Not Dorico-related, but of interest to many here. Here’s a gift link to a pretty cool NY Times article that posted yesterday:
My teacher used to say that the ink on the musical page is divided between facts and instructions. “The oboe plays an A” is a fact; “forte” (or “mysteriously”) is an instruction. The musician’s job is to interpret the instructions (while respecting all the facts, of course).
If anyone else geeks out on this sort of stuff, there are two pretty great books worth checking out and both are available for free on archive.org.
John Cage’s 1969 classic Notations.
Theresa Sauer’s sort of sequel to Cage, the amazing Notations 21. This is full color and probably the most incredible notation book I own. Unfortunately, it’s pretty rare and quite pricey now. If you ever stumble upon a copy at a non-insane price, definitely grab it!
And there’s this little gem, with a free PDF download link:
I found Phillip Glass’ perspective to be fascinating and thought-provoking. I generally rely on text expressions or indications in my music, but the “how much is enough (or not) information for the performer?“ idea is often in my mind as I write.
I do like the idea of sharing interpretative decisions with the interpreter, as the music –in my opinion– only comes to actual, tangible existence when they (or myself even, when I can) play it.
However I also like to be precise and clear in my music writing when I need something specific.
It seems to me it is about finding a sweet spot between being precise and thorough when needed; and reducing the amount of information when it is called for.
For me, I find an interesting interpolation of things in music notation, the precision (or attempt to graphically convey this sense) of placing frequencies, durations and expressions in line with the facts that we, as living machines, sometimes need to “flex” and adapt so that not all interpretations are the same, despite the fact that someone has written down instructions, music (to be, at least) is a guide and not a strict sense of principles we must adhere to strictly or we will go to bed with no supper.
As most everyone sees there are so many interpretations of music from such giants as Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms and, quite literally, every composer. Bach might be shocked to hear what some modern performers voice his music; much as at the time I am sure his music was, in some ways, considered avant garde and ‘against the norm’. Where would the art of composition be, if not for the fact that each generation contemplates their predecessors and mentors, then moves in the way their skills, technique, and message draw them to? For if we decide on a random sample of musician/composers over the ages, each might sound alien to the other composers if they all heard the same music. Bach listening to Stravinsky? Mozart listening to Berg? We envelop ourselves as having a layer of cushions ‘beneath’ us to lay upon knowing the pieces that proceeded us (and new pieces emerging), but then, one day our pieces are being taken into account by future generations who wonder what we wonder about the composers who proceeded us.
So, notation is a gift, an art, an expression, but it also, to those of us who watch and listen, can be an outpouring of the soul and emotions. It’s one area in life I don’t ever take for granted; the gift to be able to read and interpret music is a gift that never ceases to amaze and encourage me. I am so glad that there are ways and means now for us all to collaborate, share and above all learn from each other, as well as drawing inspiration, hope and joy from witnessing new works come into being that were just blank pages before we set our hearts, minds and spirits to the the task of creating something new using “funny circles, lines and symbols.”