It's lunchtime Tuesday, and I'm thinking about my biweekly 30-minute piano lesson that will be later this afternoon.
I'll be working on two pieces: the Chopin Nocturne in F minor, and Scott Joplin's Maple Leaf Rag. Today I'm mostly thinking about the Chopin. I've learned the first three pages (mostly), up to the section I refer to as "The Transcendence," starting at measure 77. I'm a little apprehensive about the lesson--not because I don't know the music, but because of the weird transition that is required when playing an acoustic piano after practicing for two weeks on a digital.
Anyway, when I first started this nocturne, I found this lecture by pianist Greg Niemczuk:
In it, he tells us that in the couple of years before the F minor nocturne was written/published, Chopin was "wounded" three times. These wounds were the death of his first teacher, of whom Chopin was very fond; the death of his beloved friend, roommate, and soulmate by tuberculosis, which devastated Chopin; and, in May 1844, the death of his father. This nocturne is, we learn, about death.
I think this nocturne is also about dark fate, stuckness, and despair. It's a good soundtrack for where my life has been over this past year. In the lecture, Niemczuk says that you'd think sad people would need bright, cheerful music to comfort them, but, in reality, "we need music that transmits the same kinds of emotions that we are in because we want to feel understood."
And boy, does this nocturne help me to feel understood!
The main theme descends, gets stuck on C, tries again, doesn't get anywhere, tries again, and concludes with a dark F minor chord. Niemczuk says the descending notes are like "tears" and observes that there seems to be an "obsession" with this opening motif. Indeed, it's repeated nine times on the first two pages!
Then ... after the first six repeats of the theme, there is some hope. The theme begins again, with a beautiful embellishment. It is a hopeful, questioning raising of the eyes toward the unknown horizon ... but then the dark bell tolls, and there is a slow, sad, stuttering falling back down to the main theme. A hopeful question, but with with a terrible answer.
And this same, lovely yet frustrating and dark pattern repeats itself again.
Niemczuk notes that when someone plays this nocturne badly, without emotion or understanding, it is "impossible to listen" because it is the "same, same, same." To paraphrase him (because I didn't write it down), to play this well, you almost have to explore all the different types of sadness that it's possible to feel.
Well, sign me up! I'm good at sadness.
But then we get to the part B section, and more emotions I'm good at:
Anger. Rage. Screaming in the car. Whatever it is. Followed by helpless whimpering, pleading.
This could be an attack of the stronger over the weaker, of old age and death over youth and health, of momentary resolve and lingering, retreating fear. Whatever it is, I am here for it.
There is a moment of escape ... but the descending motif of the first theme is there in the mess, in the alto voice, reminding us that escape is futile.
At the climax, there is a long descent that begins passionately but then slows to a whimper. And the plodding, descending original theme is back. And we wonder ... will it be the same thing, over and over again, for the rest of eternity?
No. Because then come The Transcendence. The part I haven't learned yet. The part where, perhaps, the person dies and goes to heaven, or where a sliver of light shines into the dark hopelessness. I like to think it is the latter. For my life, at least.
The Transcendence continues, until the end, really, which comes with a series of slow, final F-major chords. F major? Yes, we finish in F major. Though, if you're listening for the first time, you have no idea, until the chord is played, whether we'll end in despairing pessimmism or a kind of bittersweet optimism.
I'm so excited about learning this piece and hope that someday I'll play it well enough to communicate all of this with the music alone.
Meanwhile, here is a video of Paul Barton, a pianist who does a beautiful job with it. There are several good recordings out there (Rubinstein, Horowitz, and more), of course, in addition to this video.
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