Light and Shade, Swallows and Boiled eggs

Susie summers talks to her niece Jess about life and the art of playing the piano

I wonder if you can us a bit about your musical journey, or what inspired you to start the piano?
 
Well, I don’t actually remember starting the piano, because I was so small, but I do remember my arm had to go above my head, because I wasn’t tall enough to reach the piano, so I think I was quite young. My favourite notes were the very lowest ones. I didn’t have proper lessons until I was 7. I used to do a lot of sight reading with my siblings, and with my grandfather. At first, I didn’t have a clue what was going on, but gradually it came into focus, a bit like a picture being all blurry and then coming clear – so after some years, I worked out what we’re actually doing when we make music – it’s something really special.
 
So, your grandfather was quite influential for you?
 
Yes, he was a really keen amateur musician. He would rarely let us leave the house without playing something with him – so he was very key.
 
Is there a favourite piece of music that you played with him?
 
Laterally, we played the Edward Bairstow Variations on an Original Theme – which is slightly obscure, but Papa had known the composer. I had to get quite proficient before I could manage that. We also played a lot of the Dvorak Slavonic Dances, and Rachmaninoff Suite for two pianos. We often played really difficult pieces, and couldn’t quite manage them, but that didn’t matter as long as we felt close to the spirit of what the composer was trying to say.
 
Well that’s the fun of it, isn’t it?
 
Yes, it’s about the experience of making music together.
 
Another very important influence for me was my postgrad teacher Michael Dussek. Michael was very focussed on the importance of musical language and each composer’s voice – and the particular work we have to do to find that – while placing that voice in the context of the wider cultural influences of each composer. It’s not always obvious in the beginning. I took a lot from Michael. I could probably go on learning from him for the rest of my life, actually, because I think he has so much to offer. I remember noticing that often the really interesting musicians – interesting to me, anyway – stayed with Michael as a teacher for the longest.
 
There have been lots of influences, and I learn something from pretty much everyone I work with, but if I had to pick two – those are the two.
 
How did you and Michael Petrov pick the repertoire for the concert?
 
Michael suggested a few things and these pieces just seemed to gel. The key links the two pieces – they are both in G minor. They both have a completely different take on it though – very different colours. But they’re both pieces I really love. The Rachmaninoff has been on my wishlist for a long time. It’s very difficult for the piano, and the cello writing is not very idiomatic either, but it works so well and audiences love it.
 
Rachmaninoff does write notoriously difficult pieces for piano.
 
There are a lot of notes! Although, once you’ve got the notes the music sort of plays itself I think, as it’s really well written.
 
What I’ve always noticed about Rachmaninoff is that the phrasing is always quite clear – you know what he’s trying to say.
 
I think the direction is very clear, yes.
 
I look forward to hearing it, as I love G minor.
 
Yes, it’s dark and it’s passionate, but it’s not dark in a thick way. G minor is a great key.
 
Have you played in St Martin’s Church before?
 
No, I haven’t. I’ve sung in it (when I was at school, in a small choir), but I haven’t played in it. It’s a really lovely building, and it’s just great to be playing in Stamford since I grew up here, that’s a treat.
 
Are there any venues that are particularly memorable for you?
 
I’m going to go for the unusual ones! There was one, I think in Surrey, where the lady who was hosting – one of her ancestors had been an illustrator of the Rupert annuals, so the whole place was filled with framed illustrations from Rupert. It was a beautiful Tudor house with exposed wooden beams.
 
I remember another house concert I did once with violinist Katy Smith. The audience were in the garden, and we were in the house – well, the piano was in the house (you couldn’t move a piano into the garden) and Katy was in the doorway – and she kept getting divebombed by swallows all the way through because they were nesting above where she was standing, so it was slightly scary! That was very memorable.  It was a bit strange, but we managed.
 
And what about a memorable performance?
 
At another house concert we did in North London, the host used to provide a dinner for the audience – which we also ate. I think music and food go really well together, so I appreciated this. But also, he had a swimming pool in his house, so you could relax before the concert with a swim. The piano was just amazing. It was a Steinway Model C, really beautiful. Probably from the beginning of the twentieth century, which is my favourite time for pianos to be made. I was playing with the Del Mar Piano Trio, who I played with for eight years as the founder pianist. We were playing Smetana (G minor again!) and Dvorak F minor, which is such a beautiful, intensely passionate programme. Playing with good friends, having good food, having a great piano and having a swim before a concert for me is the perfect set up. I really enjoyed that concert.
 
Do you have any pre-concert rituals?
 
I actually quite like to eat a boiled egg – hard-boiled for ease of transportation – if possible. There was a lady we used to play for in Northamptonshire who used to boil me a few eggs on her Aga before concerts.
 
Another thing I do if I’m feeling nervous comes from my studies at the Royal Academy, where we worked with performance coach Inger Murray. Feeling nervous feels similar to being attacked, so the body feels like you’re in danger. She talked about the fight / flight / freeze states, and how the fight response is the most helpful one in terms of concert nerves. She said that if we feel we’re being attacked, what we need is a big axe. So, she had us all in a row miming cutting down trees with an axe – because it gets us into our fight mode, rather than freeze or flight. Sometimes I still ‘cut down trees with an axe’ if I’m feeling nervous. I have to pretend backstage, as it’s important to make the actual physical actions, though it looks rather odd. It gets me moving, instead of stuck in my freeze.
 
That’s such a good way of thinking about it – how to get into your fight mode.
 
Yes, the body does that for us if we physically fight back. It’s not that we stop feeling nervous, but we can deal with the nerves better. It’s a lifelong thing, learning how to be on stage, and I don’t have all the answers, but that’s one of my strategies. 
 
Can you tell me about a time when things didn’t go exactly to plan?
 
I probably haven’t got the answer that you’re expecting, because every time I go on stage things don’t go to plan. It’s a big part of my philosophy that music expresses itself differently every time we play it – so actually wanting to stick exactly to a plan is not how I do things anyway, and I think that can be a good thing. Planning is part of it, so we control what we can (such as having studied the music in enough depth), and we make sure we know something of what we want to do out there, but finding the balance between planning how we’d ideally like the music to sound, and being open to the new in the moment – that’s something that takes a lifetime to explore. Music lives in the moment of performance and each outing for a piece brings new insights. For me, it feels as though every time is the first time, and that keeps me coming back for more. I’m always curious about that process of going on stage and what’s going to happen.
 
That’s such a lovely way to think about it.
 
I can’t help thinking about it like that. I’ve tried to put it in a box, but for me it doesn’t work.
 
As humans, we feed off energy anyway, and music is a human way of communicating, isn’t it.
 
That’s right. However, one of the things about playing ‘classical’ music is that we’re not really welcoming playing completely the wrong notes. We’re okay if things go a bit differently, but we’re not really wanting to go completely off piste – so the difficult thing is being in the driving seat in terms of accuracy, but also being open to the new. There are other challenges with different genres, other challenges that I won’t necessarily understand…
 
But I guess there’s a different element of freedom and exploration in – for example, improvised jazz – which I imagine has a whole other set of challenges.
 
Right. I suppose you can get it completely ‘wrong’ in improvised jazz, say in an ensemble, but that looks and sounds very different from an audience’s point of view. Whereas sometimes in notated genres it is a challenge to rein it in, and be in charge of the energy – you want to control things to some extent, but not too much.
 
Do you play any other instruments or have any secret talents?
 
I’m just starting to play the oboe again after 30 years off – I’m playing in an orchestra and a wind octet in the Scottish Highlands, where I live. I also play the trombone in a community brass band as an adult beginner – and that’s really fun and gives a whole new perspective on music and learning!
 
My secret talent is packing the car (maybe not very secret actually!), and staying up well past my bedtime.
 
What’s special to you about the piano?
 
It gives the whole world of the piece, holding the harmony and so many different colours. There’s so much light and shade. There seem to be infinite possibilities, and I never get bored. I do really love the expressive sounds of the oboe as well, but being a melody on my own, that wasn’t me.
 
I really like that – the whole world of the piece.
 
Yes – self-sufficient, yet ready to make music with pretty much any other instrument. What I don’t like about the piano is that I can’t take it with me to the concert!