How to be a great musical storyteller
I once had the experience of listening to a recording of a famous composition being played by a pianist who, for all of his musicality, technique, and musical ideas, lacked something that I couldn’t grasp until I heard it a second time. That’s when it be came clear: the pianist lacked a sense of the musical thread that tied all the sections together into a cohesive listening experience. Great ideas were introduced, but with no direction or focus, they never went anywhere. I was left feeling as if I’d been told a story that never really developed, nor ever reached an understandable conclusion.
Whether it be the bore who drowns listeners in too many extraneous details while never getting to the point on his story, or the movie or book where nothing happens, details without a discernible trail or thread leave most of us unsatisfied. When I was in junior high school and learned the 8 points of a short story, I didn’t know how much a piece of music had much in common with a good story. Several years later I realized that while we may refer to “themes” and “development” rather than “characters” and “action,” but the similarities stories are striking. In compositions, musical ideas are introduced, tensions arise and dissipate, and all of it builds towards a climax and resolution. In other words, in music (as in short stories), something happens.
Finding the story arc of a composition can be difficult to do, even for the best pianists, and the more freeform or sectional the piece, the more challenging it becomes. Yet not knowing the arc of the piece means we have no idea how it all hangs together. When this happens, the music feels disconnected and directionless—even in the hands of accomplished players. At any point in the music, we have to know where the music is going, where it has been, and how these notes or rests fit into the story. The greatest composers are adept at leaving performers a clear trail through the piece so that the progression feels effortless and inevitable. Other composers struggle with this, and it is up to the performer to find the thread that connects all parts of the piece and makes it satisfying and comprehensible to play and to listen to.
It’s not surprising that a clear understanding of the arc of the piece starts with clear thinking on the part of the pianist. And, as with all things interpretive, the job begins with score analysis. What is the form or structure of the piece? What is repeated, where and why? Where is the climax of the music? When themes or ideas return, how do we choose to “speak” those notes differently so that repetition becomes emphasis, not boredom?
Once we’ve done our analysis, we’re free to dig into the interpretive elements of the music. I like to start with the climax and coda of the piece. Why? Because everything builds to these points, and when I’m sure of where I’m going—from the very first note I play—it’s easier to see how each note and section leads me there. From these climatic moments, I backtrack into the rest of the score. Where are the places of tension and release? When themes return, how have they been changed by their journey through the rest of the music? Ultimately I ask myself, what is the character or nature of each section and how does it fit the rest of the musical narrative? And, finally, what does the composer’s musical “story” evoke in me, and how may I best embody the composer’s ideas through my own voice and experience?
When we find and showcase the story arc of the piece, it speaks to listeners. Even the most esoteric music reaches people when they sense the thread that holds it all together. This is what it means to be a great musical storyteller—one who teases out the nuances and colors of the notes, one who shares it with passion and flare, and one who invites listeners into the experience of it.