Tag Archives: Now Hear This

Beethoven’s Ghost

Ludwig van Beethoven, Piano trio in D Major, op. 70, no. 1, musical autograph.

Over the weekend I took a break from my usual work and TV schedule and decided to watch something on the PBS streaming app. I ended up choosing the latest episode of Scott Yoo’s series Now Hear This which has been airing as a part of PBS’s long time arts show Great Performances. I wrote about Yoo’s episode on Mozart a few months ago, and this iteration’s focus on Beethoven likewise did not disappoint. The premise of the episode was essentially Yoo and friends renting out an old Gilded Age mansion in the Berkshires and recording Beethoven’s Ghost Trio (op. 70, no. 1). At the same time, in the Halloween spirit of the weekend when this episode aired, the ghost of Hr. Beethoven himself appeared to listen to his music being played once again. Yet alongside the great composer also appeared the ghost of Dr. Sigmund Freud, who it turned out, had been offering psychoanalysis to the ghosts of dead composers since his own demise in 1939.

At first, I have to admit, I laughed at the idea that Freud interviewing Beethoven would fill the biographical aspect of this episode. It made sense, but it seemed like a silly idea. But as the show went on, I found the premise not only believable but it made Beethoven himself seem more endearing and modern. Now for both of these to occur, I have to admit that I do tend to believe in the possibility of the supernatural. Writing as a Catholic, I believe in an afterlife, and that likely both gentlemen in question are currently in residence there. What’s more, I’ve always thought that one of the things I’d love to do after I died would be to sit down and talk to some of these famous people: Beethoven, Lincoln, Frederick Douglass, among all my own relatives I’d be dying to meet.

By the time the episode ended I really liked the idea of having the ghosts of historical figures interviewing each other as a way of describing their biographies. Sure, it’s corny, but it works. I remember a few years ago KCPT (Kansas City PBS) had a program that they ran with the KC Public Library where Crosby Kemper, then the library’s director, would interview figures from Kansas City’s past: whether they be President Truman, Buffalo Bill Cody, some of the great jazz band leaders, or Boss Tom Pendergast. In many ways, the format that Yoo and friends came up with having Freud’s ghost interview Beethoven’s ghost fits that same model.

Then again, one final question arises from the grave: are they Freud’s ghost and Beethoven’s ghost, or are they just simply Freud and Beethoven? What’s the difference between a potential remnant of a deceased soul and the person they once were? And if there is a difference, does that mean that experience makes all of us who we are?

Teaching as a Performance

This morning, in an effort to get out of a funk born out of a mix of exhaustion and burn out after a long semester preparing for my comprehensive exams, I decided to watch the Mozart episode of Scott Yoo’s series Now Hear This, which has been airing as a part of Great Performances on PBS. In the episode, Yoo worked with pianist Stewart Goodyear to learn how to not only play the solo part in Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 20, but to do so while conducting the orchestra as Mozart himself did when he performed that concerto in 1785. Watching Yoo and Goodyear work together on this performance got me thinking about my own work as a performer, which nowadays is usually through my work as a teacher.

At its core, the reason why I love teaching is because it’s purely a performance. Like actors and musicians, teachers have as much need to keep their audience entertained and connected to the topic of their performance as they do to transmit the content they’re teaching. All of the best teachers I’ve studied under in my 24-25 years as a student have gotten this fact down in some way or another.

To put this into context, when I teach on Friday afternoons, I have to put together an hour long performance that covers the content while making that information engaging. This means less reliance on notes and more extemporaneous dialogue with my audience, in this case my students.

I’ve found the best thing I can do at the beginning of any performance I’ve given, whether it be as a teacher, a musician, or an actor, is to try and connect with my audience, make it clear to them that I’m on their side, and that I can understand what they’re going through. This means, among other things, incorporating humor into my teaching, and acknowledging that they have other responsibilities than my class and my requirements for them should bear that fact in mind. For example, normally I have my students answer a set of weekly discussion questions. It’s a good way to make sure they come to class prepared to talk. That said, on weeks when they have a bigger assignment like an essay due, I’ll make sure to waive the regular discussion questions so I’m not giving them too much work.

Currently at Binghamton for the Spring 2021 semester, I’m teaching 2 classes of about 25 students each. It’s a decent number to handle, especially when it comes to grading, but considering at my last university I was teaching 2 classes of 35 students each, it’s not nearly as taxing. What is a bit more hard on me as a performer is that at Binghamton both of my classes are always back-to-back on Friday afternoons, meaning I have to turn around after the first performance and do the entire thing over again. It’s a huge challenge, and normally by the end of the second class I’m physically and mentally exhausted.

All that said, the challenge of creating a new show every week, and doing everything live is something I love. Having done pre-recorded shows like The Awesome Alliance, as much as I enjoy the security of playing my part ahead of time and not being around when my audience sees it, the thrill of performing isn’t as strong in that sort of a setting. That said, where a live performance differs from a pre-recorded one in my experience is in my own ability to really live in the performance. In a live class, I have to be present in the moment with my students, paying attention to their answers as well as their body language, making sure what I’m trying to teach is coming across. In a pre-recorded performance, like on Awesome Alliance, I’m more able to let myself live fully in my performance, in that case to become my character, something that is less readily feasible in teaching than in acting or music.

Improvisation is equally hugely important in my experience. I always have a lesson plan, usually revolving around my discussion questions which I provide ahead of time to my students. But beyond that, in the context of actually answering those questions, everything hinges on the unknown factor of what the students will say, how they’ll answer the questions, and then how I’ll respond to their answers. These are supposed to be discussions, focused around a particular topic but dependent as well on the individuals involved and what’s most present in their thoughts.

All of this relies on a great degree of being comfortable in your own skin. I know I’m going to make a fool of myself from time to time while teaching, it’s just a fact of life. But if I can explain a historical concept in a way that’s going to meet my students where they’re at, then I’ll find a way to do it. Last Spring, when I was TAing for a US History class, I was given a version of the Battle Hymn of the Republic written by Mark Twain to discuss with my classes. Not finding a good recording of it with the exact words of the version the professor had given me, I decided to go on a very big limb and sing it myself, after all I know the melody line pretty well.

I could’ve never begun to perform without being able to laugh at myself, and accept that in performing I am inherently putting myself out in front of people. The confidence that has allowed me to do this as an adult really began when I was in high school, when in my Junior Year English class, I decided to tell a couple jokes in what was otherwise a somewhat awkward presentation where I had to show a baby picture of myself to the class. I ended up bringing a picture of a very large and old tree on the grounds of Canterbury Cathedral with myself at age 9 just barely in the bottom of the frame, shrugging and saying “it was the best I could find.” Like Julie Andrews’s Maria in the Sound of Music, it’s great having “confidence in me.”