Expressive Marks on the Score

In a recent recording session I had the opportunity to conduct and coach several musicians on various works of mine. It was a fascinating process of discovery and creation for all of us. Much time was spent on making the meaning of my musical directions clear. In fact, I had to argue with the musicians at times to get them to ignore or change my marks: “Yes, I know I wrote pianissimo, but in the context of this performance and the particular sounds and phrasing you are making, it must be mezzo-piano!”

Expressive marks have long been an enigma to me. Why do we need them? My theory: many musicians, particularly in chamber music, have only one or two rehearsals before a performance and never have a chance for the music to sink in. It may be exciting and fun, but not always deep. A one night stand! Getting to know music takes time and discovery, like a new love.

Sir Michael Tippett is quoted in Composer par Excellence An Appreciation by Graham Rawlins: “A score can never be more than advice for the performer, and I do not feel so strongly as to suggest [that I am looking for] the one answer from all performers.” Furthermore, “As a player presents the music, it becomes his own [personal] performance, and no one performance can be total.”

Why does a composer put expressive marks on a score? I asked myself this question for many years and, in fact, refused to do so. It seemed to me more a limitation than a liberation. Doesn’t every musician know what they want? Don’t they have ideas they want to put forward and concepts of how to interpret any given piece they have chosen to put hours and hours into perfecting. Doesn’t one’s feeling about a piece change over time?

Did not Bach, Monteverdi, Josquin and Machaut forego this option? For centuries, sophisticated music was written without any indication of how it was to be played. Why? There are many reasons certainly: professional and amateur musicians who read music were rare; often the composer him/herself was the performer or conductor; paper and the space it takes to notate music was expensive; traditions within small communities were strong and pervasive – diversity was not yet a prevalent or desirable goal.

That all makes sense. So as the middle class grew in the 19th century, students and amateurs grew in number, professionals traveled to faraway kingdoms to show their work. It seems logical that there would be a growing need to make one’s musical intentions clear. If an Italian virtuoso went to London to perform, it may have indeed been a marvelous and revelatory event. That performer/composer may have wanted to leave behind a clear record of their style and performance practices, no electronic means yet available. [I must interject against my own theory that performers certainly did NOT do this for centuries before it became commonplace.]

But I often don’t even play my own music exactly as I have marked it! There is a wonderful video of Edel Muñoz performing for Leo Brouwer in which Brouwer makes the same confession. I have come to the conclusion for myself the most important reason to add markings is to make it clear you want the performer to do something! There needs to be a change in tempo, or color or dynamic. Don’t just play the notes, do something. Be bold, take a chance. Here are the composer’s suggestions – but it is more important that you say something important. Claim the music as your own.

We can all be hyper-critical of each others performances, but perhaps if we expected to hear more variation, more energy and more character in an individual’s rendition, we would not need to be so critical. We could simply enjoy the person for who he is, for saying what she has to say in the best way she can.