Ce Que Chante la Pluie D’Automne by Marcel Tournier

Next up on Autumn’s Greatest Hits for the Harp....

Ce Que Chante la Pluie D’Automne, Lied Op. 49 by Marcel Tournier (1879-1951)

Published in 1947, written for Thérèse Hansen, who was the harp professor at the Conservatory in Reims at the time. (All I know so far about Thérèse Hansen is that she was still teaching in Reims in the 60s. Her sister Renée married Pierre Jamet. Still searching for info on her...)

I have never heard this piece performed, and have found only one recording... Jutta Zoff on the albums “Pure Joy” and “Harp: Greatest Works.”

A raw translation comes out to be: “What the autumn rain sings” (thanks to my personal French explainer next to me on the couch). Not too be confused with “Those that sing in the autumn rain” or “Those that sing the autumn rain.” 

No. It’s the song of the autumn rain.

Interesting. 

Things I hear within this piece:

Steady rhythm of single drops of rain 

Sheets of rain 

Lightening

Thunder

Lulls

Gusts

The depth of a wet storm-- rain drops at arm’s length and the echo of thunder in the distance

I’ve been working on this piece for months now, and it seemed like a bucket of odd notes up until last week when I was able to finally play the piece at tempo. Quarter note= 100. Anything less doesn’t make sense. “Ohhh.” 

For my birthday this year, I got a fishing pole and gear. And thanks to a friend’s invitation to stay in a “cabin” near Castellane, Francois and I (and Cash of course) ventured up last weekend fully equipped with a skillet and lemons. It was so beautiful up there- crisp air, mushrooms galore, the smell of smoking chimneys, red, orange, yellow, green leaves, cloudy skies. Great fishing environment. 

On the second day, the clouds turned to rain, which stunk for fishing (COLD, miserable) but great for thinking about Ce Que Chante la Pluie D’Automne. Music can convey a message, a feeling, a  story, or a thing. In this case, in my opinion, it conveys a thing. Like an artist and his still life painting of fruit. You step back and say- THAT is FRUIT. Indeed. Beautiful. 

Same here. THAT is AUTUMN RAIN. Indeed. Nothing evocative. I can step back and admire its raw beauty.

Marcel Lucien Tournier was a Paris-based harpist, composer, and teacher... the student of Alphonse Hasselmans and mentor to many significant French harpists. His compositions were directed mainly towards solo harp, and his life fell smack dab in the middle of the impressionist movement that was happening in Classical music in Europe. Apart from a handful of pieces that weren’t give title of a specific image or scene, his music is just that -- images and scenes.

One last note: I know weird stuff can happen with opus numbers, and I may be over speculating here, but I can’t find a Tournier Op. number greater than this one- 49... could this be the last piece that he wrote? Inspired during the “Autumn” of his life, perhaps? Interesting interesting interesting.

L’Automne by Isaac Albéniz

Alright! Let’s get this going- blog number one on the subject of Autumn pieces written or transcribed for the harp...

This piece was among my least favorite considerations to learn, and sure enough: it’s turned out to be one of my current favorites:

“L’Automne Op. 201” by Isaac Albéniz (1860-1909) 

from Extrait De Album of Miniatures (Les Saisons) 

Written for piano in 1893 

Transcribed by Henriette Renié (1875-1956)

This piece is rarely performed or recorded, even on piano. There is another more popular work by Albéniz entitled “L’Automne- Valse.” Not to be confused- the “Valse” is lengthy and sweet. The one I’m living with is short and to the point- a real “miniature.” 31 short measures.

31 measures and 71 pedal changes. Oooh. It’s like playing Tetris- The puzzle-pieces (notes and pedals) are moving quickly towards you, and you have to place them “just so” before the pieces start to stack up all over the place and cause disaster. It’s an addictive game, I must say.

I’m enjoying my time with this piece because it evokes the busyness of Autumn rather than focusing on its sadness. I hear the movement of the air that stirs the trees and the leaves, the movement of people with their harvest, and the movement of animals as they prepare for winter. This movement is still melancholy, but there’s an excitement and purpose to it. 

Why all the pedal changes? It’s heavily chromatic- almost as if the leaves fall to the ground one half-step at a time.

I have been listening to a couple recordings of this piece on piano. Renié has taken a lot of liberty in adding spurts of pres de la table and harmonics. The result: even more dimension and color. 

Albéniz wrote L’Automne in London, from what I can read online. I wonder what he was inspired by as he wrote this. I wonder if he lived in a flat in the center of the city, or in the suburbs where the trees in his garden were shedding their leaves. I wonder if he composed next to a window. I wonder if the window was open. 

Then I wonder why Renié chose to transcribe it. So many chromatic challenges and pedal changes- it’s typical of her work. She seems to be slightly masochistic in this regard. 

Whatever the situation- I’m thankful for this transcription. It demonstrates the harps broad capabilities and textures and makes me smile. 

Ending with a petite haiku by Tiyler Durden...

Autumn Leaf

Leaf floats on the breeze

floating on the autumn wind

will you settle down? 

First Day of Autumn

Today, according to the books, is the first day of autumn up here in the Northern Hemisphere. 

The seasons: they are inspirational to poets, musicians, and artists now and before. The air and environment changing around us changing us, whether we are mindful of it or not.

Arizona, Southern California, and West Texas- all places I’ve lived where there is about a week’s worth of Autumn and Spring with a short Winter and a lengthy stay of Summer. Autumn, though- a real autumn, is my favorite season. Spring- too sweet. Summer- too lazy. Winter- too drab. 

Autumn, to me, is melancholy and reflective, lively yet calming.

Interestingly enough, there are many harpists who have composed for this season: Grandjany, Tournier, Renie, Hasselmans, Andres, Thomas... Their work is all on my music stand at the moment. Along with some other pieces that weren’t written for the harp. 

I hesitated to blog about this in fear of someone stealing the idea, but decided: whatever. I’ll risk it. Even if someone did, this project would still be unique. So: the project is an Autumn-themed program of music that celebrates this season’s character. I would like to perform and record it throughout this year. It’s giving me an outlet in my own season of change and transition. Good times.

My plan is to blog about the different pieces I’m working on, perhaps post some Autumn poetry I’ve come across. Maybe a painting or two. 

With that, a poem by Aaron Brown (if anyone knows who this is, please tell me!)...

First Night of Autumn

The smoke-tainted wind

brushes graceful fingers

through skeletons of leaves, 

discussing the night in whispers

among hibernating trees

whose stately branches

bear night's jeweled canopy.

Stiff grasses laugh with delight

at the campfire's firefly sparks

dancing in splendid ritual

above enthusiastic flames

waving them onward from below

to journey upward toward

shimmering brethren above.

Fallen leaves fly forth to begin

their own midnight jaunts -

swirling within the fickle wind, 

they play music to wish by

with brass chimes hanging

outside the darkened houses

dreaming of summer departed. 

Routine

It’s settling in that I’m settling in. 

I’ve gotten a relaxed routine down...  Wake up (without an alarm). Coffee. Walk Mr. Cash. Prepare a delicious lunch for Francois and I. Eat lunch. Siesta. Coffee. Practice until 7. Go for a run. Salad, cheese, and wine. Chillax. Bed.

Can’t complain. And practice has been great lately- no distractions. Not to mention that there is a new harp in the house! I’ve started the adoption process; I hope that in a few months, she’ll be mine to keep! She belonged first to a lady in Florida, then the lady’s daughter in Washington, and then to a friend of mine from California who moved to France. It’s been a few years since I’ve had my own pedal harp, and it’s been a few years since this harp has been played. We are having a good time together. The more I play, the more her voice opens up.

There’s something exciting about the idea of owning a harp that is older than I am. She was born in the 1960s- a Lyon and Healy Style 15. We are working on a project together (more later).

The weather has been great for afternoon runs. There is a road that winds its way down into Grasse and overlooks the sea. Pine trees. Smells. A few in particular- there is a lady’s garden that is SO fragrant that it’s like she spilled a perfume bottle around its perimeter. The first time I passed it, I thought it was a fluke. But it hits me every time, and I can’t tell exactly which flowers are the ones responsible. It’s got to be the combination of all of them together- delightful. Less delightful is the guy raising chickens and goats.

I’ve begun a new “diminished usage of chicken and beef” mission in the kitchen. Something I’ve noticed in France is that people eat a wide variety of meat- rabbit, fish, lamb, snails, duck, random birds. You name it. It’s foreign to me, the American, and I’ve decided to acquaint myself with cooking unfamiliar dishes. The plan is: one new meat a week. Figure it out. Find it. Serve it. Good times. Last week was lamb. 

Don’t forget the homemade bread. 

And the language. French is, for the first time, actually fun. My forehead doesn’t wrinkle when I search for the right words to use. I find myself talking to myself in French- weird. Sometimes I would freeze up around strangers when I had to speak to them (even a kind waitress). It’s lessening. This is a good thing.

Alright. Enough babbling. Passez une bonne journée!

To "Adagio" oneself

This evening I attended a concert of Baroque music by the group Kammerensemble Cologne. They were really fantastic. Such a treat, to take a 5 minute walk to the church in Cabris and hear beautiful music by internationally acclaimed (and interesting) musicians.

It's kind of a weird thing to do- go to a concert. I mean, what's the point of sitting in a room and having people play their instrument in front of you when you could flip on the Bose and hear it at home, whenever you want, in your pajamas?

I think it's because an interaction is taking place when you attend a concert. A living body is interacting with a living body at an exact moment. The music is being "intended" for that exact room full of people. It's an exchange. You don't want to go WATCH a music concert. You go because you want to experience something. To be inspired. To be told a story through music. To hear colors that don't exist to the eye or through the Bose.

I remember being in the student world of music. It seems now like it was more about whether the student could pull off a certain piece-- could they play such-and-such by memory, in tune, in front of someone. In the professional world of music, it's more about the exchange with the audience- a give and take. The musician is speaking through their intstrument- actually talking to and with the audience. It has passed through the inspired work of the composer, through the craftings of a dictator/writer/arranger, through the hands and interpretation of the instrumentalist, and into the lap of the audience. And when those last two baton-passes happen live and in person, it's pretty cool. No?

Backwardness happens, though... a professional musician's live sound can bounce off the wall and on to the floor. A student musician's performance can move and inspire its listener.

One thing I'm reminded of: I want my music to be relevant to whoever is listening. I want it to say something.

On another note (ha!), I'm really having to reacquaint myself with a kick-back lifestyle here the South of France. I'm fairly type A, actually more type A than I want to admit, and it sometimes bugs the crap out of me. Here, there's no judgement passed on the person who does nothing. Sleep 10 hours, hang out at the cafe all day, flop around on the beach, pig out, you name it.

I'm accustomed to 15 minute sips of TV watching. An occasional movie. A rare 1 hour stay at a coffee shop. But what does one DO when they have nothing to do? No really.

AND it's August. The entire country is currently on vacation. All month. The French have doing nothing down pat. And they won't tell you differently.

I'm harpless this week and rapidly whipping through my list of things to do that have been stickied on my desktop for months. I feel like the Presto movement in Vivaldi's "Summer" lol Oh geez. I need to Adagio myself.

Bonjour la France

I've now got fresh European juice pumping through the veins of my macbook. Life resumes as normal. It's good to be up and running again. Day 4 back in France. Cash (the very sweet American Staffordshire Terrior) is very happy to have me back under his survelience. The temperatures outside are quite agreable. The tomatoes are starting to turn red; I arrived just in time.

I've been a hermit these past few days, installing myself in the house and gaining my bearings. I think by next week I will feel like a normal person.

Top 10 from Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp 2010

Just finished up at Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp. I love this place. It's a perfect combination of work and play- teaching fascinating students and hanging out with fascinating artists.

Here's the top 10...

10. Club 30G (or, cabin 30g)... nightly campfire, smores, good people, hilarious conversation, stars, chimney logs, gold poking sticks
9. 2 AM melodica jam. I hope those videos don't make it to the internet.
8. My opera singer and Nascar fanatic cabinmate, Adriane
7. The harp minor class (AKA "Try a Harp") these young people warm my heart!
6. Practicing my French with the two international harp students- (never taught in French before. giddy up!)
5. Late night card games in Kresge with "the jazzers"
4. Oberon microbrew
3. Recital- performing Narthex by Bernard Andres with Rita Lenard and Autono Porteno by Piazzolla with real live tango dancers
2. Seeing the reunion of parents and students on the last day of camp. It reminded me of myself with my parents.
1. Swim, sunset, and campfire on Lake Michigan with interesting people