Tag Archives: free sheet music

Black Swan, the design of everyday things, and the extended mind


I’ve been very nervous of trying out the orchestral reduction I made in January 2015  of the Black Swan female variation for real-life principals in companies  in case I became too distracted by the unfamiliar feel of the arrangement to concentrate on what the dancer was doing (see this  entry about the terrors of playing for this variation). Finally, this summer I had the chance to play it many times for repertoire classes at the International Ballet Masterclasses in Prague.

The result? Though I say it myself, I was delighted to find that I actually forgot I was playing this variation at all—I usually hate it—to the extent that I enjoyed the rehearsals without any dark interior monologues.  There is something about the way that you get to spread your hands properly over the keyboard that literally helps you to “get a grip” on the solo; when it’s thin and whiny like the piano version, it has no body, it runs through your fingers, away from them.  

The design of everyday things: including orchestral reductions

As I was playing it and thinking about these things, I was reminded of a section in Donald Norman’s The Design of Everyday Things   about the importance of physical constraints in design, and how these enable us to take the right actions without having to think about it:  

“Why the apparent discrepancy between the precision of behavior and the imprecision of knowledge? Because not all the knowledge required for precise behaviour has to be in the head. It can be distributed—partly in the head, partly in the world, and partly in the constraints of the world.” (pp. 45-55)

There are four reasons, Norman says, that precise behaviour can emerge from imprecise knowledge: information in the world, great precision is not required, natural constraints are present, cultural constraints are present. Of natural constraints he explains: 

The world restricts the allowed behavior. The physical properties of objects constrain possible operations: the order in which parts can go together and the ways in which an object can be moved, picked up, or otherwise manipulated. Each object has physical features—projections, depressions, screwthreads, appendages—that limit its relationship to other objects, operations that can be performed to it, what can be attached to it, and so on. (p. 55) 

An arrangement of Black Swan plots out specific combinations of piano keys that have implications for how hands can move around in time. My arrangement is much more constraining physically than the original piano piece. The presence of Drigo’s countermelodies, for example, introduce a secondary web of semiquavers that keep time, keep the fingers occupied in finding a way to play the melody and countermelody, keep the brain occupied by introducing the difficulty, and keep your spirit challenged and alert. All of this automatically constrains the possibility of rushing individual beats or moving too fast generally. (Conversely, though, my simplified version of the final chords—without those ridiculously unnecessary repeated spread tenths—frees up your mind and eye to concentrate on the much more important task of seeing how the dancer is doing on her diagonal.) 

The extended mind

It’s taken me since August to actually go to my shelves and find the book and page, so I could write this post. The impetus for doing so is probably because I have recently bought and started to read Andy Clark’s Supersizing the Mind: Embodiment, Action and Cognitive Extension.  Clark’s book is a huge elaboration on this idea that some of our “thinking” is in the world, not entirely in our heads. It’s at once rather mind-blowing, yet persuasively simple. 

In turn, I finally bought Clark’s book because I was re-reading my notes in my computer on Tia DeNora’s work where she introduces the notion of musical affordances, and the musically extended mind (for a recent conference paper on this concept, see Joel Krueger’s “Musical Worlds and the Extended Mind.” (published in 2018, from a conference in 2016). 

And as it happens, the reason I’m writing this post, the reason I have a website at all is increasingly because it’s a useful place to offload things like this into the world, so my brain has more room to remember where my glasses are, and which bit of my bag I put my umbrella in. I also get tired of thinking “It’s like that bit in that book by whatshisname, it’s a concept called I can’t remember, I’m not sure where the book is.” Occasionally, when I go back to look, I find that I have misremembered or misinterpreted, but in this case, I’m delighted to see that it’s not the case. 



Music for ballet class, circa 1921

From Kosloff's "Russian Ballet Technique, As Taught", published 1921

From Kosloff’s “Russian Ballet Technique, As Taught”, published 1921

[update on 26/4/2018—broken link mended: click here for the full book at archive.org]

I just love simplicity like this – here’s a page, that’s right, a single page,  that tells you about as much as you need to know about what music goes with exercise in a ballet class. It’s from Russian Ballet Technique, As Taught, by Alexis Kosloff, and published in 1921, now made available for all by the wonderful Forgotten Books website. For teachers and pianists, it’s the quickest rough-guide I’ve ever seen. It’s very interesting, too, to see that the first thing Kosloff identifies is “3/4 (waltzes etc.) with mazurka feeling”. I wish someone had told me about that when I started out. As it is, it took me years to work it out (see this post), probably because the ballroom mazurka on which so many exercises are based, died out long ago without being revived: you have to dig it up to see what it looked like. I guessed you’d call that a kind of musical skeuomorph, would you?

Russian ballet technique, as taught fascinates me, because I’ve always been curious to know how bits of music end up in ballet classes and stay there. For example, I think there probably isn’t a ballet pianist in the world who doesn’t at some point play Quando m’en vo, O mio babbino caro, or Albeniz’s tango. And while we’re on the subject of tangos, I wonder where and how this thing about tangos for fondus come in? I keep thinking that one day, I’m going to unearth the ballet book that contained this piece, and we’ll know how it got into everyone’s repertoire, teachers and pianists alike. But while there are several pieces in Kosloff’s book that I recognise from my own or other pianists’ repertoires – amazing, after 93 years – that tango isn’t there, nor is the idea of doing a fondu on a tango. 

If you’ve got any clues on this subject, I’d love to know, because it really is strange. At the speed that most fondus go, there’s hardly a tango in the world that would be appropriate. I’m fairly certain of that, because when I was researching music for the RAD’s vocational graded syllabus, I searched through literally thousands of pieces of music, and was thrilled when I finally found two habañeras that work – one by Chabrier, and another by Messager [link to score only]. And that’s about it – there are other habañeras, like the Saint-Saëns one,  or the Ravel one, but you’d be hard pressed to make those work for class. Adios à Cuba and other pieces by Ignacio Cervantes are in the right style, but almost too poetic for a fondu – you’d want to stop and listen. So how did it start? And when? And why?

Meanwhile, if you’re on the hunt for free sheet music for ballet classes, this is a pretty good start.  It’s not foolproof – exercises and classes and terminologies have changed quite a bit in 90 years, but it’s there, and it’s free.