Frances Wilson
Frances Wilson is a publicist and writer on classical music in the U.K. She is an established presence through her blog, The Cross-Eyed Pianist (est. in 2010) and her popular interview series, Meet the Artist (2012). In addition to her accomplished pianism, she supports musicians in concert preparation and audience retention and engagement, Ms. Wilson is co-founder/editor of ArtMuseLondon focusing on reviews of art, music and culture, and also Music Into Words, a project exploring writing about classical music today.
The Writings on the Score
As a writer, the marks I make on paper, or via the word-processing programme on my laptop, are the outward signifiers of my creativity. When I publish an article or essay those marks are made public, put out there and held up for scrutiny.
I am also a musician, a pianist in fact (a role, which, like writing, is largely undertaken in isolation). The outward signifier of my musical creativity comes when I perform for others; like my writing, the work, the graft, the practicing is done alone. The tool of the musician’s craft, in addition to their instrument and intent, is the “literature”, the “text” contained within musical scores. These documents provide the roadmap for our musical journeys and the marks we make upon them are, unlike the writer’s text, are usually unseen and very personal.
On a most basic level, the markings we make on the score relate to the practicalities and mechanics of navigating music - fingering schemes, pedal directions, expression markings. Learning music is a complex mental and physical process, and anything that assists in that process is useful. It is simply not possible to remember all the details in the music, and annotations provide a useful aide memoir and an immediate mnemonic for the practice of practicing.
Our writings on the score reveal our individual working processes and practice patterns, our attempts to scratch away at the surface of the music, to look beyond the notes to find a deeper meaning. These marks are our “hieroglyphs”, our own secret code through which our scores become precious, often highly personal documents. The permanence of the graphite pencil mark is such that, until we choose to erase that mark, it remains there on the page in front of our eyes.
The markings and annotations we make on our scores may also be deeply associated with memories – of significant teachers or mentors, special concerts and venues, colleagues and friends, and may even correspond to certain periods in our lives. Returning to the piano after a 20-year absence, I came upon an earlier teacher’s markings in my dog-eared edition of Bach’s ‘48’. In a curiously potent Proustian rush, I was a gauche teenager again, back in Mrs Murdoch’s living room, her big Steinway stretched before me, the book of Preludes and Fugues open on the music desk. Returning to a score after a break from it, one reacquaints oneself not only with the dots upon the staves: in the interim, the annotations have become a snapshot of a time and place.
Looking at another musician’s annotated score is an act of voyeurism: a score liberally marked with someone else’s fingering and comments might reveal someone’s deepest insecurities and frustrations, their unspoken hopes and most secret desires…..
Frances Wilson is a UK-based pianist, music reviewer, writer and blogger on classical music and pianism as The Cross-Eyed Pianist