The real duel of Apollo with Marsyas

                 (absolute ear versus immense range)

                 takes place in the evening

                 when as we already know the judges

                 have awarded victory to the god

                 Bound tight to the tree

                 meticulously stripped of his skin

                 Marsyas howls

                 […..]

                 Shaken by a shudder of disgust

                 Apollo is cleaning his instrument

                 […..]

                 Suddenly at his feet falls a petrified nightingale

 

                 he looks back and sees that

                 the hair of the tree to which Marsyas was fastened

                 is white

 

                 completely 

                                        /Apollo and Marsyas - Z. Herbert, trans. Alissa Valles/

 

   Abundance is nature’s way to ensure the survival of species.  The abundance of life in a limited space leads to competition.  Enclosed, for safety reasons, dwelling places of early humans cradled the first forms of social life with the first manifestations of rivalry within it.  Any community comprising more than one family eventually consented to the authority of one leader.  The leadership contest usually involved the account of one’s virtues and testimonies of merit, although the display of physical agility and strength could ultimately tip the scales.  The high respect paid to robustness and fitness is perfectly understandable considering the challenges of everyday life in those primitive times.  The necessary level of physical form was maintained in the daily exercise routine and tested in occasional games.  Naturally, the competitive element of such activities was their main attraction.  The final verdict in these earliest competitions was as indisputable as the outcome was obvious.  Hence, there was no need for any expert judges.

   As single families aggregated into tribes, and these, eventually developed into nations, the troops designated for defense or conquest constituted only a smaller proportion of the overall population.  The majority of the village or town dwellers were involved in food production, various crafts, trade, education, and even arts.  The constant evolution of materials, tools, and methods was, in fact, a self-evident, naturally occurring, and ever-present competition.  The value of any new idea or product relied simply upon the possible benefit from its practical application or lack thereof.

   On the other hand, creativity in the domain of aesthetics (the cradle of the arts) was hardly liable to a straightforward assessment as de gustibus non disputandum est.  However, personal taste is rarely entirely personal.  Most of us couldn’t make up our minds about daily attire if left without the guidance of advisers, influencers, and designers.  Under the constant pressure of their opinions, we make our (?) choices enthusing over some ideas and disregarding others. It may be discomforting to realize that it is in truth they, not we, who choose the color of our hair or the style of our house.  We don’t protest, even when they smuggle elements of athletics and military or criminal subcultures into our everyday life.  We became indifferent to the quality and the aesthetic value of a product; for many, the price tag and a brand name suffice.  Indeed, the present-day cradle of the arts is more like a mass-produced, “one size fits all,” distressed, galvanized chain-link sleeping container. 

   The gap between the advancement of an artist and the spectator’s extent of comprehension of art was always and still is a perfect forum for all sorts of commentators, promoters, and critics.  Someone decides what books are available in a bookstore, what paintings get exhibited in a museum, or what music is broadcasted by the radio.  Some powerful voice may secure a whole series of particular performances or force the management of the enterprise to change the program the very next day.

   Such manipulation of art is not in the least unique to our current times.  From the very dawn of the arts, every artistic attempt was accepted with awe or rejected with ridicule.  For where there is an artist, there is a critic.  Granted, an artist expects us to assume an attitude to each piece of art, whether seen, heard, or read.  That's why we have exhibitions, concerts, and literature.  But the game is only fair as long as each of us forms an individual independent school of thought.  And how many people could honorably say that their perception of art didn’t get biased by their environment, course of education, and all accidental or professional critics?  For some reason, a “printed word” is often regarded as credible, and the term “well-read” is considered a compliment.  One XIX c. music critic wrote first: “Hats off, gentlemen, a genius,” and shortly after that, accused the same composer of ignorance in writing sonatas.  Should we trust both opinions or neither?

   The objectivity of any critic is at least questionable for one more rationale (besides the possible sparseness of education).  The very survival of a professional artist always entailed the existence of a benefactor of some kind (an individual, institution, or government), and patronage usually came with conditions.  In return, a powerful patron would not only provide for the artist's living expenses but also secure, through the long arm of influence, the favorable reception of his – not necessarily great – works.  Naturally, the mediocrity and conformism of the general public always make the latter easier.  Does it mean that we, as a society, are at least partially responsible for the misery of some great, yet fading into oblivion, artists, and the undeserved prestige of others?  One could say that such injustice is just the collateral damage caused by the competitiveness so prevalent in all civilizations.  Perhaps.

   With the understandable depletion of innovativeness in art music and the constantly increasing number of professional performers (see narrative: on methods), the skill of performing had risen to the rank of the art of performing.  As long as the sole purpose of musical education was the production of one more composer, the rivalry in artistic circles pertained mainly to the newly created compositions.  Performing standards, of course, varied but were never subject to open competitiveness.  Since the appearance of virtuosi, the most renowned performances usually gave rise to countless discussions and comparisons.  Nonetheless, the concept of two or more performers playing the same program during one event would be simply in breach of bon ton.  The competitions, as we know them today, were yet to come.  And come they did.

   Did we have to create special contests for the evaluation of performing skills?  Why, at one point, playing music for the sheer enjoyment of it, free from the yoke of critics, wasn’t satisfying enough?  For lack of answers to such rhetorical questions, allow me to share an observation.  If there is even one aspect of our civilized life without some form of competition, we will, in our never-ceasing competitiveness, take a great effort to establish one.

   And so, as soon as a child is able to extract a few sounds from an instrument, proud parents seek a competition the gifted child could enter.  The search for a suitable one may take a while; there is quite a variety from which to choose.  There are solo and ensemble competitions, local, national, and international, online and in-person, for young artists and those with disabilities, advanced level, beginners, and even non-competitive [sic] options.  The multitude of possibilities and the scale of some of these schemes make us realize that not only do we have an army of musically inclined young children, but each of them desires to be better than the others.  What a pity that only a minute fraction of these kids continue their love for music in their adult life.  And even less pursue the career of a musician.

   But we have competitions, and we have plenty of them.  What forces drive these operations?  Is it the homage to a particular composer or art music in general?  Is it a way to entice and promote the best crop of young musicians?  Could it display the purposefulness of some establishments like music societies and institutes or teachers' associations?  Or, perhaps, it is altogether a profit-driven enterprise or indirect advertisement for instrument manufacturers.  Whatever reason there may be to organize a competition, no reason itself can determine the value of the event.  It is always the level of competence of the jurors and the degree of excellence presented by the contestants that bring reputation and make the name. 

   Competition doesn't exist without participants.  That's only too obvious.  So, what motivates us to take part in such ventures?  I already touched above on the “proud parent” syndrome.  The truth is, that the tendency to compete is part of a child's nature.  It is also true that the competitiveness of a young mind is usually short-lived, if not continuously kindled with the satisfaction of an accomplishment.  Such a constant flow of gratification is maybe possible in sports, but not in music.  Regular supervision of a child’s studies and the implementation of proper work habits instead of occasional cheering would be a much more appreciated contribution from a parent.  Alas, most parents confuse the process of upbringing with providing material prosperity.

   And thus, the whole burden of education with everything that it involves yet again falls, as it did a hundred years ago and even a thousand years ago, upon the teacher alone.  The main challenge for every pedagogue is the maintenance of a student’s long-term fascination with a particular composition.  A failure in this regard leaves only the regime of a practice schedule, which is always no more than a second-best and much-resisted solution.  A genuine teaching method will cover issues beyond just technical advancement.  Nowadays, we expect a very young performer to be already an accomplished artist.  The gradual extension of attention span and the most efficient practice time usage are of utmost importance in this race with time.  So is the application of music theory to the reading, understanding (the basis of interpretation), and memorizing of a composition. 

   Finally, engagement in arts, performing of the art to be exact, involves more than just the skill of music reading and practice methods.  It requires familiarity with the cultural characteristics of a specific period, an understanding of the connections between music and other branches of the arts, not to mention a general sensitivity to aesthetics and the personal refinement of a student.  Due to the standards of present-day schooling and everyday lifestyle, all these distinctions, so necessary for an art music student, must be addressed, initiated, and developed by, again, the music teacher.  No wonder most teachers expect the recognition of the acquired scholarship and the awe over her, his creations – the students.  And what would symbolize such respect better than the podium in a competition?

   That’s the poetic rendition of the story.  There are also more prosaic reasons for teachers’ involvement in competitions.  Occasionally, parents may express sudden concern about their child’s progress.  In their opinion, participation in a competition is the best incentive to establish a better practice routine.  In my opinion, a temporary dedication means close to nothing, and such a venture almost certainly will bring disappointment.  But… “we may always try.”  

   Some teachers are very active in the local music arena.  They know each other very well and think highly about the professional skills each of them represents.  Various concerts, festivals, and competitions couldn’t prevail without their dedicated contribution.  Their students not only regularly partake in all organized events but frequently place among the winners.  

   All students, especially those of the lesser teachers, greatly benefit from such activities.  They get exposed to music (alas, not always art music) literature and have the opportunity to admire the best performers at the final gala.  Additionally, after the feedback from the appointed judges, many parents of the unawarded contestants get inspired to seek more accomplished instructors for their children to assure success next time around.

   In the vicissitudes of the daily teaching routine, no competition trophies or any other public distinctions can bring me more joy than a student’s declaration of choosing the life of a professional musician.  If the aspirations are realistic, which is not always the case, the whole course of schooling usually involves a higher education degree.  For some reason, students believe that high scoring in some music competitions prior to the entrance exam to school may increase their chance of acceptance.  Do the teachers on admission committees need proof of excellence provided by other authorities to ascertain the suitability of a potential student?  Perhaps. 

   A career as a performer is not always the result of a student’s conscious choice.  Once in a while, a child with an exceptional gift is born.  Suppose such talent gets recognized early enough and put in the care of excellent teachers far from the distractions of the mainstream Western lifestyle.  In that case, we may witness the rise of a barely teenage yet fully accomplished musician.  These super-performers enter the world's music scene, usually as winners of high-ranking international competitions.

   Apart from the scenario described above, what exactly makes one win a competition?  Before I venture an uneasy answer to this direct and honest question, let us first focus on the very concept of such an undertaking.  In a gross simplification, it is a musical tournament during which each contestant intends to manifest performing excellence and hopes to be declared superior to other participants.  To be clear, they don’t play their own compositions.  They perform pieces of art music (for the most part) created by someone else and encoded in music notation.  The extent of the decoding of this notation determines the accuracy of interpretation (see: “Less Feelings more Education”).  Once the image of the composition gets formed, a performer needs sufficient technical means for the actual realization of this image.  These two factors are subject to evaluation in each and every competition.

   Unfortunately, we don’t have measuring devices, audio templates, or computer software to assess the degree of accomplishment in music performance.  We can’t entrust it to the gods (as it happened in Herbert’s poem) either.  We have to rely on the expertise of juries carefully chosen for each occasion.  The artistic stature of the judges varies, of course, according to the caliber of the enterprise.

   In the upper (international) echelons of the performing arena, the conclusion of a contest is usually vested in the earlier laureates of this very one or similar competition, renowned pedagogues, some music editors, and even occasionally cultural dignitaries.  The verdict of any competition will always satisfy some and disappoint the rest.  The latter may appreciate the outcome better once they discern the system of principles and values observed by the judges.  There is a simple way to acquire this kind of intelligence regarding the top-level-competitions jurors.  The ones formerly or presently active as performers display their standards in existing recordings.  The pedagogues left similar evidence in the recordings of their most accomplished students.  One can soon learn that some of these presumable templates of perfection leave much to be desired in aspects of, for example, technical precision, phrasing, or agogics.  Regarding the expertise of editors – we all prefer to use more than one edition of the works of principal composers, for they often contradict each other.  Finally, the dignitaries are usually tactful enough to act amenable.

   Another type of competition welcomes children of various ages and, consequently, different levels of advancement.  Run by certain institutions, organizations, or even music stores, they may be limited to a particular area or be accessible nationwide.  An operation on such a scale involves quite an army of jurors recruited mainly from prominent members of these organizations and the faculty of local schools.  In countries with virtually no music schools below the collegiate level, the results of competitions for children depend partly on the opinion of college or university teachers taking seats on the juries of these competitions.  (The nature of the alliance between a music shop management and a college faculty remains a mystery to me.)  We may admire the performing mastery of these professors in occasional concerts with some more aspiring amateur orchestras or recitals in befriended schools.  Granted, these pedagogues are, in most cases, much more qualified musicians than some pseudo-teachers hiding their incompetence behind the crutch of a prefabricated “method.”  Still, they have, on average, very little if any experience in teaching children.  Those few who have accomplished younger pupils outside their main line of work wouldn't, for obvious reasons, judge competitions in which their students may participate. 

   Thanks to the digital communication technologies of our times, one may enter a competition without even leaving home.  More than that, one may enter many competitions at the same time.  The divisions into several age groups and somewhat liberal repertoire requirements, typical for mass competitions, always attracted swarms of young success-hungry performers.  The number of participants in online variants of such schemes grew even further, for there are no more fixed dates for only one performing chance, no inconveniences of commute and possible temporary accommodation for the time of the event either, and (the most decisive factor) constraints to a particular town, region, or even country apply no more.  On the other end of this modern enterprise, there are no more costly venue rentals or challenges of teaming up the most qualified, yet maybe on this very day engaged elsewhere, judges.  In the new arrangement, each juror may have an individual work schedule and process submitted material in the comfort of one's home.  It would seem that modern technology makes everybody win.

   We don’t know much about these online competitions.  As I stated before, it is the competence of the jurors and the excellence of the contestants that counts.  The profiles of selected jurors, posted on a competition website, tell us about their qualifications as much as a note on a DVD cover tells us about the movie.  I hope at least some of us realize that the rank and reputation of attended schools and place of employment cannot guarantee the expertise of a pedagogue.  The recordings of their performances or their students’ performances, if such are available, could tell us more about their proficiency.  Otherwise, we know close to nothing about the people to whom we entrust the evaluation of our students.  We may get some idea about the standards of a competition by listening to the posted recordings of the former or present winners, but then again, we can’t hear participants that didn’t place and maybe should have.

   For quite some time now, the more reputable competitions for children have welcomed performers from various (not necessarily Western) countries promoting WTAM.  Today, the very existence of many such enterprises depends on the influx of foreign participants.  Lately, for more than one reason, physical partaking in these events is difficult or virtually impossible for children from some countries.  The organizers of these valuable competitions could resort to online substitutes to stay at least afloat; it is commendable that they prefer a temporary suspension of the activity rather than a compromise. 

   The purpose of this essay is not the evaluation of existing music competitions, even if, at times, it may seem so.  The way I described some of them was supposed to provoke a reflection upon the reasons for their existence and their possible usefulness or lack thereof.  What can we gain by taking part in these events, and what potential risks do we take at the same time? 

   Let’s start with the positives, seeing as there are fewer of them than there are negatives.  The technical superiority of one performer over another is the easiest, even for a layman, thing to observe.  Since the rise of the virtuosi and their conquest of concert halls, technical skill has been the main emphasis in the education of a performer.  One may safely say (recordings of some last XX c. composers performing their pieces are accessible) that present-day advanced performers surpass in this aspect even composers whose pieces they play.  It’s a pity such capability is often wasted on the incomplete, thus poor interpretation of these pieces.  I wish the judges of renowned competitions were more often of a similar opinion.  Still, no juror would tolerate (and rightly so) accidental mistakes in pitch or rhythm.  Neither would any perceptive enough audience, for the ability of clean playing in a one-chance situation is the sine qua non, not only for a competitor but also for a professional performer.  (I’m not sure how a competition of submitted online recordings may exercise and test this skill.)  Finally, a renowned music competition is still one of the best forums for the propagation of WTAM since most of these competitions are international, and international these days often pans out globally.

   Written feedback from competition jurors is a commonly accepted custom.  These evaluations come in various tones, sizes, and contents.  All the same, I could never see a point in any of them.  The ones full of compliments are redundant if addressed to somebody who won; the award alone sends the message.  An unrewarded recipient of similar praise (these days, a preferable way to comment on a student's achievement of any sort and to any degree) is only confused when such recognition comes without any placement in the competition.  A participant may also receive a more critical assessment.  Since all comments are addressed indirectly more to a teacher than to a student, the latter kind of analysis only makes sense if the teacher is unaware of the student’s shortcomings.  And if this is the case, is the teacher supposed to feel, in consequence, motivated to broaden his knowledge or teaching methods through further education?  Such an effort is always commendable even without an incentive of not-so-positive feedback from a competition.  At the same time, one has to keep in mind that all these opinions, whether good or bad, reflect the jurors' standards which stem entirely from their knowledge.  Regrettably, sometimes knowledge doesn't come into the equation at all, and a notion is simply arbitrary.

   We are all guilty of voicing high-handed opinions on numerous occasions, yet, most of us are willing to change or alter our views when proven to be wrong in the course of discussion.  The critique coming from a juror after the conclusion of a competition gives no opening for any discussion, and besides, the verdicts are regarded by most as indisputable anyway.  Those few who see it in a different light may only shrug their shoulders, deal with the possible aftermath, and avoid this kind of involvement in the future.  Not long before I made such a decision, some of my students participated in one of the local competitions.  Bach’s Sinfonias were in the required repertoire.  In the post-event written feedback, one of the judges stressed the necessity to follow the Urtext when teaching Bach.  Such a high-horse comment was quite unfounded and actually revealed the juror’s ignorance in reading appoggiaturas in Bach’s Urtext.  Nonetheless, the damage had been done.  The disappointed parents of my unawarded students decided to look for a "better" teacher, “one who would know how to read Urtext.”  This kind of damage is entirely personal and relatively small.  It could be, and it has been much worse.

   During the forty years of my teaching experience, I have had but a handful of truly gifted students.  I think that’s about average for a private teacher if one doesn’t abuse the meaning of gifted.  In each case, the talent and dedication were there, the understanding and support of the parents were there, and I, naturally, devoted all my time and skill hoping to turn each of these gems into a jewel.  Unfortunately, sooner or later, they couldn’t resist the glamour of a music competition.  First-time failure only made them work harder.  Getting unnoticed several times eventually stifled the enthusiasm.  I could explain the ignorance and compromised integrity of the judges to a parent but not to a child.  They were lost to the cause forever.

   In the same competitions, a few of my other students got undeservedly, in my opinion, placed as winners.  Encouraged by the success, some of them decided to pursue further education in costly schools, only to discover, after receiving hard-earned degrees, that music was not their cup of tea after all.

    Controversies around jurors’ opinions are by no means exclusive to small-town competitions.  Neither are occasional disagreements within the jury of a competition.  The latter ones are especially perplexing, for we expect from each member of a jury the utmost knowledge, the finest expertise, and consequently, a similar assessment of any performed composition.  In renowned international competitions, where there’s much more at stake to win or lose, fierce arguments between judges may lead even to walkouts on the whole event.  Who was right, and who was wrong?  Ultimately, only the future can show. 

   So what does the future hold for the winners?

   Young champions of small local competitions may reach for the laurels in contests that cover a larger area (county, state, region, etc.) if such extensions exist.  Climbing the ladder of levels may take many years, especially if a deliberate timing of placement within a particular age group is part of the winning strategy.  In the process of such a campaign, many of these promising children lose their course in the maze of attractions of the Western world.  Those who stay in the game until the collegiate age will, most likely, procure music degrees in the higher education system and eventually join the teaching community.  However, some of them may change their minds and choose, at the last moment, easier or more lucrative professions. 

   In one of the previous paragraphs, I tried to analyze the makings of a prodigy.  I think some clarifications are needed if we talk about a present-day wunderkind.  Firstly a child is not much of a wonder if there are many others of the same kind.  Also, we mustn’t confuse innate extraordinary dexterity with actual talent.  Finally, an impressive level of technical efficiency, acquired by a student at a very young age through an ultra-intensive practice regimen, emboldens many teachers to venture into a repertoire that is still too difficult and beyond the comprehension abilities of a child; mimicking the teacher is the only option in this situation.  Even though the quality of these little marvels' performances leaves much to be desired, the contestant's tender age is the trump card in many competitions.  Having such a great head start, they will surely attain one day the technical skill required by the top music literature.  Eventually, they may even contrive, under the guidance of various teachers, some tolerable interpretations, and this is what they will take to renowned international competitions.

   What happens next?  The laureates will be offered a series of concert tours and recording contracts.  The less fortunate ones may try other competitions or accept teaching positions in some reputable schools. 

   The lifestyle of a widely acclaimed performer is not as glamorous as it may seem to a concert-goer.  The busy touring schedule, hotel lodgings, erratic far-from-regular diet, and the stress and polite smiles in the middle of the stress collectively take a toll on the body and mind.  Additionally, upholding one's performance standards requires routine practicing, which is always a challenge in the constant on-the-move situation, though more so for some instrumentalists than others.  Yet, some super-performers, freshly after harvesting several seemingly significant awards, manage to play an immense number of concerts per year.  This kind of schedule leaves not much room for even rest, much less for any supplemental education.  Therefore, one mustn't expect any possible growth in the artistry of a performer.  Quite to the contrary, the detrimental impact of such a drive is inevitable and, sooner or later, will affect the quality of the performances.

   In the last few decades, the amount of music competitions has grown proportionally to the number of wunderkinder.  The abundance of incessantly emerging talents allows music venues to introduce new names almost every season.  And indeed, the names are new, while everything else is the same – the same old mésalliance of, maybe not superb, but good enough technique with poor personalized interpretations.  Of course, each performance is hailed with an invariable standing ovation, only to get forgotten as soon as the audience takes the liberty to enthuse over yet another mediocrity.  And that’s it?!  Is this everything the laurels at a big-name competition can buy?  One or two seasons of stardom?!  These days, I’m afraid, that’s pretty much it unless …

   For some young musicians, success in a widely renowned competition was just the beginning of their journey to excellence.  Not fully satisfied with their hitherto achieved artistry, they sought new ways and opportunities for further advancement, and the prestige of a victorious contestant usually opens many doors.  For quite some time, they carefully controlled their performing activities, bestowing most of their time and energy in corroboration with established authorities, working on new material and new skills.  The years of humble yet determined pursuit of perfection came to fruition in occasionally issued recordings so magnificent that the former competition achievements seem like merely testing the waters.  Today, we acknowledge their utmost proficiency and all-time mastery, impatiently awaiting the next divine recording or, at least, one of the few and far between, equally mesmerizing performances.  Would they be able to achieve as much as they did, giving us so much, if not for the competitions they attended at the beginning of their artistic path?  One would never know.  But what one does know is that other performing artists became legends of the world music scene without participating in a single competition.

   While waiting for the concert worth attending, I try to fill my life with music.  Nothing can truly substitute for a live performance.  No hi-fi audio system will ever generate the unique vibes between a performer and a listener.  On the other hand, it's easier to turn the player off than to leave the hall in the middle of a bad performance.  Besides, since an audio recording usually outlives the performer, the chances of finding a halfway decent interpretation in the files of my collection are higher than the chances of finding something of similar standards in the programs of contemporary performances.  Still, how many times can one listen to the same handful of pieces?  And so, more and more, a pregnant silence keeps me company in the rooms of our school of art music.  When and how did it happen?  Who is to blame for that?  We are all guilty.

   Guilty of upholding an illusion of schooling at all levels of music education.  Overly concerned with material possessions, we’ve outsourced Western art music to more motivated non-Western societies.  Though fortified with new legions of performers, we are still guilty, as much as before, of an incomplete understanding of a music score and tarnishing the composer's artistic design with the display of personal emotions.  Some of us, enthusiastic yet incompetent, organize little inconsequential competitions and festivals; others embrace this grotesque and participate.  On the other end of the spectrum, when was the last time a jury of an upper-echelon competition awarded no one and sent everyone back home with a recommendation for further studies?  We are guilty of unfounded idolatry and preconceived notions.  We confuse love for music with the performer's vanity.  But most of all, we are simply ignorant.  Is there hope?  Would I be writing these articles if there was none?

 

        A LETTER TO PERFORMERS  

​

        Dear Performer,

 

   You are not an artist, for you do not create anything, and no competition trophies will ever make you one, even if the verdict comes from the gods.  Creativity is the domain of a composer. You may only serve the art by the most accurate interpretation of each composition.  If you have doubts about how a particular note, chord, or passage should be played (or sung), do not listen to the available recordings of this piece, do not expect your feelings to guide you either, and certainly do not try to be “creative.”  The answers to all your questions are in the score of the composition.  You will discover them through the astute analysis of harmony, melodic line, rhythm, and other elements of music.  Finding teachers able to help you to acquire this essential skill may not be easy, but I assure you, they exist.