Comparing the architect Norman Foster's buildings to the music of Mozart, the author Paul Goldberger speaks of "music that doesn't show the effort and just seems to dance perfectly through the air, in spite of the huge effort that is behind it all". Similarly, Haydn's pieces for the musical clock and -far more difficult- J. S. Bach's trio sonatas have to be performed quasi effortlessly. In 2003, I called this The Art of Doing Nothing, a metaphor for playing with relaxed precision.
This blog is a long term project to document my expertise as an organist and an improvising and composing pianist.
02/02/2013
Joseph Haydn - Pieces for a Musical Clock 1792 no 10
Nederlandse tekst zie onder de video
Comparing the architect Norman Foster's buildings to the music of Mozart, the author Paul Goldberger speaks of "music that doesn't show the effort and just seems to dance perfectly through the air, in spite of the huge effort that is behind it all". Similarly, Haydn's pieces for the musical clock and -far more difficult- J. S. Bach's trio sonatas have to be performed quasi effortlessly. In 2003, I called this The Art of Doing Nothing, a metaphor for playing with relaxed precision.
In een vergelijking tussen de gebouwen van de architect Norman Foster en de muziek van Mozart spreekt de schrijver Paul Goldberger van "muziek die de inspanning niet laat zien en perfect door de lucht lijkt te dansen, ondanks de enorme inspanning die er achter zit". Evenzo dienen Haydns stukken voor Flötenuhr en -veel moeilijker- J.S. Bachs triosonates ogenschijnlijk zonder enige inspanning te worden gespeeld. In 2003 noemde ik dit The Art of Doing Nothing, een metafoor voor spelen met ontspannen precisie.
Comparing the architect Norman Foster's buildings to the music of Mozart, the author Paul Goldberger speaks of "music that doesn't show the effort and just seems to dance perfectly through the air, in spite of the huge effort that is behind it all". Similarly, Haydn's pieces for the musical clock and -far more difficult- J. S. Bach's trio sonatas have to be performed quasi effortlessly. In 2003, I called this The Art of Doing Nothing, a metaphor for playing with relaxed precision.