Maria Curcio remembered
Matthew Schellhorn recalls his teacher, the extraordinary pedagogue Maria Curcio.
Most professional musicians cringe when they think back to themselves as youngsters attempting music they now perform regularly – and I am no exception. Yet many also confess they would love to experience their lessons again.
I recently had such an experience, through my involvement in a research project at the Royal Academy of Music in London. The project set out to document the recollections of pupils of the remarkable piano pedagogue Maria Curcio, who died in 2009. During an interview, I remembered that one of the masterclasses I attended at Chetham’s School of Music, before beginning regular private lessons with Maria, had been recorded – an unusual occurrence given the intensely private nature of my former teacher.
After some rummaging through my belongings I found the tape, though I no longer had the equipment to play it. Thanks to what is now fairly commonplace technology, I was able to transfer the cassette to computer and, twenty-three years on, hear both myself and Maria once again.
As far as is known, this recording – made on 10 March 1993, when I was 16 and she was 76 – is the only surviving audio of Maria’s teaching apart from a BBC Scotland documentary (Fulfilling a Legacy, 2009). Two commercial recordings of her performances exist, and there is no shortage of written hagiography, but primary sources remain exceptionally scarce.
My relationship with this tape is complicated, and having now heard it, I understand why.
At first I thought my reluctance stemmed from embarrassment at my own playing. In fact, the recording proves an invaluable document of Maria’s teaching. Precisely because I was not fully in control of the music, one hears her incisive views on how to improve it.
The recording also offers a poignant opportunity to reflect on how one’s own teaching is shaped by the methods of others.
And it shows, too, just how ‘intense’ lessons with Maria could be – as research confirms, my experience was not unique. This raises broader questions about which methodologies are appropriate for different age groups, and which should be sanctioned by educational institutions.
Happily, the tape also preserves Maria’s own playing, revealing the extraordinarily crystalline and scintillating piano tone she could produce.
I am sharing this recording so others may hear in detail how Maria Curcio – pupil of Artur Schnabel and Nadia Boulanger – conveyed her musicianship to those she taught.
And, despite the negative feelings I once had about that intense public lesson, perhaps now that the tape has been aired I may yet perform Beethoven’s Opus 54 in public again.
I recently had such an experience, through my involvement in a research project at the Royal Academy of Music in London. The project set out to document the recollections of pupils of the remarkable piano pedagogue Maria Curcio, who died in 2009. During an interview, I remembered that one of the masterclasses I attended at Chetham’s School of Music, before beginning regular private lessons with Maria, had been recorded – an unusual occurrence given the intensely private nature of my former teacher.
After some rummaging through my belongings I found the tape, though I no longer had the equipment to play it. Thanks to what is now fairly commonplace technology, I was able to transfer the cassette to computer and, twenty-three years on, hear both myself and Maria once again.
As far as is known, this recording – made on 10 March 1993, when I was 16 and she was 76 – is the only surviving audio of Maria’s teaching apart from a BBC Scotland documentary (Fulfilling a Legacy, 2009). Two commercial recordings of her performances exist, and there is no shortage of written hagiography, but primary sources remain exceptionally scarce.
My relationship with this tape is complicated, and having now heard it, I understand why.
At first I thought my reluctance stemmed from embarrassment at my own playing. In fact, the recording proves an invaluable document of Maria’s teaching. Precisely because I was not fully in control of the music, one hears her incisive views on how to improve it.
The recording also offers a poignant opportunity to reflect on how one’s own teaching is shaped by the methods of others.
And it shows, too, just how ‘intense’ lessons with Maria could be – as research confirms, my experience was not unique. This raises broader questions about which methodologies are appropriate for different age groups, and which should be sanctioned by educational institutions.
Happily, the tape also preserves Maria’s own playing, revealing the extraordinarily crystalline and scintillating piano tone she could produce.
I am sharing this recording so others may hear in detail how Maria Curcio – pupil of Artur Schnabel and Nadia Boulanger – conveyed her musicianship to those she taught.
And, despite the negative feelings I once had about that intense public lesson, perhaps now that the tape has been aired I may yet perform Beethoven’s Opus 54 in public again.
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