Nothing
114During my studies I came to realise that the notes I was taking alongside the recording of the tuition on video or audio tapes were precious, not only from a monetary point of view (lessons with some of the teachers mentioned in this thesis can cost up to 400 U.S. Dollars), but also from a historical point of view. Those students who have been fortunate enough to study in the classes of the exemplary pedagogues mentioned in this thesis have not necessarily received the same impressions on the information delivered in the lessons they took; and often this is because, astonishingly, many did not record their lessons or take notes.
There are certainly a number of reasons for this oversight. Krebbers tells of a situation that he experienced in an interview he gave to Ralf Noltensmeier.115
114Cecil Graham: “What is a cynic?
Krebbers begins by stating that during his study time, it was common practice to listen to the lessons of one’s classmates. In his case, his teacher, Oskar Back, insisted on this. At a masterclass Krebbers gave in Brussels, a young Japanese student turned out to be of lesser ability than her counterparts. As she brought her violin under her chin and began to play, half the auditors stood up to leave. The door not yet open, Krebbers in turn stood up, more angry than he ever recalled being, and asked what
Lord Darlington: “A man who knows the price of everything, and the value of nothing.” Oscar Wilde, “Lady Windermere’s Fan”, Act III. Also, “Nowadays people know the price of everything, and the value of nothing.” Oscar Wilde, “The Picture of Dorian Gray”, Chapter Four.
115 Ralf Noltensmeier, Große Geigenpädagogen im Interview (Kiel: Peter Götzelmann Verlag, 1997),
they thought they were doing. Those who had stood up to leave named a duty that they, just at that very moment, had to fulfil. To this Krebbers said: “I will wait now for five minutes. You are free to leave, this is not a prison. But anyone who leaves now need not return to my classes.”116 Thereupon, everyone sat back down.
Linking in with his previously mentioned thoughts concerning the laziness and stupidity of violinists, Ozim adds that, without a doubt, specialisation is more prevalent than it was in his youth, when the purely emotive abilities of a musician would often dictate the primary qualities of a performance. The emotion that a performer could convey was deemed important, not whether a trill was played starting from above or below the note, whether a note would halt at a given point, or whether the ornamentation in a French piece was really different to that in a German one.
…thereto we paid heartily little attention and we all also knew heartily little about it. Only, then one realises that there exists the wonderful bon mot of Max Rostal: ‘Today one knows whether one should play a trill from above or below, whether it should be taken from left or right, but one cannot trill.’ There is a truth to that, one should be wary of this. There is also a certain arrogance amongst so-called specialists, who opine that, of the few existing books of the period in which they are specialised, only they have read them.117
A combination of several factors leads directly to the conclusion that the information given above is a starting point for a potentially endless project of documentation that links historical methods of teaching to the methods of the greatest pedagogues of recent times:
116 Ralf Noltensmeier, Große Geigenpädagogen im Interview (Kiel: Peter Götzelmann Verlag, 1997),
p. 33. Krebbers’ original quote reads: „Ich warte jetzt fünf Minuten. Wer weggehen will, der darf gehen; das hier ist kein Gefängnis. Aber wer jetzt geht, der braucht nie wieder in meinen Unterricht zu kommen.“
117 Urs Frauchiger, Der eigene Ton, p. 162–163. Ozim’s original quote reads: „…darum haben wir uns
herzlich wenig gekümmert, und wir haben alle auch herzlich wenig davon gewußt. Nur gibt es dann das wunderbare Bonmot von Max Rostal: «Heute weiß man, ob man einen Triller von oben oder von unten, von links oder von rechts her nehmen soll, nur trillern kann man nicht.» — Da ist auch etwas Wahres dran, man muß sich davor hüten. Es gibt auch eine gewisse Arroganz der sogenannten Spezialisten, die meinen, daß nur sie die paar Bücher über die Zeit, auf die sie spezialisiert sind, gelesen haben.“
A) the almost complete absence of written accounts by those recent pedagogues ;
B) the endless internet forums that discuss questions of methodology directly concerning the teachers listed in this thesis;
C) my daily encounters with violin students, which constantly demonstrate the need to fill the gaps in information, knowledge and experience discussed above.
In that light, the information in this thesis might go some way to allowing others a partial insight into the “secrets” of technique that are being applied today. In the words of Bron, “In art, there are no limits to improvement. Truly gifted artists always try to learn more.”118
This argument for modern documentation is consistent with other areas of contemporary thought and practice in music. For example, the early music movement has been crucially dependent on historical documentation; and has sought to use such documentation as a starting point for understanding historical playing techniques. Whether one is concerned with proper style of ornamentation, with tempi, with the techniques of playing previously obsolete instruments, or with reconstructing the contexts in which the music was performed, the role of documentation has proved central.
It is therefore a paradox of our times that while the growth of electronic methods such as Email has made communication easier, these new methods are simultaneously threatening the survival of documentary records. The sheer range of documentation possibilities has given rise to claims that aural and visual media no longer require anyone to write about anything — we can see and hear for ourselves.
However, seeing and hearing are not the same as looking and listening. The latter can be experienced only through truly understanding the material with which one is dealing; and that understanding involves, in turn, a journey of the intellect. Teaching
118 Ralf Noltensmeier, Große Geigenpädagogen im Interview (Kiel: Peter Götzelmann Verlag, 1997),
p. 16. Bron’s original quote reads:
Denn in der Kunst sind der Verbesserung keine Grenzen gesetz. Die wirklich begabten Künstler versuchen immer, dazuzulernen.“
can be split into two fundamental groups of approach, namely, from the outside in and the inside out. In the case of the former, one observes and listens to others, copying what is understood as best possible and, to a certain extent, experiencing second-hand. The latter, due to the nature of knowledge being drawn from an individual — particularly in the case of putting thoughts and actions into words — leads to a sense of “owning” the information gained. Therefore, without either one- to-one teaching and/or written documentation, one might observe performing instrumentalists many times without being able to replicate their movements fully and, more importantly, unveil the “secrets” of their hallmark sound.
Not too long ago, one could turn on the radio and know from the first notes of a piece which violinist was playing. Nowadays, even specialists are hard-pushed to distinguish who the interpreter is when confronted with a piece of music performed by a well-known present-day musician. The 20th century, more than any previous, was a time of prominence of the various schools of violin playing, the sound or visual effect of any one being distinctly recognisable. In the 21st century, the emphasis is on a player’s individuality, in lieu of a solid foundation based on the technique of any one school, and, dare I say it, a certain laziness or wariness in the teacher to establish the discipline necessary, not just for a student but for themselves, to see a method through from beginning to end. Alongside the modern-day customary complaint of “everyone sounds the same nowadays” (mainly exclaimed by musicians who grew up between 1940 and 1970 when the individual sound of many a performer was instantly recognisable), a vast number of today’s violinists, old and young, suggest that cross-fertilisation of national violin schools has occurred. The older, distinguished pedagogues of our time do indeed dabble with ideas, both of a technical and musical nature, from other schools of teaching. But they do so from a highly informed position that is far more rooted in, and aware of, the individuality of schools than are many younger players and teachers. An example of this is Ozim, who follows principles taught to him by Max Rostal but also follows principles based on the so-called American School, epitomised by Ivan Galamian and, to a lesser extent, Efrem Zimbalist.
Although one should be wary of generalising an already vast topic such as technique (“Everyone sounds the same nowadays”), what can be said is that one is easily
caught in a middle ground between not recognising a school of playing at all when observing a player and immediately recognising a school of playing by the way a performer holds the bow or even recognising a teacher by the way a performer plays. Ozim’s mark can be seen, for instance, in the signature hold of the violin where the thumb of the left hand is opposite the first and second fingers.
Another result of thorough immersion in any one school is an instantly recognisable visual and aural signature. It can be suggested that part of the reason that violinists such as David Oistrakh (Russian School), Arthur Grumiaux (Franco-Belgian School) and Jascha Heifetz (Russian School) had such an instantly recognisable sound was in part due to their intense rendering of the schools of playing from which they came.
I will not attempt the impossible, which is to say that I will not try to give an account of all the possible elements of violin technique in use today. I will offer a selection of that which I have seen, heard and been taught by the teachers with whom I studied, at the time of my studies with them.