#[ but we don't see it. there's no indication of it. and a violinist that can play her instrument wouldn't long to play it like this-- ]

[iniziare]

Kafka crossed my thoughts tonight at random, and so I wanted to re-post a little something here, with some minor edits thrown in. I just think it's often overlooked how... many human elements they've tied into her. A hungering sense of curiosity, the inherent sense of longing that clings to her being like a fever, and how she's caught (very humanly so) between the belief of we are tied to fate and thus it shall be, and the insistence on choice and how the Trailblazer seems to be inherently representative of its existence. And then I think of what being 'human' entails, and one could argue that it represents the experience of life, before one's end by the hand of destiny/fate. Is that... why she's so enthralled by all these human concepts? Because she's so firmly tied to fate? Yes, I still linger in the thought that she bears strong connections to fate, there are too many hints at the Moirai to me to ignore. But it's not even that, it's her Spirit Whisper, it's that her wanted poster made by the Devils that she used to hunt on her home of Pteruges-V, had to describe the ability and what it does— which tells ms that it's not native to there. But— I'm getting sidetracked, this isn't about any kind of potential nature that is far from humanity, it's about the evidence, even if she may turn out not to be inherently human at some point in the future of HSR, that she is drawn to, portrays and in some form, lives, very human concepts. And one of the ways I tried to make that clear before, was by talking about her in relation to her violin— or more specifically: the presence of its absence, the latter being which I will always firmly believe to be the eternal overarching narrative of Kafka's character. Any way, onto the babble:

I'll forever remember looking into the notes of someone's playthrough of HSR's first scenes, which is just something I like to do because you never know what kind of little treasures you might find. And there was a violinist tucked away in there, who I'd also seen in the notes of her main trailer, commenting on the intense accuracy of the movement of her fingers. And then on top of that, how they've usually been let down by the details when other games have tried to simulate it as well, but it was more so done to iterate how intentional this must've been for Hoyo to have focused on its accuracy so much.

So in that sense, I think it's close to a given that she knows how to play it, similarly to how I believe that she is someone who also plays or has played the piano. Where I differ however, is that I don't believe that she actually owns a violin at present, nor is she seeking to obtain one by her own means. Moreover, what and where I think the 'mimicking' comes from, actually, is from her memories and the emotional attachment that she once held for these instruments in them. Kafka's character, to me, revolves around and thrives within two concepts, that of intimate longing and that of loss (the pearl earring, the broken winged butterfly pin, and Blade's character story to name some) which plays intricately into the former. Now for me, her connection to the violin and the piano (primarily the former) play wonderfully into representing both of these, and thus can be drawn into these prevalent topics across the board for her incredibly easily. In simple terms, I think that there is a sense of longing to play them. Now, I feel confident in noting that Kafka does not come across as one who, if she had access to (in this case) a violin of her own, that she would crave to play it so intensely all the time, that when drawn from it for even the briefest of time, that she would enact the part of playing one during her separation from it. No, I think she's actively choosing not to obtain one, for one reason or another. Perhaps it's a memory that plays into the loss that her character seems to stray towards, or perhaps it's a lack of something else; I don't quite yet dare say. But there's something oddly wistful about it, if you look past the surface. All in all, I think her little moments of mimicking and humming, makes for an incredibly interesting "little" tidbit to me. It reminds me of something I wrote in an older post last year:

(...) And yet, and yet, I actively think if she were to find herself in a hotel room, even on her own, and there would be a piano right there— I can see her fingers tracing over the keys so very clearly, even as if she were touching the keys to play and yet she would never press down.

I still stand by this to this day. It's the ache to do something again, and yet for one reason or another, you can't bring yourself to do it. Whether it feels wrong, or there's something missing, something or someone; it doesn't matter, it's a longing of some kind. It really is the overarching topic and/or concept that I see in her character, and the fact that she's tied to such an inherently fragile instrument, only further solidifies it in my brain. But in that, I also feel a deep sense of melancholy when I think of her and that violin. And it plays into all of this, of course, but also the fact that I genuinely see no evidence in canon at present that tells me that she has one, and we know she could obtain one if she so wanted to,but she doesn't. Which tells me, on some level, that she doesn't want one. Which then has me entertain the concept of... if one were gifted to her, would that be different? Would that offer the person who gifted it to her a glimpse that no one else could ever get? The answer is a very likely yes, but I can't see it being gifted by most by any means; it'd need to be by someone who could come to grasp the significance of one, put in the appropriate research, who would know where to go, who to speak to, where to find the significance. And that, isn't most people.

[tfblovesmusic]

How the 24 Italian Songs and Arias and the Suzuki Violin School are Similar, Pt. 5

Now that we ironed out the inherent problems with the 24 Italian Songs and Arias and the Suzuki Violin School regarding historical practices, let's hear it from respectively vocal and violin pedagogy experts (as well as Poe).

"(Those chordal edits of late Renaissance and Baroque music) was common in 19th century editions because (Alessandro Parisotti and G. Schirmer's editors) had very little exposure to and experience with Renaissance and Baroque music, since only then-recently-composed music was in fashion," harpsichordist and musicologist Alice M. Chuaqui Baldwin explained.

"The editors were just making guesses about what the music was supposed to sound like, and those guesses were based on Romantic music."

Plus, one of the pieces in the 24 Italian Songs and Arias was composed by Parisotti. He ascribed his aria, "Se tu m'ami," to Giovanni Battista Pergolesi. A good comparison is the Henry Lane Wilson English-language air, "Shepherd! Thy demeanour vary." He ascribed it to Early Classical composer, Thomas Brown Jr. He included it in his publication, Old English Melodies, in 1899.

Will Crutchfield of opera organization Teatro Nuvo, described the practice of not only editing Baroque and classical music pieces to suit Romantic Era mores, but also compose in the style of them, as Pseudo-Baroque for School and Parlor.

"It flourished in the later 19th century, when quite a few composers felt the urge to write gavottes, minuets, and little da capo arias - more or less in 18th-century styles, but always with telltale traces of the present day intermixed," he explained, "This went hand-in-hand with adaptations of actual Baroque music."

It's any wonder why Shinichi Suzuki based the edits and piano-violin arrangements of Baroque pieces off those published in the 19th century and the turn of the 20th century when developing the Suzuki Method.

"The question of authenticity in a composition is a valid question," A. Brown remarked on MaestroNet. "The words 'edited by' indicate that you are seeing a version and not necessarily an original. Depending on the editor, many versions can be totally unfaithful to the original. Some can be very useful and good."

"For the music of many composers, there are urtext publications that profess to present a printed text of the composer's intention. This could be taken from the earliest example or a manuscript in the composer's hand. Often there may be several versions, maybe all in the composer's handwriting."

"Editions of some of the more standard repertoires such as (the JS Bach concertos and GF Handel sonatas) are very old-fashioned, likely to be old German editions from the turn of the 20th century," Toscha added, "Suzuki allegedly studied with Karl Klingler (a student of Joachim) of Berlin during the 1930s, and seems to have had an almost blind faith in old German editions."

"But the fact was, (the Romantic-era German school of violin playing) was already out-of-date in the 1930s (Russian and Franco-Belgian school were very much in vogue already). And today, I don't think any serious professional violinists will likely to use those fingerings and bowings found in the Suzuki books."

Neither would pianists very likely play the figured basses of, say, Solfege No. 128 composed by Francesco Durante fresh off the 1772 transcript of Solfèges d'Italie as opposed to from the piano part written on 24 Italian Songs and Arias whenever a vocal student would perform "Vergin, tutt'amor" at a college vocal recital or state solo and ensemble MPA any time soon. The former keyboard part would work historically best on an organ alongside a monophonic bass instrument like a cello or bassoon.

Poe explained why:

Infusion of Romantic stylistic elements might overshadow Baroque and Classical sensibilities, leading to interpretations that felt more modern and less true to the original contexts. The aggressive use of dynamic contrasts in the piano scored could overshadow subtle nuances, potentially masking the delicate interplay that defined the original works. Excessive variations in dynamics might lead to a lack of clarity in conveying the specific moods (aka "affects") the composers aimed for, disrupting the emotional flow of the pieces. Allowing for significant rubato and personal expression might result in performances that diverged too far from the composers’ original pacing, creating interpretations that felt disjointed or overly interpretative. Performers might prioritize individual expression over fostering the intended narrative of the song, leading to varied interpretations that could confuse the piece’s emotional essence. In some arrangements, the dense piano textures could obscure the vocal line, making the lyrics less discernible and diluting their emotional significance. Alterations in accompaniment could lead to mismatches between musical phrasing and lyrical content, disrupting the emotional connection between text and music. By reinterpreting pieces for contemporary performance contexts, the historical and cultural significance of the original works may be diminished, leading to a detachment from the composers’ intents.

As Howard Goodall explained in the documentary Big Bangs, this was all because by the time Parisotti published Arie Antiche in 1885 - the piano already bore 88 notes. "It gained an iron frame, tougher wire strings, and a bigger range to fill big concert halls with sound, like an orchestra of one," he remarked.

"So, whenever a student of mine reaches around Book 4," Toscha recommended, "I'd start encouraging them to get more modern or urtext editions. For the pieces that don't have alternative modern editions, I'd try to 'update' fingerings and bowings for my students."

For those who already accomplished all airs of the 24 Italian Songs and Arias and are aspiring to be classical vocalists (with more and more of them collaborating with period instrumentalists), Poe suggests:

Performers should study the historical and cultural context of the pieces, including the composer’s life, style, and the music's original performance practices. This knowledge will inform their interpretations and help maintain authenticity. Working directly from original manuscripts or historically informed editions can help performers understand the nuances intended by the composer. While honoring traditional practices, performers can incorporate subtle contemporary elements—such as slight dynamic adjustments or varied tempos—that enhance emotional expression without straying too far from the original intent. Exploring new interpretation styles can engage audiences. However, these should be rooted in a clear understanding of the piece's essence to avoid diluting its authenticity. Whenever possible, use period instruments or replicas to achieve a more authentic sound. For example, using a fortepiano (or at least a digital piano hooked up to a PC with the fortepiano patch from a VST like Pianoteq) instead of a modern piano can enhance the period feel of Classical music (e. g. "O del mio dolce ardor" from Christoph Willibald Gluck's 1770 opera Paride ed Elena). Incorporating historical performance techniques, such as ornamentation specific to the era or appropriate articulation styles, can bring a fresh yet authentic character to the music. Providing audience members with insights into the piece’s background, including its emotional and historical significance, can enhance their appreciation and connection to the music. Collaborating with musicians who specialize in historically informed performance can enrich interpretations and ensure that the performance remains authentic while exploring new expressive possibilities. Seeking input from musicologists, educators, and other performers can provide valuable perspectives and help refine interpretations.

And vocalists shouldn't forget to listen to period instrument versions of the works represented in the 24 Italian Songs and Arias (and subsequent versions) wherever and whenever possible.

The same questions that pianist and composer Mark Polesky imagined arising whenever Suzuki Method students would listen to the pieces they are working in their original forms (especially those involving historically-informed performance, or HIP, ensembles) would apply similarly to vocal students.

Similarly, they'll likely ask, "Why is the soloist singing something different from what’s in the score? Can I add embellishments too? When and how? Why is everything tuned flat? Where is the harpsichordist getting all those notes from? Why are there so few dynamics, articulations, etc. in the original score? Do I have to play it the way it’s written in my score?"

And here's another thoughtful question they are likely going to ask: "Why is the male soloist singing in an alto (read: countertenor) or soprano (read: sopranist) voice in the recording?"

*I insert rightly a TW for countertenor haters, as this is the rendition of "Delizie, contenti," an aria from the 1649 opera Giasone featured in Parisotti's Arie Antiche, as Francesco Cavalli intended. Accompaniment by Rene Jacobs's Concerto Vocale Gent? You bet. The delightful alto voice of Michael Chance making it authentic? Check and double-check.*

"(An advantage) of listening to the (original versions of pieces in the 24 Italian Songs and Arias and the Suzuki Violin School) is the exposure to baroque performance practice," Polesky remarked, "And students who see the original manuscripts and early editions can learn to read the modern interpretive editions with a more critical eye (and to listen to the originals with a more critical ear)."

With the early music realm ever-expanding, maybe someday an HIP performance involving said countertenors of the megillah of the entirety of Antonio Caldara's 1710 opera La costanza in amor vince l'inganno would someday come to fruition. Audiences will soon enough be treated to hear a rendition of "Sebben, crudele" - either sung by a female soprano or sopranist - that is true to his intent.

Some early music lovers and historically-minded musicians only can dream...