Forms and Structure: Why does it matter?

 Recently I was accompanying an advanced level violinist, one I had heard play multiple times and knew to be highly skilled. She was working on a Mozart sonata, and as we worked, I discovered that she did not know what sonata form was. She didn't know when she was playing in the exposition, the development, or the recapitulation. 

   It didn't affect her playing. 

   Which got me thinking: Why does it matter? Why should students know whether they're playing a sonata form, a rondo, or a theme and variations? Isn't it enough that they just make music, play with expression, and give glory to God and pleasure to their audience (and themselves)? 

   I had to backtrack and think of my younger self. 

   Once upon a time, I played sonatas without actually knowing what a sonata was. I knew they generally had three movements. But for the most part, sonatas and rondos were simply boring names that Classical composers gave their pieces, names that gave me the liberty to invent my own stories to go along with the pieces I was playing. 

   What changed? My very last teacher showed me a different way of thinking, one I'm going to try and explain here to the best of my ability. The words are mine. The concepts are not. I'm passing on, as best as I can, the ideas taught me. 

   An artist -- I'm talking about a painter, someone who sketches, a graphic designer, etc. -- can put together something and make it look good, but they will do better if they understand the basics of composition, e.g. the rule of thirds (which is the only composition principle I know!). A writer can put together a good story, but they'll do better and find it easier if they are following the three-act plot. 

   A musician, on the other hand, thinks they can get away with not understanding structure. After all, they're not the ones composing the music. They just play it. The composers, sure, they should probably understand structure. But we're not the composers. We're not doing something original. We're just following what's already written.

   That was my attitude for years. But it's an incorrect one. In a sense, it turns the performer into "not-a-real-artist." 

   Why is it incorrect?

   Because the performer is a co-creator with the composer. Now, if that sounds mystical, it's not. Here I'm not talking about the Divine Creator of the universe, but simply referring to someone who makes something new using their imagination. You could also say that the performer and their instrument are partners with the composer of the music they perform. 

   When my last teacher taught me this, I remember him saying something to the effect of, "So you play the piece as if you don't know what's coming next. You think about what you would do if you were the composer. Then you compare it with what the composer actually did." It's an invaluable technique for tapping into the heart of the music, understanding the composer's mind, what he wanted in the music. That is what makes a performer every ounce as much an artist as the painter or the writer, or even the composer himself. The music becomes your own, not merely something you can do by rote. 

   And, as you might have guessed, you can do this much better if you understand form. If you understand chords and cadences. If you know the building blocks that you and the composer are using to make this music. 

   That's why sonata form matters. 

P.S. and completely irrelevant: I'm taking a two-week sabbatical from blogging and social media. I'll be back with more music thoughts in a couple weeks!