A master class is a class given to students of a particular discipline by an expert of that discipline—usually music, but also painting, drama, any of the arts, or on any other occasion where skills are being developed.
The difference between a normal class and a master class is typically the setup. In a master class, all the students (and often spectators) watch and listen as the master takes one student at a time. The student (typically intermediate or advanced, depending on the status of the master) usually performs a single piece which they have prepared, and the master will give them advice on how to play it, often including anecdotes about the composer, demonstrations of how to play certain passages, and admonitions of common technical errors. The student is then usually expected to play the piece again, in light of the master's comments, and the student may be asked to play a passage repeatedly to attain perfection. Master classes for musical instruments tend to focus on the finer details of attack, tone, phrasing, and overall shape, and the student is expected to have complete control of more basic elements such as rhythm and pitch. The value of the master class setup is that all students can benefit from the master's comments on each piece.
Masterclass is an American documentary television series airing on HBO. Each half-hour episode documents the experience of a small group of young artists working with a famous mentor. The series premiered on HBO on April 18, 2010 with opera star Plácido Domingo working with three aspiring young singers.
The students in the program are chosen from participants in the Miami-based organization, YoungArts, a program of the National Foundation for Advancement in the Arts, which supports emerging artists. The series is produced and directed by Karen Goodman and Kirk Simon of the Simon & Goodman Picture Company. The Executive Producer is Lin Arison.
See me, there, dying like all my brothers,
lying in my blood, right down at your feet.
Your empty eyes on me, without compassion
nor a single touch of feelings.
I beg you to help me,
but only nightstick strokes reply to my screams
I beg you to spare me
but only shotgun blasts reply to my screams...
What can I see in the distance?
An impassive mass of clowns
dressed up as cowboys playing superheroes,
pretending not to see... No fucking way!!
If I had black gold running through my veins
things would have been different.
See them playing big shots,
trying to rule us all with their crappy manifestos.
But we're well aware of their fucking aspirations
ruthlessly they try to bring the rebellion down to heel
How long again will they decimate my tribe?
Will you contemplate this genocide?
I beg you to help me, but everything I get is your
content...
What can I see in the distance?
An impassive mass of clowns
dressed up as cowboys playing superheroes,
pretending not to see... No fucking way!!
If I had black gold running through my veins
things would have been different.
They forced us to scatter,
forced to hide away,
from our makeshift village to run away.
Taking the touch of dignity we were left away.