Clavier Companion - May/June 2017 - 56
Perspectives Pianist as artist: Samuil Feinberg finite elements of musical notation and again to the infinite. Creativity's infinitely complex initial stimulus, the finite sonic elements, are fixed in the notation of rhythm and pitch, and the immeasurable possibilities arising from individual interpretations. The execution depends on innumerable causes and conditions.7 By describing the precise realization of notational details as a midpoint in the interpretive process, Feinberg emphasizes precision in realizing notation as a means to a greater poetic end. He explodes the idea that the variety of possible performances is based on liberties taken by the performer. A complete reckoning of the artistic process necessarily leads to the diversity of performing styles that characterized the best qualities of the early twentieth century's players. The following passage again examines the notion of performer as both creator and translator: The gradual accumulation of specific properties of sound that happens during the process of learning a piece brings forth qualitative changes in the nature of the musical images. Therefore reading notation a priori-before touching the instrument- is essential, though it cannot give a full picture of the future interpretation. Realizing the composer's concept, perceiving it first in the inner ear, the artist gradually submits it to the practical possibilities of the instrument. Being in the center of the formative forces of music, he is at the same time a creator and a medium for those internalized sound-elements.8 The piano is not merely a tool to be mastered and put to use, but a kind of partner in the creative process. Perhaps Feinberg's understanding of the compositional process gives rise to this attitude toward notation and the importance of the performer's freedom: A composer knows that by limiting the will of the performer and his freedom of interpretation, he interferes with that artist's individual expression. Overly pedantic adherence to the composer's instructions may deprive the performer of essential ease and persuasiveness. Everyone knows the importance and almost extreme accuracy of Beethoven's performance directions, but even they sometimes impede the natural flow of the player's interpretation. Too frequent changes of tempo and intensity of sound, fixed in the black and white hues of the printed score, can disturb the artist's convictions and loyalty to his chosen interpretive strategy, and deprive his playing of integrity and consistency. How often the composer softens his instructions with terms like mezzo, poco, non troppo, so that the performer won't execute the marking like a student saying "here!" when the teacher calls his name. Yet in practice we can see that the natural flow of playing is often hindered in those very places in the piece where we find the composer's or editor's instructions.9 Feinberg is on dangerous ground here; he seems to suggest a hierarchy in which a composer's indications of pitch and rhythm are not negotiable but his dynamics and expressive markings are. All notation is, as described earlier, a midpoint between the infinities of inspiration and realization. Its meaning in the larger, poetic scheme of the piece must be considered. More recent notions of performance practice and reception might have helped Feinberg- specifically the idea that a score was intended to be read by a particular audience with certain cultural and historical baggage. Markings ought to be thought of in dialogue with the expected audience's likely manner of interpretation rather than with ahistorical objectivity (for which, read: the performer's individual likes and dislikes). In this next passage, Feinberg even more forcefully lays to rest the notion that a performance is some kind of recreation of a specific set of sounds in the mind of the composer: Are we always sure that the composer's playing offers the best example? If recordings of Bach, Handel, Mozart, Beethoven playing the piano existed, they would certainly be interesting to everyone, but would they serve as the most elevated, unimpeachable ideal? If the gramophone record had been invented two-hundred years earlier, a modern performer would hardly just copy those past practices and techniques. Performance practice is less enduring than the work itself. Each spring brings different blossoms to the flowering tree, yet the trunk may live for a hundred years. A piece of music on its journey to full realization in sound, fixed in notation but not yet performed, is yet incomplete. For this very reason, it is possible that performances fail to unlock the full potential energy and concept of a wonderful but unjustifiably unperformed work. But usually great works, having been heard in so many artistic formulations, fixedly withstand the stylistic diversity of artistic techniques. Not only do tastes, 56 Clavier Companion May/June 2017
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