I’m attempting to learn to speak French, with the aid of the Pittsburgh-based language learning company, Duolingo. I’ve been at it for a while, and don’t seem to be making tremendous progress - the responsibility for this lack of success is entirely mine, not Duolingo’s. Duolingo provides a mobile app, which heavily employs the “gamification” strategy, awarding points for accomplishing learning milestones, and patting you on the back for staying focused on your learning track - as an example, I have currently logged ninety-two straight days of completing at least one lesson per day. And, Duolingo highlights my current streak, upon completion of a lesson, which, in this age of “Everybody gets a trophy,” makes me feel as if I’ve accomplished something, when, deep down, I know I really haven’t accomplished much of anything at all.
Oh, sure, I can pretty reliably recognize that “chat” is French for cat, but, I cannot right now recall the word for dog. I have learned that “cheval” is the French word for horse, but I have precious few acquaintances who own horses, so, when visiting them in their homes, I can comment on their “chat,” but not on their “insert French word for dog here;” and, the subject of their horse rarely comes up, because, you know, very few of them own horses.
I should point out that this round is not my first foray into learning to speak French. As a University of Michigan student some years ago, my son was dating a young lady from France. One chilly January day in Ann Arbor, I happened to be driving them somewhere. And, in order to make conversation, I pointed to the gloves she was wearing, and asked her the French word for gloves. She replied, “le gants.” So, my fluency in French is apparent not only in naming domestic animals (except for that pesky dog), but also in identifying specific winter weather accessories. Incidentally, I’m sure there are videos on Youtube featuring cats wearing gloves, right? Hilarious! Not as funny as, say, a couple of grandsons suiting-up on the golf course with head covers, and pretending as if they were boxers (as pictured below), but amusing nonetheless.
It occurs to me that, having learned to read music many years ago, and playing in numerous bands and orchestras for years, I have gained at least a passing familiarity with the Italian language. How so? you may ask. Take a look at the page of music posted just below.
Included in this piece of music are a number of Italian words indicating directions regarding tempo, mood, or expression. The phrase reflected over the very first measure, “Andante molto e misterioso” (“Andante” is here abbreviated to be “And-te”), reads, “at a moderately slow tempo, and very mysterious.” The next phrase, “poco a poco animato” indicates the music is to be played “animatedly, little by little.” The bottom set of measures includes, “crescendo” (abbreviated to “cresc.”), which instructs the player that the music should become “gradually louder;” this instruction is further reinforced by the addition of a “<“ sign. Similarly, the final measure pictured includes the instruction, “diminuendo” (“dim.” is the abbreviation), including a “>” sign, which as you might suppose, indicates that the music should become “gradually softer.” “Rallentando” (abbreviated to be “rall.”) indicates that the tempo of the music should “slow down.”
Many common musical terms speak to the tempo, or pace, of a piece. Examples include: “adagio” (slow); “allegro” (fast); and “moderato” (do I really need to explain this one?). And, placing either an “etto,” or an “issimo” on the end of one of these terms softens, or heightens the term - i.e. “allegretto” means moderately fast; and “allegrissimo” means very fast. “Prestissimo” means extremely fast - in order to play at that speed you must be strapped in.
How loud a piece is to be played is represented by gradations, beginning with “Pianississimo” (as soft as possible), reflected with three small “p’s,” and traveling gradually louder (through the two “p’s” and past the one small “p” into the “mezzo’s” (i.e. mezzo piano, and mezzo forte, and into the forte’s, concluding with “fortississimo” (as loud as possible), reflected with three small “f’s.”
Other old favorites include: “sforzando” (suddenly accented), denoted by “sfz,” and “pizzacato” (plucked with a finger rather than bowed) - this one is restricted to the violins and other stringed instruments - difficult to follow this order on a trumpet, or a clarinet, or a bassoon, and “staccato” (shortened and sharply separated notes).
Mood is also dictated by these Italian terms. We’ve seen “misterioso” and “animato” reflected in the musical excerpt above, but others include: “maestoso” (majestic), “doloroso” (sorrowful), and “con amore” (with love). As Steve Martin might have suggested years ago, “Those Italians have a different word for everything!”
Other terms appear to have been influenced by the Mafia, particularly, “Da Capo al Fine” (repeat from the beginning to the word “Fine”), reflected as “D.C. al Fine.” As you might imagine, “Fine” means the end. “D.C. al Fine” has a rather ominous tone about it, no? Who is this “Capo” and just what, exactly, have I done that causes him to want me to come to a sudden end.
Now, I realize that my exposure to the Italian language in the form of musical notation may not provide me with a broad-enough vocabulary to, say, seek directions to the Colosseum in Rome, or order the Bolognese in a restaurant in Naples, or locate a hotel in Venice, and it probably doesn’t even equip me to comment on someone’s cat, or even on someone’s horse, but I would be able to offer informed opinions on the music being played by the orchestra: Ah, nice sforzando!
I don’t believe that gamification and musicification are the only two methods available to those wishing to learn a foreign language. Might I suggest “Cashification?” In fact, cold hard cash just might provide me with the proper motivation to learn a foreign language. . .and, remember the French word for dog.
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