Tag: Memoir

Daylight Saving Time ended on Sunday.  Clocks on all the devices in my room reset automatically.  But the ones in the kitchen needed manual adjustments.  Somehow, working around the apartment, I got confused.  For a brief moment, I panicked about not managing my time well.

Every year, we adjust our clocks following the changes of seasons—and temperatures.  The linkage between time and weather always reminds me of the Italian word “tempo.”  It means “time.”  One would ask, “Non ho molto tempo.” (“I don’t have much time.”). It also means “weather”—as in “Fa bel tempo oggi” (The weather is nice today).

For the written portion of my doctoral candidacy exam, I was to review then newly published The Tempo Indications of Mozart by Jean Pierre Marty.  Although Marty assigned metronomic markings for each tempo/meter combination, his arguments were based on the understanding of the meaning of Mozart’s tempo indications.  I opened the review exploring the meaning of “tempo”—a simple word that musicians live with every day.

If we were lucky, our teachers would have taught us how each term would be linked to a certain speed, as marked on old-fashioned metronome.  The truth is most of the words that the composers put down at the beginning of their compositions have more to do with its character than a performance speed. Allegro means cheerful; vivace means lively; andante means walking; largo means broad, so on and so forth. They can be further qualified by words such as molto (very), non troppo (not too much), grazioso (gracious), maestoso (majestic), sostenuto (sustained), etc.  So, instead of thinking about “speed,” it is more suitable to consider the “temperament” of the composition.

Robert Schumann often broke away from the traditional Italian markings and turned to his native German.  In Davidsbündlertänze (Dances of the League of David), Op. 6, one finds Lebhaft (lively), innig (intimate), mit Humor (with humor), ungeduldig (eager/impatient), einfach (simple), and wild und lustig (wild and funny).  Hugo Wolf took it much further, abandoning Italian markings all together.  For “Liebe mir im Busen zündet einen Brand” (Love in my bosom ignites a fire), he wrote “Äusserst rasch, mit leidenschaftlichstem Ausdruck” (Extremely rapid, with the most passionate expression); “Schlafendes Jesuskind” (Sleeping Jesus Child), “Sehr getragen und weihevoll” (Very sustained and ceremonially).

Claude Debussy frequently gave detailed directions throughout his compositions.  At the beginning of  “Soirée dans Grenade” (Evening in Granada), the second piece of his suite Estampes, he wrote “Mouvement de Habanera –Commencer lentement dans un rythme nonchalamment gracieux” (Movement of Habanera—beginning slowly in a rhythm nonchalantly gracious).  Then, he gently guided the performer by saying “Retenu” (hold back) . . . , “Tempo giusto” (proper tempo) . . . , “Tempo rubato” (flexible tempo) . . . , “Très rythmé” (very rhythmic) . . . , “Tempo primo—avec plus d’abandon (First tempo—with more abandonment).  Toward the end of the piece, he asked twice for “Léger et lointain” (light and distant) as everything quietly faded into the night.

Erich Leinsdorf in his thoughtful book The Composer’s Advocate: A Radical Orthodoxy for Musicians wrote about the importance of understand composer’s chosen words.  These words lead the performers as well as the audience into the right atmosphere—the right tempo, the very thing that Mozart considered to be the most important to music making.  Let’s always hope for the perfect “tempo.”