Playing the piano - a catalyst for communities

By Julia Hudson 

There is a piano at St Pancras Station. In fact, there are a number of ‘street’ pianos all over the world, but this is the one that catches my eye. It’s almost never empty, as passers-by, tourists and possibly even the occasional commuter stop to pick out ‘Twinkle Twinkle’, well-known classics, their own compositions or sometimes just some blues-y chords. In London you are being bombarded from all angles: enter this shop, buy this coffee, give to this charity – and yet this project, ‘Play Me, I’m Yours’ is successful, to such an extent that although it came to London for the 2012 Olympics it has remained here ever since.

The project’s website says: “‘Play Me, I’m Yours’ was first commissioned by Fierce Earth in Birmingham, UK in 2008. With 15 pianos located across the city for three weeks it is estimated that over 140,000 people played or listened to music from the pianos. Since then ‘Play Me, I’m Yours’ has reached an estimated five million people worldwide. Disrupting peoples’ negotiation of their city, Street Pianos are designed to provoke people into engaging, activating and claiming ownership of their urban landscape.  Like a musical equivalent of Facebook, Street Pianos provide an interconnected resource for the public to express themselves.” Society is, increasingly, about self-expression – as well as social media, graffiti, demonstrations and even styles of dress are all ways in which people are bringing their personal life into public view. Here, we have one which gives something back.

When was the first time you played a musical instrument? Was it when your parents decided you should take piano lessons, probably against your will, or was it when you were forced to join the school choir? Probably not, in fact – my guess is that it was long before that, when a friend or relative with suitable disregard for your parents’ sanity bought you some kind of noisy baby toy. A brightly coloured xylophone, a tambourine, a mini keyboard, or even one of those books that plays carols at the press of a button – all brilliant toys to improve a baby’s awareness and stimulate their learning. Also, teaching them that by touching something they can make a noise, which (unfortunately, some might say) is inherently attractive. Fast forward 26 years, and I am currently spending some of my time at a house that owns a drum kit. I cannot, by any stretch of the imagination, play the drums. In fact, as a musician, I can safely say that rhythm is my weak point. However, in recent weeks I’ve taken rather a fondness to having a go (I’ve mastered two rhythms, a third still eludes me) and I get a tremendous amount of satisfaction when I manage it for a few seconds – rather than the instruments I already play, it’s fun to try something new and different.

These are examples of exactly the same symptom that I remember my Head of Wind Studies at school talking about many years ago. He picked up his trumpet, blasted out a loud and unpleasant noise to the assembled teenagers in front of him, and said ‘this is what everyone does, as soon as they get their trumpet home for the first time – not try to play a C major scale. Music should be satisfying, and it should be fun’. How can we convey this enthusiasm to children starting out on their musical journey? Why does every toddler happily play that annoying demo theme on their keyboard for hours, yet by the time they are in primary school music is being sidelined? Many teenagers throw all their energies into being ‘in a band’ – how can we translate this dedication and enthusiasm into formal education?

My view is that we need to convey the importance of knowing the basics. For every Paul McCartney that can’t read music, there are many Chris Martins and Laura Mvulas – classically, thoroughly trained musicians who then branched out to create their own kind of music. With a proper knowledge of reading music, an awareness of its history and trends, young people can then start to find their particular niche without intimidation, whether that is authentic Baroque chamber music or innovative electronic composition. And, increasingly, financial and circumstantial limitations don’t need to be barriers to involvement. With a new project run by Savills estate agents, ‘Free Rehearsal Space’ is a project allowing arts groups to make use of unused commercial property spaces. Initiatives like this, as well as the ‘Play Me, I’m Yours’ project, have “enticed many hidden musicians out of the woodwork. It has become apparent that there are thousands of pianists out there who don’t have regular access to a piano. ‘Play Me, I’m Yours’ provides access to this wonderful musical instrument and gives musicians the opportunity to share their creativity by performing in public.” 

More importantly than just competence at the piano, therefore, is the quest for community, as well as a respite from an increasingly stressful daily life. The creator of the project, Luke Jerram, says that ‘The idea for Play Me, I’m Yours came from visiting my local launderette. I saw the same people there each weekend and yet no one talked to one another. I suddenly realised that within a city, there must be hundreds of these invisible communities, regularly spending time with one another in silence. Placing a piano into the space was my solution to this problem, acting as a catalyst for conversation and changing the dynamics of a space.’ Ultimately, music is a social activity – as we discussed previously on this blog, without listeners a performance is merely a rehearsal. Here, every rehearsal becomes a performance.

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Cricket, concerts and a Christmas Down Under

By James Chater

Over the Christmas break, I was lucky enough to visit Perth, Australia. However, I was not so lucky in that my stay coincided with one of the worst Ashes defeats in history. Being half Australian, I have always found the vehement rivalry between Australia and England amusing. Propaganda-like ‘pom-bashing’ in KFC television commercials was an affirmation of that. However, for many, this rivalry is not a joke. In a place which seems to pride itself on being opposed to English culture in every way, then, I was intrigued by what an Australian classical music concert might look and sound like.

The concert took place in the enormous Perth Concert Hall, and the work was Handel’s Messiah, a true Christmas favourite. Although the performers stopped short of coming on to the stage in swimming trunks and sunglasses, there was undoubtedly a more relaxed and informal atmosphere to proceedings. When the doors opened to the audience half an hour prior to the scheduled start, the orchestra were already in their seats, although if anyone needed to make a late application of rosin or even go to the loo they would not hesitate to leave the stage. This may sound rather pernickety, but resulted in what at times looked like a rather hilarious game of musical chairs, made even more humorous by one musician who, when arriving back to the stage, actually did sit in the wrong seat and had to be asked to move by the violinist who was meant to be seated in the row in front of her.

The riveting game of musical chairs was interspersed with episodes of full orchestral practice (still whilst the audience was filing in), which meant that the audience became acutely aware of what movements the orchestra really did find the most tricky. One rebellious violist abstained from this last minute rehearsal, as he was engaged in what looked like an arduous practice session of the 24th Caprice by Paganini.

The 7pm start time edged ever closer, yet there was still no sign of a conductor, soloists or choir. Finally, an announcement over the intercom relayed the information that the harpsichordist was running 15 minutes late (I thought the rehearsal snippets sounded a bit bare) so the concert would start at 7.15pm. The voice on the intercom assured us it was traffic; my very English mother was utterly convinced he was “probably still surfing.” Sure enough, a few minutes later a rather distressed looking harpsichordist wandered onto the stage to finally bring to a close 40 minutes of musical chairs. I could go on, but I think the type of atmosphere is evident!

Whilst mulling these happenings over during the opening bars, I realised my thoughts all shared one thing in common; none were related to the actual music. Aghast, it suddenly dawned on me that perhaps I was exhibiting the fustiness that Australians seem convinced every Englishman harbours. This confirmed to me how important all the ‘trimmings’ of a concert have come to be in conventional classical music performance; the way the performers walk on and off the stage, what they wear, how they stand. But then what is conventional performance practice? Who is to say that what I saw in Australia was the wrong way of doing things?

Both Julia and Chris, in the past two weeks, have highlighted amongst many other things how when we go into a concert, we have a set of expectations as to what might happen; both musically and extra-musically. It is possible that, on this occasion, the ‘trimmings’ had become too great a part of my opinion of the evening before it had even started. So much so, that I had almost convinced myself the music was not going to be of a high quality, when really I had no reason to expect this at all. When the music did (eventually) start, the audience was treated to a great performance; the conductor was excellent, as were the soloists, and the choir were not only of a high quality but really looked like they loved the whole event. It was safe to say that my musical expectations had been far surpassed; interestingly enough, the ‘Australian’ Messiah was one of the best I have ever heard.

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Performance, in every sense

By Chris Billingham

How can we use sensory stimulation to enhance young people’s experience of, and engagement with, classical music?

That is the question posed on the official website for Bittersuite, a new project that has inspired a range of reactions from the classical music community. Created by 24-year-old producer Stephanie Singer, Bittersuite has been inspired by synaesthesia, a condition described as a “union of the senses” where senses that are normally experienced separately are involuntarily and automatically joined together. Through workshops and performances, the project aims to create a multisensory experience where music is performed and also tasted, smelled and felt by the audience.

At a recent performance at the Rich Mix arts centre in East London, audiences heard the Phaedrus Quartet perform Debussy's String Quartet in G. While the performance took place, they were blindfolded and given various things to smell, taste and touch. During an interview on BBC Radio 3’s In Tune, Singer explains that nearly every member of the audience had someone in front of them the whole time, feeding them and with “scampering fingertips up the body”. The aim of the project is to see if different senses can enhance the experience of music; if they can, will this increase young people’s experience and engagement with classical music?


Personally, I find the project fascinating, but I must admit I have mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, having attended and even been involved in creating immersive theatre, I love the idea of experimenting with concerts and enhancing the experience. There is something about taking an audience out of their comfort zone that intensifies the experience, making them concentrate more; in many cases, this makes the experience more satisfying. I also like that Bittersuite have incorporated historical aspects into the performance. In the In Tune interview, Singer explains that they have been inspired by “historical scents”, aiming to recreate the senses that would have been experienced when the piece was first performed. Suddenly an educational layer is added which is fitting, considering its aims to appeal to young people through sensory workshops. Audiences at the Rich Mix also experienced their bodies being swayed and “sea salt air” when there was an “evocative and invigorating moment in the music”. What’s fantastic about this is the level of thought that has gone into every moment; the creators of this project have thought about every sound and decided which sense fits best with it.

While I admire this and find it fascinating, this element is also the reason I am conflicted about the performance. As discussed in previous articles, I find music to be a very personal experience. Two people can hear the exact same piece and respond in completely different ways, feeling different emotions and imagining diverse images. A project like Bittersuite potentially takes this away from an audience who are literally being fed someone else’s interpretation.

Interpretation is, perhaps, the key word. Bittersuite are not telling audiences that the music should categorically make them think of the salty sea, merely offering it as an interpretation. For young people it could be seen as a guide into classical music, opening the door by providing comfort in the form of context.

Some have viewed this project as a ‘gimmick’, stating that people should fall in love with classical music through more traditional routes. I can understand this point of view but I suspect the key for Bittersuite is to provide an introduction, with the hope that people will investigate the music further, creating their own emotions, images and senses as they listen. It would be interesting to note how many audience members return to more conventional concerts in the future.


There’s no doubt that this project won’t appeal to everyone, if for no other reason than a desire for personal space: if one is worried about what might happen next, one probably won’t be listening to the music, meaning that it would not enhance engagement. However, given the success of immersive theatre and even events such as Murder Mystery evenings or 3D films, there is definitely an audience for experiences that are more immersive. We’ve discussed interactivity through social media, and other new concert concepts, but physical immersion is an entirely new concept. Personally I am excited that Stephanie Singer has potentially found a way to bring this audience to classical music. For those that are willing, it could open up a new interpretation and facilitate a love of music new to these open-minded audiences.

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Composer, performer, listener – responses to music

By Julia Hudson

On this blog, we talk a great deal about music and about performance (understandably, no?). What we like, our players, and our thoughts about concerts we’ve been to and been in. There is something else, though, which is as important as the performance. No, not the post-concert drinks… The 'Holy Trinity', according to Britten, is that of composer, performer, and listener – the three elements of the musical experience. Let’s face it, without an audience, a performance essentially becomes a mere rehearsal.

However, if we wanted to talk about the listeners’ response, we encounter difficulty. The composer writes notes, on a piece of paper, which we can praise or decry. The performer plays it, on an instrument which has been made out of wood or metal, and they either get the notes right or wrong. The response produced by combining these aspects? Infinitely harder to quantify. Take how much more subjective vocal music is, even, coming as it does from a “naturally produced” instrument not endorsed by the likes of Stradivarius or Steinway, and this only reaches a tiny part of the issue.

What feelings do you experience during a performance? Probably thousands, ranging from emotional transfixion through to cramp in your right leg. How can we possibly document these, in a quantifiable manner? History further complicates the issue; music wasn’t listened to in the reverential silence we award it today. It was background fodder, with a trip to the opera, ballet or theatre being a social occasion and opportunity for a gossip. In either event, can the music itself stand on its own? To expand - surely every audience member arrives at a concert with preconceptions, emotional states of mind and their own personal history, thus colouring the music with their own perceptions almost before they’ve heard it. I, for one, will never be able to hear the Chichester Psalms without remembering my amazing trip to the Last Night of the Proms.

Is that as it should be, though? A sacred piece of music, commissioned by the Southern Cathedrals Festival and often heard at Evensong, reminding me of a rather light-hearted, patriotic concert? Or perhaps one could argue that, unlike in worship, it is here receiving its due attention.

This “new” way of listening to music, then, gives us more obligation to truly understand it – we no longer have the security of knowing that, since we are at a ball, we can expect to hear a pretty waltz, or a funeral march at a funeral. We’ve talked on this blog before about interactive listening, or the importance of programme notes – as a child, before being taken to a concert, opera or ballet, I was handed with great solemnity an enormous and to-this-day mysterious tome containing plots, characters, instruments and explanations. Did it improve my understanding and, thus, my enjoyment? Undoubtedly.

The totality of these experiences must not be underestimated – Evan Mitchell, in a fascinating article, cited a study suggesting that “visual cues are in fact more important than aural ones in listeners’ evaluations of musical performances. Dr Chia-Jung Tsay, of University College London, found that out of three groups of participants – those shown silent videos, those shown videos with sound, and those played audio clips without video – only the viewers of silent video clips were able to correctly identify the winners of international music competitions. Even trained musicians who were subjects in the study conformed to this overall trend, yet many classical pianists still find themselves chastised for aspects of their stage deportment that are deemed to be excessive.” Why else, as he goes on to say, do seats in a concert hall face the stage? Expression, provided of course that it is complemented by musicianship, helps to convey meaning and emotion. Let’s face it, if you attended a concert played by a robot, you probably wouldn’t have much to write home about.

If you utterly disagree with this week’s thoughts, believing that comprehension of music matters little and it is solely about sound, or that you are able to hear the notes completely devoid of your own preconceptions – there is a project with which you should be getting involved: the Listening Experience Database. Their website elaborates:

“The Listening Experience Database (LED) project is a collaboration between the Open University and the Royal College of Music. It has been awarded a £0.75m grant over three years from the Arts and Humanities Research Council. The main purpose of the project is to design and develop a database, freely searchable by the public, which will bring together a mass of data about people’s experiences of listening to music of all kinds, in any historical period and any culture. The project will involve the general public by using crowdsourcing as one of the ways in which data is collected.”

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