“In the Zone” with Classical Music

I am a self-taught musician and performing classical music does not come naturally for me. After all, the Beatles are the inspiration for my musicianship. Sure, I learned to read notes in 3rd grade because I played flute in my grade school orchestra. But my passion for music didn’t really get ignited until John, Paul, George and Ringo took America by storm on the Ed Sullivan Show on February 9, 1964. 

Then came the Folk Mass. I took up guitar in high school and it was all about chords. I briefly played the organ for liturgy and I now appreciate the discipline of learning how to play what is actually on the printed music. But as my knowledge of music theory advanced, I started analyzing the chords of a classical or liturgical piece and played my own arrangement. This approach became even more pronounced in the 1990s after I studied jazz theory, with its emphasis on comping and improvising. But one cannot and must not improvise Bach and Handel – unless, of course, it’s a deliberate jazz realization of a classical work, as Grover Washington did with “Jesu. Joy of Man’s Desiring.” But that’s a whole other discussion.

This brings us to the “Hallelujah Chorus” from Handel’s Messiah. Ten years ago, my parish music director thought it would be great for our choir to sing this iconic piece for Easter Sunday and our singers eagerly took up the challenge. Beverly, one of our sopranos, was also an accomplished concert pianist and I happily ceded the accompaniment to her while I helped plunk out the notes during sectional rehearsals. I’m proud to say that our choir learned to sing it beautifully. Alas, after a few years, Beverly moved away and I had no choice but to learn how to play this classical standard myself. 

Needless to say, Handel’s accompaniment is daunting for a rock and jazz pianist whose first performance in high school was a home spun rendition of Hey Jude. The page turning alone is intimidating, especially in the midst of playing through the piece at concert tempo. We used the traditional octavo with the old-school engraving, so when I flipped the page I had the hardest time finding my place – especially in the midst of performance where every second counts. As the Emperor famously said in Amadeus, “Too many notes!” 

Eventually, I created my own cut-and-paste accompaniment that removed the choral parts, so that helped. But there was no such shortcut to practice, and I spent hours upon hours playing through the “Hallelujah Chorus” with a metronome, slowly at first and then increasing the tempo to the recommended standard. My first Easter with this piece was passable; I wouldn’t exactly say I mastered it but it was good enough. Finesse wouldn’t come until a couple of years later. 

Some takeaways from this experience: 

1. It takes a serious personal commitment to master a classical song. A friend who is a concert pianist once told me that he spends a significant portion of his day in practice – four hours! In his youth, Lang Lang practiced six hours a day. That’s dedication!

2. There is an “in the zone” experience with classical music similar to what I’ve experienced in rock and jazz. Once I have mastered a song, I find it I can lose myself in classical performance just as I can during a rock jam. But I need to concentrate. I need to block out from my mind anything and everything except for the notes on the page. When I play rock music my mind can sometimes wander, but with classical music I can only think of what I am playing at the moment and nothing else. Without that depth of total concentration, I cannot play classical music effectively.

3. Handel was a genius!

Now excuse me while I go back to my piano and practice for Easter.