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Reflections on Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos

Last summer, the Tanglewood Festival Chorus and PALS children’s chorus performed Mahler’s third symphony with Maestro Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos. After one of the rehearsals, John Oliver addressed the children. They listened attentively, perhaps expecting one of his usual quips, but John had something serious to say:

Kids, I want you to watch this conductor carefully. He’s very old — older than they say he is, which is 80.

The kids’ eyes widened while the adults chuckled. John continued.

His health isn’t as good as it once was, but when he’s conducting, he comes alive. Music is what keeps him going. Some of you will find, as you get older, that music is what keeps you going too.

This story came to mind when I learned of Rafael’s death, a week after he announced his retirement. He lived to make music until his body would no longer allow it, and what glorious music it was.

My favorite performance with Rafael was Beethoven’s ninth symphony, a piece I’ve heard and performed so many times, I almost take it for granted. Usually during the third movement, the slow one, my mind starts to wander. My bottom has started to go numb, the temperature on stage is too hot, and the bugs are creeping me out. But that year, I was awestruck when the third movement began. The strings produced a sound so exquisite, even in their consistent greatness, I’ve yet to hear it again. It was one of those tingle-inducing moments when I knew, too, that music is what keeps me going.

Last week, the BSO and TFC dedicated the Verdi concert to Rafael, who was originally to have conducted the performance. But in our hearts, many of us sang for him the night before during Mahler’s “Resurrection” Symphony, a much beloved piece for a much beloved conductor. Was entstanden ist, das muss vergehen! Was vergangen, auferstehen! What has come into being must perish! What has perished must rise again!

There are no sequins in Bach

Bach-sequins

When I was a little girl learning my first Bach Invention (a simple, two-part fugue), my teacher asked me if I knew what a sequence was.

“Yes,” I nodded eagerly. “They’re little shiny round things!”

“Little shiny round things?” My teacher was puzzled.

“I have them on my dance costume.” I thought she was talking about sequins.

What’s a normal amount of practicing?

Yesterday afternoon I spent an hour with a voice student working solely on rhythm: writing beats in the score, tapping subdivisions, speaking in rhythm, and count-singing. Perhaps concerned by the little amount of time we spent actually singing, at the end of the coaching, the student asked me, “What’s a normal amount of time to spend on this?”

I think she was hoping I’d respond with a prescription like “for ages 18 to 21: 30 minutes, four times a week,” but I had none. This student needed to dedicate a lot of practice time to counting, but her French was already excellent. On the other hand, I’ve known students with strong rhythmic aptitude who spent an entire semester improving their French from unrecognizable to somewhat passable.

Every musician has certain skills that require more practice. As a pianist with tiny hands, I spend a lot of time practicing awkward stretches and leaps that an average pianist would play without a second thought. It’s as frustrating and tedious for me as it is for my student to practice her 1 & 2 & 3 &s. A “normal” amount of practice is the amount it takes to make our difficult skills feel as easy as the skills that come naturally.