Prior to Anne’s and my seven-week performance (and walking, and BEER DRINKING) tour of the UK in May, we played a ragtime festival run by fabulous ragtimist (his word) Bob Milne that’s annually held in Frankenmuth, MI at the world-famous chicken restaurant, Zehnder’s. It’s always a great time; the pianos are top-notch, the food is plentiful, and the response is rapturous. Bob runs a loose ship; he calls himself “the Director who doesn’t direct” and pretty much allows us all to do anything we want as long as it’s in good taste. I’ve had the honor of being annually invited to perform for the past twenty five years. It happens every April and is worth a try if you’ve never made it before. You’ll be hooked!
(photo courtesy urbanauctions.ca)
I bring up this festival because a strange thing happened this year. I’ve been aware of people who have “perfect pitch,” including my dear pal pianist Brian Holland. For those who don’t know what that is, there are two definitions. The first is “the ability to name a note upon hearing it with no reference as to key or tonality.” That’s actually my definition, so let’s see how close I was. Going to Merriam-Webster, we find that people with perfect [or more technically “absolute”] pitch can “instantly identify each note or chord played without the benefit of a reference note.” Hey, I did OK. The second definition is “what someone has when they can chuck a banjo into a toilet without hitting the rim.” Yes, this is an old, hoary groaner and you’re cursing me for including it here (and our beloved editor for printing it) but it has historical precedence. Although not universal in Japan, in some dialects the Japanese word for “toilet” sounds identical to the word “banjo” (just to prove it, here it is: 便所).
I’ll focus on the first definition. I think being cursed with “absolute pitch” would be an absolute bitch. I’ve never met anyone who truly enjoys having this talent. One friend nearly went mad as she’d signed on to teach elementary school band (a situation which brings to mind another old joke: “How do you get two alto saxophonists to play a minor second? Ask them to play the same note.”). Phrases like “fingernails on a chalkboard” and “the musical Tower of Babel” have been offered to describe the condition—there’s no better descriptor)—of having perfect pitch. You see, in order for it to be pleasant, the pitches being pitched at you must be perfect, and that infrequently, if ever, happens. Luckily for us, to have perfect pitch is also rather rare. Many resources site that “one in 10,000 people” have perfect pitch. So, there’s a .01% chance you have it.
The (Perfect Pitch) Bases are Loaded
That’s what made this year’s Frankenmuth Ragtime Festival so strange. Somehow, in conversation the topic of “perfect pitch” came up. It might have been mentioned onstage by Dave Majchrzak, who like Anne and me, does NOT possess this trait. However it arose, THREE of the pianists at the musicians’ table, Bob Milne, Bill Edwards and Andrew Ratajczak soberly nodded in unison. I looked incredulously at them and commented, “Don’t tell me you all have perfect pitch.” As one, they turned their heads to me and I felt as if I’d slid into another dimension. Uncomfortably, I murmured, “I don’t.” To which they (again as one) heartily congratulated me on escaping such a dreadful fate. We got to talking about the trials of always hearing when things are wrong. Bob Milne’s situation is worse than most: he’s been studied by top brain researchers who have tested to see HOW true, or “absolute,” is his perfect pitch. With headphones on, he can listen to four symphonies at once and hear things like when a 2nd viola is a sixteenth tone flat. Who would want to be able to do that?
Far better is to have what’s commonly called good “relative” pitch. This skill can range from being able to accurately name a note or a chord—with a reference note or chord first provided—to hearing if someone is playing a piece in a different key than originally written (or usually performed) and being able to name the alternate key the musician has chosen to play that piece. I’ve played trombone for nearly 50 years, and as first position on the trombone (so slide all the way in towards the mouthpiece) has Bb as the prominent note—especially if you’re executing a glissando (you’d start from 6th position on an F note and slide up to Bb)—I’ve always been “in tune” with the note Bb. This doesn’t give me perfect pitch, but it provides me with a pretty solid reference point I can carry around with me.
Recently I started to sing a song and wanted to know what key I was in. I thought it was “Bb,” but Anne checked me with her tuning App and it was the key of Ab. What does this mean? I researched and discovered that one can lose their sense of pitch as one ages. I’m starting to sometimes hear with “irrelativity,” which is sharply concerning because that’s not even a word (but WHY isn’t it? You can have something that is “relative” or “irrelative” and we all know about the Theory of Relativity, thus I claim my Theory of Irrelativity stands!).
So then I wondered what the effect would be on people with perfect pitch. My research yielded an answer from a 2015 Masters of Arts Thesis written by Mary L. Bianco, who avers “losing Absolute Pitch (AP), informally known as Perfect Pitch, is a frightening, unnerving situation that many musicians find themselves facing as they reach their late fifties or early sixties.” As expected, Ms. Bianco offers a much more comprehensive definition (with copious examples) of perfect pitch:
“Having AP implies the following:
1. The ability to accurately name pitches played on various instruments
2. Immediate recognition of the key in which music is played
3. Quickly naming the tones of a given chord
4. Naming the pitch of everyday sounds such as church bells, horns, doorbells
5. Being able to sing a specific note on demand without reference to other sounds
6. Hearing what a piece will sound like by simply reading the notes or the entire score”
Now I can do some of these things. When a solo piano piece is being performed, I can usually name the key, but that’s because of the unique overtones being created, not because I “know” what key the tune’s in. I can (mostly) hear what a piano piece will sound like by simply reading the notes, but not an entire score. I can’t sing a specific tone on command or name what note a horn or doorbell is playing. Quality of chords I can hear: the Amtrak train whistle is always a dominant seventh chord (after noodling at the keyboard for a few seconds, I ascertained it’s “C7”).
Ms. Bianco goes on to share that sight impaired and autistic people have a far greater likelihood of having perfect pitch, as well as children of certain ethnicities (she cites children of “East Asian tonal languages such as Mandarin and Vietnamese” as being advantaged due to the musicality of their language: “it is almost a form of singing as they speak”).
Who are some famous musicians with perfect pitch?
In the classical realm, we have a partial list of Bach, Mozart, Handel, Beethoven (especially useful after he went deaf), Chopin, Bartok and Yo-Yo Ma. Rock and Pop stars include Jimmy Hendrix, Stevie Wonder, Barbra Streisand, Brian Wilson, Carol King and Mariah Carey. And jazz greats Bix Beiderbecke, Nat King Cole, Ella Fitzgerald, James P. Johnson, Art Tatum, Ray Charles, Oscar Peterson and Bing Crosby (who as his fame rose would always insist on doing only one take of a tune in a recording session, no matter the project or the number of accompanying musicians). Perhaps I have not possessing perfect pitch to blame for my never being as famous (or as talented) as any of them but I prefer to avow its my ADHD.
We can sometimes slide into the trap of romanticizing that which we don’t have. That afternoon in Frankenmuth, there was a sense from Bob, Bill, and Andrew that it might be all right if they didn’t have perfect pitch, but they’d each in their own way learned how to adapt to this facet of their lives and they all have very successful musical careers. I’m just glad I don’t have to worry about hearing so absolutely that every musical encounter is rife with cringeworthy sounds. Further, imagine working for someone with perfect pitch!! My great-great-grandfather was first cornetist for the March King, John Philip Sousa—who also had perfect pitch. Reportedly, my ancestor would play Herbert L. Clarke etudes while accompanying himself on piano with his feet!! He died from pneumonia at the age of 32 after leading the band through a parade while mounted on a snow white stallion in a raging rainstorm. I’m not sure if he had perfect pitch but his sense of timing couldn’t have been worse. Or, maybe he’d been out of tune enough that Sousa sent him out in the storm.
To those people living with perfect pitch, I hope you always find yourselves “in tune.” To those who don’t have it, come find me playing somewhere; you’re MY kind of audience!
