so fine a pedigree, but she has a suitable etymology. Memory and amnesia, the pillars of art.
2. Midnight Skyscape. The showers of shooting stars we see in August, those are meteorites. But there are others—sometimes brighter—even in February. Do only poets see them?
3. Pas de deux. Colombine can only stay on point for one measure and Harlequin is quite clumsy. The orchestra must never reflect their antics, but the musicians watch out the of corner of their eye.
4. Traditional Song (Anglo-American). The melody is the “Riddle Song,” which I learned and loved when I was very young. I now understand it as a song about still birth.
I gave my love a cherry that had no stone;
I gave my love a chicken that has no bone
I gave my love ring that has no end;
I gave my love a baby with no cryin’
How can there be a cherry that has no stone?
How can there be….etc.
A cherry when it’s bloomin’ it has no stone.
A chicken when it’s pippin, it has no bone.
A ring when it’s rollin’ it has no end.
A baby when it’s sleepin’ has no cryin’.
5. Invention.
6. Variations.
7. Opera Song, for Male Voice. Might this be that passionately persuasive and self-righteous scoundrel, Germont, from La Traviata?
8. Tango. Tangos are either sung or danced—not both. In tangos, a man sings about the woman who did him in.
9. Party Dance.
10. Per Augmentationem — The subject enters at four different speeds, the slowest is eight times the length of the quickest. Oh, vanity, vanity!
11. Chorale – in organo pleno. The great hall was now empty, save for the bizarre stranger, just recently arrived, who had permission to try the instrument, to pray—in ones own manner. (C.S. actually said “her own manner,” which I find too gender specific.)
12. Cover – Rhythm Study. No “program”: Either it’s absolute music or it’s absolutely not music.
13. A Dream Ending. Nightmare! voicemail hell, but saved by—a door bell? the alarm clock? the telephone!
PREFACE—to the pianist
Voice Mail is for piano, but it is also for pianists: amateur or professional, any who might hear it or play it or read it or study it or not get around to it. You were the audience in my imagination; you are my dedicatees. My point of departure in composing Voice Mail was the early 19th century suite of “characteristic pieces”, a repertoire that holds a prominent place both in our pedagogy and in our concert tradition.
Like some of those suites, Voice Mail is a big project if you take it entire, more than a half hour. It builds a dramatic sequence, and the whole is without doubt more resplendent in harmonic color than the parts. However, it was my idea from the start that my suite, like its older models, should allow selection. Please accept the liberty to play any one of these compositions or any group in any order that you like. The only exception is the last, Number Thirteen; it makes no sense unless it follows all the others.
As far as I am concerned, the pianist has no obligation to reconstruct the “intentions” of the composer. Some people think of composing as writing down, nearly as possible, an intended performance with all its nuances. I’m more inclined to think of composing and interpreting as distinct streams of communication. Since I have been practicing these pieces myself, I have some definite ideas how the character of each one should sound, but not necessarily the same idea as when I wrote it. Not necessarily the same idea as yesterday’s or tomorrow’s. I very much hope my compositions will give you ideas for interpretation. Your ideas will be different from my ideas. I think of those differences as a long range conversation between musicians, far apart as we may be in space and time. If I have done a good job of choosing the notes, then my pieces can change their clothes or alter their opinions. We will still know who they are.
I would like to save all technicalities and other insider’s tips for the Appendix, but I must put in a word about spelling. You will see some strange combinations, like the fifth, A# – F, that appears here and there, but there is a reason, and if you know it, it is a help. Each piece is made from four modes*. For example, in compositions 1, 6, 12 and 13, you will find the three-note mode, G#, A, B. Because the modes are not transposed, it is a convenience to have them spelled the same way all the time, to see more quickly what you are hearing. All thirteen modes are shown in the chart at the back.
D. L., Toronto
1999-2000
*Or pitch class sets.
