23

The Performer as Theorist ; Preparing a Performance of

Daria Semegen1s Three Pieces for Clarinet and Piano (1968)

Judy Lochhead
George Fisher

Musicians generally ask how theory informs performance. We

propose to turn the question around: how can matters of performance
prompt theoretical inquiries and lead to theoretical statements about
a work? An approach to theory from performance seems particularly
useful in contemporary music, where the theory is yet ill-defined, and
where what theory there is often has little bearing on the experience
of the performer or listener.

Our discussion focuses on Three Pieces for clarinet and piano

(1968) by Daria Semegen and presents ideas that grew out of a performance
of the work. 1 It is our hope not only to illuminate some aspects of

1. The score reproduced for this article (pp. 24-29) is a corrected

version prepared by the composer. Performance copies of the
score are available through American Composer's Alliance, 170
W. 34th St • 9 New York, NY 10023. In an earlier version of this
paper, given at the Fall 1981 meeting of the Music Theory Society
of New York State at the Manhattan School of Music, we
demonstrated passages which are discussed and gave a performance
of the pieces. We have also performed the pieces in concert
situations several times.
Thanks to Daria Semegen for her suggestions which have
enlightened our performance of the pieces and our ideas for this
paper.

this particular piece but also to raise some questions and outline an
approach that can be applied to other pieces as well.

We shall take as our point of departure two statements about

performance. The first is Schoenberg's comment, recounted by Dika
Newlin, concerning the preparation of a piano score for performance:
"read the music over until you know it absolutely by heart and have a
feeling of the sound, then go to the piano and play it perfectly."2

2. Dika Newlin, Schönberg Remembered (New York; Pendragon Press,

1980), p. 218.

Leaving aside for the moment the question of how to achieve perfection
on first playing, Schoenberg's is an approach that proceeds from score
to inner hearing to reproduction of that hearing on the instrument.
Conception of sound preceeds the sound itself.
 24 Lochhead and Fisher, The Performer as Theorist

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28 Lochhead and Fisher, The Performer as Theorist

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 30 Lochhead and Fisher, The Performer as Theorist

Our approach in preparing these pieces was a different one. In

many cases we proceeded from the directions in the score to the production
of sound on our instruments without imagining in advance what that sound
might be. Particularly in places where special effects are employed,
there is no other way of proceeding. The experience of learning the
pieces on our instruments—both separately and together—has provided the
means for inquiring further about the music. At times, problems in
execution or ensemble were illuminated by the attempt to understand the
musical processes at work.

Charles Wuorinen takes a different tack in his article "Notes on the

Performance of Contemporary Music." He writes:

In any event, it is extremely difficult to say just what goes into

the kind of "analysis" necessary for informed performance, It is
possible to observe, however, that the type of analysis generally
presumed to have value in "theoretical" explication is often
useless in the preparation of a performance. The theoretic kind
of analysis is usually devoted to displaying relationships that
are sufficiently unobvious as to require that they be pointed at
by other than aural means in order to be perceived.3

3. Charles Wuorinen, "Notes on the Performance of Contemporary

Music," Perspectives on Notation and Performance, eds. Benjamin
Boretz and Edward Cone (New York: Norton, 1976), p. 59.
(Reprinted from Perspectives of New Music 3, no. 1 (Spring-Summer
1964): 10-21.)

Wuorinen suggests that there are two types of musical observations :

those which originate in sounding phenomena and those which do not.
While his assessment of the relation between theory and performance has
a basis in some contemporary theory, we do not believe that the relation
is a necessary one. In our discussion of the Three Pieces, questions of
performance and involvements with sounding phenomena prompt analytic/
theoretic statements.

PIECE I

Timing is one of the main resources a performer has in articulating

his or her understanding of a piece. This being the case, some of the
main interpretive decisions in preparing a performance will involve how
much time to take and when to take it. In the first piece, there are
three notational indications that the rhythmic flow be interrupted or
somehow qualified: the fermata at the end, a poco rubato governing the
last three notes of the piano, and a breath mark near the beginning,
before the second long note of the clarinet (1,3).4

4. In this and other references to the score, the Roman numeral

indicates the number of the piece and the Arabic numeral indicates
a particular location in the score. References to clarinet pitch
in this paper are to concert pitch.
 In Theory Only 6/7 31

How should the breath mark be performed? Does it refer to an

added moment, or merely to a cessation of sound that does not interrupt
an ongoing beat? In this case, it seems to refer to added time, since
breath marks also appear in the piano part, where they are preceded and
followed by rests.5

5. The idea that the comma at 1,3 marks the end of a phrase is
worth pursuing briefly. This interpretation would be plausible
if other commas occurred at phrase endings during the course of
the first piece, or in the succeeding two pieces. No other
commas appear.

Since the breath represents added time, how long should it be?
There is a prior question to ask here—does it matter? The length of
breath would matter if it occurred within a passage in which a regular
beat had been established. In the piano part preceding the comma (1,1),
a regular beat is articulated by changes in subdivision for each of the
first three quarters; the shift of subdivision from seven to six to
seven draws attention to the quarter-note unit. In the clarinet part,
the quarter-note unit receives some support from changes in dynamics
during the sustained Db5. Even though noteheads are tied together, the
beat is rearticulated twice—once by a breath accent (explained in a
composer's note at the end of the first piece), and both times by a
louder dynamic followed by a decrescendo. Thus, in both piano and
clarinet, regularly recurring beats are an audible feature of the
opening passage.

How then should the breath mark be performed? Let us first observe
that the note following the breath in the clarinet part (concert G3)
shares the dynamic marking, più piano, and the register of the opening
note of the piece (concert Gb3) . We can draw further attention to this
relationship between the G and Gb by the length of our breath. A
short breath, one approximately equal to the length of a triplet eighth,
will at the moment of attack of the G suggest the same rhythmic disposition
as that of the Gb at the beginning of the piece. That perception of the
G as off the beat is dispelled, however, by the piano and clarinet
attacks on the two subsequent quarters.

The question remains whether the relationship between the Gb of

the opening and the G following the breath is one that should be
emphasized. Our answer to this is yes; on further study, the relationship
appears to be not only a local phenomenon, but part of a longer ascending
chromatic line that extends throughout the piece.

After tackling a different sort of performance problem associated

with 1,4-7, we found that the passage plays a role in the structural
chromatic line. The problem concerned a perplexing pitch repetition:
what is the sense of the repeated C6 in the clarinet and how does the
sfz Ab3 bear on this repetition? In contrast to their similarity of
pitch and register, the two C's have different dynamic shadings and
different rhythmic dispositions. Also, ţhey interact with the piano
figures differently: in the first instance, the abrupt piano gesture
 32 Lochhead and Fisher, The Performer as Theorist

responds to the accented and forte attack of the C, and in the second
instance, after a simultaneous httack, the clarinet's più piano C
emerges from the piano's fff triplet. Should a performance of the
passage emphasize the differences of these two high C's or their
similarities? A consideration of the functiort not only of the C's but
also of the low Ab which separates them provides an answer to this
question.

In rehearsal, we sensed that the second C has an active role, as

if it were initiating something new, and that the first C is static.
This hearing is supported by the dynamic marking of the second C. The
più piano indication associates the second C with two phrase beginnings
in the clarinet part : the opening low Gb3 and the low G3 at 1,3.

While the high C6 does not continue the registrai and chromatic
pitch connections of the Gb-G, the sfz Ab does. By means of those
connections, the low Ab transfers the beginning function associated
with the low register to the high C which follows. This interpretation
of the low Ab and the second C clarifies the role of the first C. Prior
to it's occurrence, the dynamic level in the piece is relatively soft.
The accented and forte attack of a note in a clarinet register which
has not yet been heard comes as a surprise. The abrupt piano gesture
and subito pp in the clarinet sustain the sense of disruption. The
role of the first C, then, is to interrupt the musical processes and
to prepare the transfer of beginning function to the new higher register.
This assessment of the passage 1,4-7 prompted us to elongate the rests
both preceeding and following the low Ab in order to emphasize the sense
of interruption associated with the first C, the pitch and registrai
connections of the low Ab, and the beginning function of the second C.

The transfer of beginning function to a higher register has

consequences for later registral/pitch connections. In the second half
of the piece, the length and prominence of the clarinet's high C (that
is, the second C) is surpassed by an A5 (see 1,8-11). This insistent
pitch is emphasized by change of fingering (harmonic^, swells, and
quarter tones above and below. In the new higher register opened up
by the second C, the A continues the chromatic line, Gb-G-Ab from the
first half of the piece.

During the clarinet's swells on A (1,9-10), the piano figures

emphasize the third Gb-Bb. The prominence of these piches at this
time suggests a completion of the chromatic line Gb-G-Ab-A to Bb in
the clarinet part. No Bb occurs in the new upper register but one does
occur in the final double-stop (See 1,12). The score advises to "play
the double-stop or notated 'G' alone." The Bb cadential goal suggested
by the piano's Gb-Bb third prompted us to take the double-stop option;
however, since the clarinetist could not find one with both a good Bb
and F, we opted for a double-stop which gives a more accurate Bb. Our
decision overrules the importance of F implied by the verbal directions
but sustains our analytic observations of a structural chromatic movement
which cadences at Bb.
 In Theory Only 6/7 33

PIECE II

Although the difficulties that arise in learning a piece vary

from performer to performer, the process of inquiring into why they
arise, in order to improve both one's performance and one's understanding
of the piece, is a process that can be fruitfully applied by any
performer in any situation. Our discussion of the second piece will
begin with three particular passages that presented difficulties in
our rehearsal of the piece.

All of the difficulties were rhythmic. First, while holding the

chord at 11,6 with a mass of pedal sound swirling around, the pianist
was unable to follow the clarinet rhythms of the repeated concert D's,
prior to reentering at 11,8. Second, either the clarinetist or the
pianist would invariably lose track of the beat immediately following
the clarinet gliss at 11,6. (Dotted-quarter beats are strongly marked
in the opening phrase of the piece.) Third, the rests between the
phrase-ending F# and the phrase-beginning C# (11,3-4) did not feel
right to us; we had no physical sensation of when the C# should come in,
and resorted to mechanical counting to keep our place.

A look at each of these three passages reveals some of the factors

contributing to these responses. In the first passage, the rhythm of
the repeated clarinet D's at 11,7 is notationally distorted: the
notation indicates binary subdivision of the beats, but the actual sound
suggests ternary subdivision along the lines of Example 1.

Example 1 :

’ТЬТП’ТП
important to note, however, that the rhythmic complexity is not
eliminated by renotation. Although the attack points are more simply
notated by a triple subdivision, the durations in the figure, specifically
the tied dotted-eighth, are more simply notated by a duple subdivision.

In the second passage, the rhythmic disorientation after the clarinet

gliss can be attributed in part to motivic relationships within the
phrase. Both the three fortissimo chords of the piano (11,5) and the
subsequent two chords and attack of the clarinet's concert Bb have an
attack-point pattern of three sixteenth notes. In the former figure,
the motive ends on the beat; in the latter, it begins on the beat.
Following the strong definition of dotted-quarter beats in the opening
phrase, this transformation of the three-sixteenth-note motive
contributes to confusion about the placement of the beat. The rhythmic
confusion is heightened by the sffz accent on the first chord of the
figure at 11,5: already there is a conflict as to where the primary
stress of the figure should fall.

Finally, moving on to the third passage, we can attribute the

mechanical nature of our counting at 11,3-4 to the apparently
undifferentiated succession of rests. How should the rests be grouped?
In this particular passage we are able to impose a metric pattern
 34 Lochhead and Fisher, The Performer as Theorist

established in the opening phrase (11,1-3). The clarinet material

groups into units of two beats throughout this passage; the piano
reinforces this grouping when it comes in. The two-beat units projected
in the opening phrase can be continued through the rests and the
reentrance of the clarinet, and provide a means for differentiating
the physical responses to the rests in question. Although there may be
no difference in sound, there is a difference in the way the passage
feels to the performer, and that difference is sufficient to make
comprehensible a passage that was otherwise obscure.

How then does one assimilate these observations? A two-beat pattern

inherited from the opening is soon rejected, if not by the extended
repetition of the C# in the clarinet, then at least by the third piano
chord, which occurs not on the first, but on the second beat of a
two-beat unit. This disruption of metrical organization is further
reflected in the confusion about beat placement that results from
manipulation of the three-sixteenth-note motive. The arrival of the
clarinet gliss marks the height of rhythmic disruption in this passage,
and in fact in the entire piece. The clarinet D's that follow remain
contorted—disfigured if you will. Only when the piano reenters with
its quadruplets does some semblance of stability and order reappear.

Some observations in rehearsal about pitch and motivic connections

in the second piece prompted an investigation of pitch-class structure;
the results of this investigation affected two performance decisions
about phrasing which contradicted our original intuitions. First, we
observed that a repeated-note motive in the clarinet articulates a
rising chromatic line: C4 at 11,1; C#4 at 11,4; and D4 at 11,7. Second,
we observed that a quintuplet-motive—a quintuplet followed by a note
or by rearticulations of that note—often comes at the end of what
seem to be phrase units in the first half of the piece, and also that
the notes which conclude the quintuplet-motives articulate a half-step
descent: F#2 at 11,3 and F2 at 11,11 and 11,12. Further, we noticed
that the piano's quintuplet-motive (11,11-12) comprises 6 pitch-classes
while both of the clarinet's (11,2-3 and 11,10-11) coriprise 5
pitch-classes. The latter two are similar in another respect: after a
rest, they are followed by either a fp or a sf-p note. These observations
provided a context for our analysis of pitch-class structure.

The investigation began with the quintuplet-motives. The two

pentachords of the clarinet's quintuplet-motives are transpositionally
equivalent and are subsets of the hexachord stated by the piano's
quintuplet-motive. Example 2 shows the hexachord and pentachords in a
close ordering.6

6. For the hexachord, this ordering is the same as Forte's "normal

order." In his nomenclature, the hexachord is 6-Z6(12). We
have chosen not to show the pentachords in Forte's normal order
for analytic reasons which will soon be apparent. The prime
form of the pentachord is an inversion of that shown in Example
2; in Forte's nomenclature it is 5-7. See his Structure of
Atonal Music (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1973).
 In Theory Only 6/7 35

Example 2:

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The relation of pentachords to the hexachord is suggestive: perhaps

they are incomplete. In each case, the pitch-class needed for
"completion" is given by the fp or sf-p note which follows the
quintuplet-motive: C# at 11,4 and D at 11,14. The notion of completion
across a rest was tantalizing but did not tie together all of our initial
observations.

The proximity of the two quintuplet-motives at 11,10-12 suggested

a consideration of the relation between the hexachords there—that is
between the piano's hexachord and the clarinet's "completed" hexachord.
Example 3 shows these two chords (the note of completion is in
parentheses). The hexachords divide naturally into two chromatic

Example 3 :

I i

trichords. Compared to one another, the two hexachords share the

trichord F-F#-G and one other pitch-class, C. Noting this, we wondered
if the clarinet's quintuplet-motive at 11,2-3 might have an analogous
corresponding hexachord.
 36 Lochhead and Fisher, The Performer as Theorist

Following the clarinet's fp C#4 at 11,4, the piano plays a

quadruplet; if one thinks of this four-note configuration as an incomplete
hexachord, the pitch-classes needed for completion are Bb and D. Those
two pitch-classes occur prominently in both the piano and clarinet
parts during the music of 11,5-7. The top note of the piano's first
chords at II, 5 responds to the clarinet's C#4. In the next chords, the
top note is a Bb, a note of completion. At 11,6 the clarinet responds
to the piano with a lip gliss in which the highest pitch is Bb. Then,
at 11,7 the repeated-note motive recurs with the second note of
completion, D. The completed hexachord does not, however, stand in
the desired relation to the hexachord of 11,2-3. The piano figure
which directly follows at 11,8 does provide a hexachord in the desired
relation. Example 4 shows the two corresponding hexachords and the
hexachord that separates them. At this point it will be useful to
assign transposition numbers to the hexachords. For reasons of
temporal priority, the hexachord at 11,2-4 will be identified as Hq.
The transposition levels of the hexachord discussed so far are shown
in Example 5.7

7. It may be noted that as a consequence of hexachordal structure,

in particular the chromatic and trichordal partitioning, the
relation between hexachords which we first observed in
connection with the two hexachords at 11,10-14 occurs between
hexachords whose transposition numbers differ by 5 or 7. Thus,
given Hø/ both Hy and H5 stand in that relation, and given
Hi, both Hß and Hg.

Example 4 :

jš3E±
. «.-f»

Ч b. t), b*
 In Theory Only 6/7 37

Example 5 ;

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With the preceding discussion as an analytic background, we can

now turn to matters of phrasing. Two decisions followed from our
investigations. First, our analysis of the fp and sf-p notes at 11,4
and 11,14 as notes of completion, led us to think of the rests which
preceed them not as moments of silence which follow a phrase but as
moments of expectation within a phrase. This conception runs against
our initial sense that the quintuplet-motives are phrase endings but
corresponds to our rhythmic analysis of the rests at 11,3-4. The
musical results of this interpretation were preferable to our initial
observations.

A second decision ties into our sense of the passage at 11,4-7

as a rhythmic disruption: this disruption extends to pitch-class
structure as well. The occurrence of Hg in this passage disrupts the
succession of Hg-^Hy. The eventual statement of Hy at 11,8 completes a
syntactic unit. To project a sense of that unit as a whole, we phrase
to the end of the piano quadruplets and we elongate the rest between
the piano's low G and the clarinet's entrance in order to project both
ending and beginning characteristics. This decision countered a
pre-analytic intuition to begin a phrase with the piano quadruplets, but
the musical results were preferable.
 38 Lochhead and Fisher, The Performer as Theorist

PIECE III

In the third piece, theoretical inquiries arose from two problems

encountered in rehearsal. The first was a consistent difficulty we
had in maintaining our initial tempo; there Was always a tendency to
slow down. Perhaps as a consequence, the musical ideas seemed disconnected
and the forward motion of the piece was threatened. The second problem
involved the need to decide upon the appropriate performance of those
passages that call for special effects.

In the former situation, we sensed that the problem lay not with
the musical ideas themselves but with our projection of them through
performance. Since no such problem arose in the preparation of Pieces
I and II, we wondered what its source was in this piece. To begin
with, we noticed that there is no regular grouping of beats, and
furthermore, that a beat unit is not even clearly defined; in contrast
to Pieces I and II, the beat in Piece III is not a functional rhythmic
unit. In addition, the functions of beginning, middle, and end which
are essential to traditional notions of phrase structure seemed
inappropriate here. Such terms have little meaning when applied to
music in which the gestures are often isolated and highly differentiated.
Even if they could be applied to this particular piece, the attempt to
project traditional phrase functions through performance—an attempt
that would necessarily focus on matters of cadence and articulation—
would do little to assist in maintaining the tempo or in furthering
the forward motion.

When we concerned ourselves with the points of connection between

gestures rather than with phrase structure and function, the performance
improved significantly. When we took the ends of gestures as impulse
points for the subsequent beginnings, instead of strongly shaping the
beginnings of gestures and closing the subsequent ends, the points of
connection came alive and the momentum continued. Although the
immediate results of this approach were practical ones, the approach
also led to a different understanding of the piece a?s a whole. What
became critical was not so much the relationship of the beginning of
a gesture to its end (and then perhaps the relation of one complete
gesture to another), but rather the relationship of the end of a gesture
to the beginning of the next.

The problems of discontinuity and the effects of applying this

approach can be illustrated by two passages, 111,4-5 and 111,1-2. In
111,4-5, both piano and clarinet decrescendo to pianissimo. Then the
clarinet plays a fluttertongue-tremolo for more than five beats at
J = 50. The problem is how to survive the tremolo without a serious
attack of ennui. The solution is to make something "happen" on the
rest before the clarinet's fluttertongue-tremolo. What happens is
the piano release. This becomes the impulse point off which the clarinet
can play.

In 111,1-2 we decided to take the dynamic mark in the clarinet as

a signal for musical activity in order to strengthen the connection
between the two figures in the piano across the dotted-eighth rest and
 In Theory Only 6/7 39

to heighten the interaction between clarinet and piano. Immediately

upon the release of the pedal in the piano at 111,2, the clarinet starts
the decrescendo. The pianist can then respond to this marking of the
beat with the next entrance.

In the other rehearsal situation referred to above, concerning

special effects, the issues raised are more notational than theoretical.
Do the notational symbols in the score indicate the exact execution for
a passage, or do they suggest a sound or sound quality whose execution
is imprecisely defined? There are two places in this piece where we
chose to exploit those sounds that were extraordinary rather than to
observe literally the notational directions. Both places involve the
interaction of loud clarinet sounds with undampened strings. In 111,3
the loudest dynamic marking for the clarinet is mf, and the clarinet
shifts from high to low register without a rest or break. If this
passage is played as written, the piano strings are set in motion
sympathetically, but the sound of the strings is barely audible. If
the dynamic level at the height of the clarinet’s crescendo is increased
and time is taken between the high Ab and the low Eb, the sympathetic
vibrations are greater and can be heard more clearly. In the second
passage. III,4, a similar effect can be achieved by playing the last
three sixteenth notes longer, more slowly, and with more space between
and after them. In both passages, further resonance results from
moving the bell of the clarinet toward the open lid of the piano. 8

8. The movement of the clarinet bell toward the strings of the

piano is not indicated in the score. We decided to do this
with the approval, and in fact on the suggestion, of the
composer.

The preceding discussion of the Three Pieces exemplifies a

rehearsal approach to theoretical investigations. The particulars
of this approach are varied. In some instances, we began with a
practical difficulty—for example, a problem of execution or a question
about the meaning of a score indication; our analytic investigation
was directed at a solution to those difficulties. In other instances,
problems of musical interpretation led to a search for the source of
those problems. And in yet another instance, performance observations
provided a jumping-off place for established methods of pitch-class
analysis, and that analysis affected two decisions about phrasing. While
the particulars of a rehearsal approach are varied, the general thrust
is not: it begins with aural observations made in the preparation of a
performance and uses those observations as a framework for analytic
investigation.

The approach to performance and theory we have taken in this paper

is testimony to our belief that analysis must reflect and also reflect
upon the sounding phenomena of music. Such an approach, rooted as it
is in an involvement with—in a hearing of—the sounding phenomena, is
valuable to the listener, the theorist, the musicologist, and the
composer, as well as the performer.

(Port Jefferson, New York)

Lochhead, Judith, and George Fisher, "The performer as theorist: Preparing a performance of
Daria Semegen's Three pieces for clarinet and piano (1968)", In theory only: Journal of the Michigan
Music Theory Society 6/7 (Ann Arbor, MI: December 1982), 23-39.

Copyright © 1982 by University of Michigan. All rights reserved. Content compilation copyright ©
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