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How it all came to be
One day on the internet i stumbled upon a curiously sounding name: Kaikhosru Shapurji Sorabji. I then investigated, and thus learned about a reclusive British composer who lived in the 20c. The context hinted that there might be some merit to the music, so i gave it a try, those were the first couple of minutes from Fiero, ardito movement of Opus Archimagicum, performed by Yi-Chung Huang.
I did not understand the music the first time. Still, it’s complexity was alluring. I’d been somewhat prejudiced to well known classical music prior. My experience with it had been limited, and most of what i knew felt too contrived. Sorabji with his polyrhytms and unconventional harmonies sounded very sincere, almost uncreated.
Driven by my newly ignited desire to better understand his music i dived right into the whole field of academic piano music. While i had absolutely no history of going to any music school and despite being 43 i eventually even decided to dedicate enough time to learning the piano, with the minimal goal of eventually learning to sight read so that i could ‘play’ still unperformed works by Sorabji in my head.
I also started listening to massive amounts of piano music, by Sorabji, by composers he succeeded like Alkan, Busoni and Scriabin, all the way back to Bach, as well as other music. And of course, i started reading on music theory and history as well.
How Sorabji’s music transmuted my spirit
After initially being overwhelmed with Opus Archimagicum i began listening to Sorabji more and to more Sorabji too. The music touched me so deeply that i started feeling intrinsically bound with it. As if someone miraculously saw how thoughts unravel in my head, observed me for a while from inside my head, and then composed music about it. The music eventually put me in a lasting contemplative state as if i withdrew from the tumultuous surface of the ocean of my mind into the depths.
Sorabji is usually misunderstood due to complexity and lengthiness of his works, listeners perplexed by the technical aspects tend to ignore the imaginative and emotional richness his music is imbued with. His biography and quite a few myths that have been perpetuated over time turned him into a meme. Thanks to a cohort of pianists like Yi-Chong Huang, Abel Sánchez-Aguilera and others the myth about the purported unplayability of his music is gradually being dispelled, and the detailed biography Opus Sorabjianum by Marc-André Roberge as well as its companion Sorabji Resource Site help to dispel the myths about his persona and his biography, alas, still being not as memetic and thus less known.
Of course my progressive understanding of Sorabji’s music is evolving, but the starting point is this: it is a pinnacle of evolution of the Western music that have not at some point decided to completely cut off its roots and shatter into a multitude of facets of modern avantgarde music, be it the Second Viennese School’s alternative harmony, introduction of electronic music by Stockhausen or even total reduction to performance as happened with Cage. Sorabji instead borrows graciously from the tradition, evolving it to hardly imaginable limitlessness, and still his music continues to be deeply human.
Opening one’s mind to complexity
There are two approaches to encounters with new things, one can approach them from the ground view or from the fruit view. With the former you start from the basics, slowly and gradually building your knowledge until you have mastery of it (or quit). I learned to prefer the latter approach though, when you throw yourself right at the result, then explore the areas you lack in, and then build your learning process around making up for your deficiencies. For example, when i attempted learning Japanese calligraphy, instead of learning block style first, then moving to semicursive, then finally to cursive, I began by practicing cursive and then returned to basic strokes when i needed it. When i attempt learning a new language, i begin with comprehensible input, and then fill in the gaps in grammar knowledge. Consequently, when i encountered Sorabji’s music, instead of unwinding the whole history of music and beginning with solfege and counterpoint, i dived right into the complexity. One essential skill this method requires is feeling fine about not knowing or not understanding something. It makes you appreciate the subject of your learning even though you cannot fully grasp it, and enlightens you with the truth that any understanding is in fact a path, not a single effect producing act.
You still need to learn the basics eventually of course, and i quickly realised i’d even need practical piano skills, even though i most probably won’t have enough time this lifetime to ever perform something as technically demanding as Opus Archimagicum, even in part. This does not discourage me though. Even if after decades of practice i can convincingly play Nocturne: Djâmi it will be worth the effort. And if for some reason i decide to quit midway, it would still be a beautiful page in my personal history.
Conclusion
It is hard to write about music. Maybe i also need to practice more. So let this text be the beginning of this practice and also the preliminary explanation of where this endeavour is going and what is it about.