I'm currently reading (and loving) Elizabeth Hawes' book Fashion is Spinach about her life as a much-sought-after clothing designer in Paris and New York in the early part of the last century. In the book, Hawes describes her early years in Paris working as a "sketcher" for one of the many "copy houses" all over Paris. A word of explanation: "Copy houses," as they were called, were small under-the-radar operations that basically stole the designs of the major labels such as Chanel, Patou and Vionnet each season. How did they do this? By a most ingenious technique.
In the 1920s, Elizabeth Hawes could sometimes be commissioned to sketch (copy) as many as 150 new designs for memory after only one visit to a showroom. And at $1.50 per sketch guaranteed, she was able to make a healthy living. Her sketches were then turned over to a whole team of pattern makers who would then work to copy the sketch.
In the book, Hawes remarks: "I did not for one moment consider the ethics of the matter. I had come to Paris for one thing: to learn about designing clothes. I was convinced, then and now, the best way to learn was by working in the field." And, presumably, by learning from the best. By copying them.
In music, copying has historically been a common means of educating young composers. Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven were all accustomed to this tradition, having been instructed often to transcribe, note for note, an entire symphonic creation they'd only just heard for the first time.
I remember back in my early days as a composition student, while working at the Santa Fe Opera one summer, its founding Director John Crosby once gave me a wonderful extra gig, which I completed on the side, after my House Manager duties were complete. It was the company's 30th anniversary celebration and at the gala, the pit orchestra was going to play some suitably festive music. In place of the usual guys who graced the music stands such as Strauss, Mozart and Bizet, on this night the orchestra musicians would be playing the likes of Fats Waller and Duke Ellington.
But this music did not exist in an arrangement for opera orchestra. Mr. Crosby assigned me the task of "gala orchestrator." It was a plum assignment. For, just as Hawes had done with her sketching, I was able to "copy" from the masters, and learn a hell of lot about phrasing, melody and harmony, not to mention orchestration when Maestro Crosby would question one of my unorthodox choices. "You're giving that vocal line to the oboe? Really?"
Copying is a much maligned and barely examined means of education. In days gone by, it was commonplace for grammar school students to be forced to memorize poems and perform them for their classmates. I am doubtful this method survives today.
Perhaps it should be revived.
[ed note: Elizabeth Hawes was the great aunt of E.C. pal and talented musician, Gordon Smith, of The Wavos band.]
