Think You Need a Bigger Sound? Think Again.
How often do you play with a pianist or other instrumentalists?
Take a moment and consider how many hours you spend in one month playing with others, as compared to the
number of hours you spend practicing by yourself.
Is that ratio something like 1 to 2? 1 to 5? 1 to 20? Zero to 20?
And how much of the music you’re playing was composed for cello and piano? For two cellos?
String quartet or strings with piano? Orchestra? Cello and orchestra? The truth is that a very small percentage of what we play as
cellists was actually composed for cello alone. And these pieces fall mostly into a few genres: unaccompanied Bach, etudes/exercises,
solo sonatas. If you’re playing any other sonata, a concerto, or a piece of chamber music, then your part is designed to fit
into the greater framework of the entire instrumentation. Does this seem obvious?
If this is all true (even obvious) then what kind of difference should there be between how we
play when it’s Cello Solo compared to the Cello solo part in a concerto or the cello part in chamber music?
Continued from Newsletter:
Unfortunately, a very common answer we get to this question regarding group playing is
“More cello!” My own colleagues and mentors have often tried to convince
me to play with a “bigger” sound in the context of a group. I recall my first concerto performance with orchestra: a favorite mentor of mine
at the time told me simply to play closer to the bridge and to play loud enough that I was sure the sound would be scratchy – even ugly.
Then I would be heard over the orchestra. In truth, this advice wasn’t all bad, but I didn’t yet have the tools to know how, when, or why
to apply it. The result that night? I still heard audience members say they couldn’t hear me, and I felt the most physically uncomfortable
of any performance experience I had yet had.
We get similar instruction in big chamber music groups too. Brahms Piano Quartet? A texture that thick will drown you if you can’t find a
strong voice that will carry. But forget about playing “loud enough” to cut through the group. And forget about getting everyone else to
play quietly enough for your sound to come out with ease. Our options for simultaneously being heard, sounding good, and feeling good, seem
to be reduced to plugging into a Peavey amplifier hiding under our chair…
In April I was working with a fabulous pianist, preparing the Rachmaninoff Cello Sonata for a concert performance. Being that the piece is from
Rachmaninoff, with a piano part to meet expectations, it might also be appropriately named Piano Sonata with Cello Obligato (it reminds me of
the Brahms F Sonata in that respect). The piano writing in this piece is so thick and so active that the cellist has NO HOPE of being heard
and playing easily. Right? (Not sure? Look through the score and you might start to feel a little uneasy...)
I am often guilty of practicing poorly – especially in a time crunch. I came to our first rehearsal of this piece having known it from long ago
(from before that first concerto concert) and having practiced my part carefully. “Carefully” just wasn’t enough. I wasn’t prepared for the
awesome power my friend had at her disposal. Based on my habitual practice methods I was simply not prepared to compete. And it rapidly
became apparent that I was facing the same situation that we face when playing a concerto with orchestra, or even with a large chamber group.
We cannot compete with the power of the piano or a large group, especially an orchestra. Nor should we. To do so is folly. To do so is to
frustrate ourselves and to compromise our connection with the composition in favor of an arbitrary and endless pursuit of “balance”. The only
solution to be found lies waiting in the score. It is in the composer’s manipulation of the seed material of the piece. Where do I find
reference to the initial theme or motive in this or that developmental line in the middle of the movement? Where, in the thick piano texture, is
there something that creates rhythmic interest or provides support for the present melodic motion? What role does my part play in this
particular passage? How does my sound need to differ from that of the other parts in order to serve its purpose in the music?
The heart of the solution is often the answer to this last question. And there are many ways that the cello’s sound can be unique among
its partners. What characteristics of our instrument’s sound, or of the part we’re playing, are in stark (or subtle) contrast to whatever
else is going on? If the piano part is thick, how can I shape my tone to catch the listener’s ear? What kind of articulation will stand
out against the articulation indicated in the other parts? Quality practice is about asking the right questions. These are the questions that will drive
and direct our practice of this music. These are the tools that will allow you to play with confidence and comfort, enabling you to hear and
be heard!
By the way... In the end, the solution to my particular performance of the Rach. Sonata (in a nutshell) was to play more legato in the
bombastic piano textures and absolutely sharp and secco when the piano texture was more fluid. My pianist partner omitted almost all
pedal and played very secco through most of our simultaneous playing. She was able to add in
pedal when playing alone and the contrast was stunning. The cello had no problem being heard because the legato connecting ability of the bow was totally
unlike anything the piano was doing. The performance was a huge success.
- Dan Delaney
Everything Cello
Dan Delaney is a professional cellist in New York and Philadelphia. He is owner of EverythingCello.com and author of this free newsletter and
other music-related articles and publications.