A Pianist's Christmas: Myra Hess Plays Bach

     Myra Hess (1890-1965) plays her very famous arrangement of Bach's Chorale "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring." Listen and watch here: Myra Hess 

Her favorite anecdote relating to "Jesu, Joy" concerned a British soldier who whistled it on a train during the war. 

    "Are you interested in Bach?," the soldier was asked by a journalist.

    "No," he answered.

    "But you are whistling a Bach composition," the newsman insisted.

    "That's no Bach," he replied indignantly. "That's Myra Hess."

    (From Marian McKenna's "Myra Hess -- A Portrait")

in 1921

I have had a life-long appreciation of Dame Myra. I first heard her name when I was a boy of ten. She was still active on the concert stage, indeed she was still playing as I approached my mid-college years. I never had the opportunity to hear her live, though my teachers often referred to her—she was a presence in the musical world.

  As an adult, I became aware of her heritage. She had been from the age of twelve a pupil in London of Tobias Matthay and it was under his supervision that she made her professional debut at the age of seventeen with Sir Thomas Beecham in the Beethoven Fourth Concerto at the Royal Albert Hall. 

    Matthay is credited with the observation that the forearm is of primary importance in efficient piano technique. Watch her hands on the keys. One can't always see what's going on underneath the technique, but in her case notice how "closed" her hands are and hear the well-focused sound she produces. Dorothy Taubman was the next to take up Matthay's ideas on forearm rotation and run with them, and it's Taubman's research that informs my own playing, teaching and writing.

Lunchtime Concert

   

     In addition to her artistry, Hess is remembered for her bravery and public service during WWII. Because of the nighttime blackouts, she organized nearly 2000 daily 
lunchtime concerts that took place during the German blitz. These took place at the national Gallery in Trafalgar Square. During bombing, the concerts moved to a smaller, safer room. The concerts served as an opportunity for emerging artists to perform alongside established artists, including Hess, who took no fees for herself. Nearly one million people attended these events during the six-and-a-half years of the war. She personally appeared in 150 performances.

    Her students, the Contiguglia brothers, report the following in an interview: "I want to just say a few more words about turning pages for her because it was really an extraordinary experience. One experience was turning when she did the Mozart E-Flat Concerto K. 271 with the New Haven Symphony, and I remember it was a memorable performance, simply beautiful. It stirred my emotions and made it very difficult to turn, but at the end of the finale she turned to the audience, because they wouldn’t let her leave, and she said ‘you know, the slow movement of this concerto was one of the most beautiful things that Mozart ever wrote, I would like to repeat it’, and so she went and played the slow movement again with the orchestra, and then she turned to me and said ‘that time it worked’.

    "She was so human and she seemed to value the  impression that her page-turner had from her concert. Of course, I was so moved that I wondered whether I was ever going to be able to turn pages, but I managed. I like to think of Myra Hess as being a sort of platonic ideal. You know, she represented an artistry that all the rest of us aspired to. Of course we never can achieve what she was, but it is an ideal, a platonic ideal, for me; this is the way perfection is.

Official Portrait, National Gallery

     "I remember that the last Carnegie Hall recital that we heard her perform, she did the last three Beethoven sonatas; Opus 109, Opus 110 – one sonata was just more magisterial than the next. When she finished Opus 111, there was total silence in that sold-out house, not one single clap, nobody said anything and nobody made a sound, and finally after an inordinately long time the entire audience rose to its feet, still silently, and then burst out into tumultuous applause. And that’s the effect a Myra Hess recital had, at least on an American audience."

If you have time, here's a live radio broadcast from 1946:

Dame Myra Hess & Arturo Toscanini: Beethoven Piano Concerto No.3 (pitch-corrected)

If you have still more time:

Brahms 2nd Concerto, live, Carnegie Hall, 1952, with Bruno Walter 

If you would like to hear more, select the "Listen" tab above and scroll down to the Brahms D Minor Concerto with Dimitri Metropolis.

Piano Pedagogy: What's Up With Method Books?

   

    Some months ago, a pedagogy student asked if I could name three method books. Well, it's been decades since I taught piano pedagogy, but I pointed out that to the best of my knowledge there is really no such thing as a methodbook. These days they tend to be in series and include tangential materials such as theory, contest pieces and general repertoire.                    

        

All of this I related while racking my brain for some titles. The most recent I knew of at that time was by a professor at the University of Utah written by Reid Nibley, a competent pianist but inept teacher. I know this from personal experience. Another title that popped into my mind was by Leila Fletcher. And if you know that name, you probably should be retired by now, though I see some of her volumes are available as relics. Her approach relied heavily on middle C and was criticized for that. Naturally, that was the one I chose to use when I took the required pedagogy course as an undergraduate—this 

despite the teacher's disdain. (I was a minor rebel at that time.) Then, there was the method assigned to me when I began my own piano studies. It was called "The Adult at the Piano," by Bernice Frost, published in 1949.  (I know.) Naturally, as a ten-year-old I was flattered by the title. 

    Ms Frost was a well-know writer and pedagogue from New York who had come to Los Angeles to teach a summer class at USC. The class was designed to demonstrate to university piano majors methods of teaching piano in groups. It was in my view at the time—and in hindsight—enormously effective. I thrived. Even my older brother relished the easy diminished seventh chords he could splash up and down the piano, that is until he discovered football. And of course, my mother was thrilled because the class was free.

The Adult at the Piano by Bernice Frost, Book 1, First Piece
Screen Grab

    I was able to locate on Ebay volume one of Frost's method. It is being offered for sale at $39, an antique to be sure. (For the new copy, I probably paid $.75 at most.) It is missing its pale green cover (I remember!), but the still-familiar font drew me instantly back to that WWII barracks on the USC campus where we dozen or so students began our piano study. We sat two to an upright and I, for one, reveled in the roar we could create.

    Notice that the method begins already with one sharp. The grand staff with its mysterious clefs challenged us right from the beginning. Introduced without fanfare are slurs, a single left-hand note in each phrase and even pedal. There are half and whole-note rests, a time signature and a tempo indication. And notice, too, the absence of stories, cute pictures or bold colors. Of course, we adults required no such handicaps.

  Today, there are many imaginative methods for younger beginners, who are of course attracted to cuteness and bold colors. The list is endless: Alfred, Bastien, Faber & Faber are very popular and probably effective. They are decorated with images that, to my eye, seem cluttered and distracting. But then I'm probably too old. (I have to find a young person to show me how to use my iPhone.) Interestingly, Suzuki, also very popular, has few or none of the distractions. (I've noticed that students who come up through the Suzuki method often possess significant skill and a strong work ethic, but often have difficulty reading music.) I like the no-nonsense approach, though, "notes and rhythms r'us." So much single-line rote playing is problematic.

       I once took a studio class in oil painting. It was supposed to be for beginners, but more experienced artists were also admitted. The first assignment was to paint something. Presumably then the teacher would come around and critique. What!? That's a bit like telling the beginning piano student at his first lesson to play something. I'm here to suggest, ever so gently, that we teachers focus on the how to as well as the what. It almost doesn't matter what materials the teacher chooses. It could be published books, colorful or not, or materials of the teacher's own creation. I propose, even with young children, that an introduction to how the body works at the piano should be included, no matter how minimal, along with the score. (This was not possible in a group setting.) Children, of course, usually respond better with gesture than they do with cascades of words. This approach will direct the teacher to each student's particular technical needs right from the beginning. The technique will be attached to the notes and the music. Naming method books is really not all that important.

    But I have another reason to look back fondly to my piano beginnings. I learned to see what's on the

page, to read. There was nothing but the music to attract my attention. This may be something to consider when choosing a method book. Sometimes I'm asked how I learned to sight-read tolerably well. By sight-read I refer to the ability to make music at first sight, accurately and in tempo including whatever is on the page. There is not really a definitive answer, of course. I can speculate, though, that having such a start contributed. It is likely, too, that I am among those who are oriented visually, and during my developmental years I was called upon to produce results in the moment, working with other musicians in church and in school.

    I encourage us all to consider the needs of the student. Does she respond best to cartooned pages or is he an adult at the piano? Should we turn to the shelf to grab what is easy, or do we devise our own materials? Are we astute enough to spot potential physical problems and should we intervene gently by touch, or is it best to let it ride for awhile? Teaching is a joyous challenge at all levels, and if we resist the urge to take the easy way out by making arbitrary choices of method, it can even be more rewarding.

    For more reading, have a look here:

Piano Technique Demystified

The "Valkyrie"of the Piano"

 

    A show of hands, please. Who can name the great virtuoso pianist, singer, conductor and composer from Venezuela, born in 1853, who enjoyed an international career and hobnobbed with the likes of Rossini, Gounod and Liszt, among many others? Who also played at the White House for Abraham Lincoln? Who performed under conductors Gustav Mahler, Hans von Bülow and Edvard Grieg? Who counted among her (oops) four husbands Eugen d'Albert?

    When I think of great female pianists who conquered the largely male world of concert pianists, I usually think of Clara Schumann, who was indeed the first, but not the only. Teresa Carreño was a truly remarkable woman. I highly recommend taking a look at this video presented by KUSC: Open Ears

    There exists a Welte Mignon piano roll from 1905, which purports to be an accurate representation of her playing Chopin's first Ballade. You can listen to it here: G Minor Ballade. The brilliant passages seem artificially fast to me. You be the judge.

Playing Softly on the Piano: Does Banging Out the Notes Help?

 

    A pianist writes:  "My piano has a heavy action  and tone production is a challenge - either too loud

  Hans von Bülow

 or no sound. I found this comment from Hans von Bülow (writing on Chopin's etude Op. 25 No. 2): 'That an ideal pianissimo, an accentless equality, can only be the result of loud and strongly accentuated practice, needs no explanation.' I find this works like magic - I don't even have to do it for very long. My question is: Is there any other solution to this problem?"

     

    My answer:  Yes, there is another solution. Let me say first, though, that if you've found something that works, I don't want to be the one who takes that away from you. However, what you describe sounds as if you are practicing X in order to achieve Y. This is the long way around the barn. 

     Hans von Bülow was a very distinguished pianist and conductor of the nineteenth century. A student of Franz Liszt, he was the first to perform Liszt's B Minor sonata. I find myself wondering how Mr. von Bülow came to the conclusion he reached. He was a child prodigy and likely had many natural gifts, perhaps only later attempting to figure out what it was he did. My correspondent finds that over-playing works for him. This leads me to think that it is more the working-in, the learning of the notes that is involved here. Playing with extra weight does not teach the playing apparatus what it feels like to play with the correct weight.

    When pianists have trouble controlling dynamics at the lower end, it is usually because they resort to fingers only, cutting off the forearm, which is the limb that controls downward weight.  Arm weight, by the way, is the result of a forearm rotation into the key; it is not an up and down movement. (For a demonstration of forearm rotation, see under the iDemos tab.) Even in soft playing, we still have to depress the key to just beyond the point of sound, where the finger is at rest. (I can hear my teacher now, "Dear, the piano is down.") The softer dynamic is controlled by applying less forearm weight, not by withholding it, resorting to fingers only. This is like walking on eggshells. Again, we don't change the way we depress the key when changing the dynamic.

    The action of a piano should not feel "heavy." Legend has it that when choosing a concert piano, Martha Argerich blows on the keys to test its response. If your piano is not well-regulated, your attempts to control lower dynamic levels may be thwarted because each key has a different point of sound. 

Heads Up, Teachers: New Piano Music

      We pianists have an advantage over other musicians. We command a wide range of sonorities and, well, a wide range of pitches. It's no wonder then, that so many composers come from a keyboard background. I've always felt that piano students who explore composition have an added insight into the innards of music, giving them a leg up in the profession.

I'm happy to announce that an emerging piano
student of mine, Carlos Gardels, is also an emerging composer of music for piano. (No, I don't teach composition.) He has recently published "Three Fantasies," available through Theodore Presser (Presser). Teachers who participate in festivals and competitions are always on the lookout for the "American" category or the "Modern" category. Have a look at these imaginative, lyrical excursions into "fantastical escapes from reality."

     You can listen to the composer's demos here: Prelude, Cosmic Lullaby, Intermezzo

Anton Arensky Variations on a Theme of Tchaikovsky for Piano, Four Hands

Reduced from $9.00 to $5.84

      As part of a continuing effort to help pianists expand their experience of music beyond the eighty-eight keys, I offer this volume of exhilarating Romanticism. It's one thing to listen, but quite another to work out musical issues with a partner to explore more deeply into the nuts and bolts of the music. And partnerships help develop listening and sight-reading skills. So what's not to like?

    This set of variations is the celebrated string-orchestra composition by one of Russia's most romantic composers, which I've transcribed for piano, four hands. Here you will find idiomatic piano figures that are both easy and somewhat challenging. 

     The variations began life as the slow movement of Arensky's String Quartet No. 2 in A minor, Op. 35, for the unusual scoring of violin, viola, and 2 cellos. Written in 1894, the year after the death of Tchaikovsky, it is a tribute to that composer. The theme is from the song "Legend," the fifth of Tchaikovsky's sixteen Children's Songs, Op. 54. Tchaikovsky's song was inspired by a poem  called "Roses and Thorns" by the American poet Richard Henry Stoddard. At the first performance of Arensky's quartet, the slow movement was so well received that Arensky soon arranged it as a separate piece for string orchestra, Op. 35a, in which form it has remained among the most popular of all Arensky's works.

    Visit Amazon to have a look:

    Arensky                                                                      

      
    Some piano folks are understandably not very familiar with this Russian composer from the Romantic era, as he did not write extensively for piano. So, here is a recording of the original version for string orchestra:

Listen here: Arensky Variations 

Enslavement to the Notation: Chopin Preludes 1 and 8

 

     A student pianist cites a "raging debate" as to whether the thumb note in Chopin's Prelude No. 8 should be held.  Some debaters were of the opinion that "in all Chopin, notes are to be physically held for their notated duration." No sources were cited. Others insisted that Chopin himself would not have held the notes. The student wants my opinion as to whether Chopin said anything definitive about this issue of holding notes. 

Chopin's Prelude No. 8

     This issue is at the heart of many (most?) technical problems that uninformed pianists suffer. It is about enslavement to the notation, particularly in music of the romantic period and beyond (I include Beethoven, particularly in his late period). My mantra: The score tells us what the music sounds like, not how it feels in our hands. To my knowledge, Chopin is not on record as having said "don't hold those notes." He did say, however, over and over again, that "flexibility" and "freedom" are of extreme importance. 

     I can't imagine he would have held down those notes. Their lengths and melodic importance are indicated with the quality of sound. To the nay sayers I would point out that in Prelude No. 8 as well as Prelude No. 1, Chopin has indicated pedal for the entire measure. Holding down both the note and the pedal seems to me like two jobs where one will suffice. I opt for the easier one, the one that gives me freedom.

Chopin's Prelude No. 1

After the Piano Method Books: Some Thoughts for Piano Teachers

    Let's say our young piano student has sailed through one of the many available method books series. He/she is equipped with basic reading skills and has experience in various keys up to, perhaps, one or two flats or sharps. There will no doubt have been some introduction to basic technical issues such as hand position, posture and the correct use of the thumb in an octave scale. They will have learned to open the hand beyond the five-finger position and mastered Alberti figures. We've closed the back cover of the final volume. Now what?

    If there were a choice between mind-numbing exercises of the sort written by Carl Czerny or musical morsels by, say, Mozart, whom would you choose? Oh, dear. I think I may have revealed my predilection.

 There has long been a tendency by teachers to reach for a volume of exercises by Czerny and his ilk, largely I think, because it is convenient. Scales, arpeggios and Alberti figures all lined up in regular progression so that little or no thought on the part of the teacher is required. The idea here is repetition. Not so much in order to learn the correct approach to the various techniques, but rather to build "strength," "independence" and "endurance." (I've written at length about these concepts elsewhere in these pages.) If we accept the fact these non-productive, even destructive ideas are not our goals, then why play these exercises at all? (If you are of the stretch-pull-ouch school of playing, then never mind.) If we understand the technical requirements of each exercise and can therefore play them correctly, there is no need to play them at all.

    In the first exercise of the (in)famous Op. 740, Czerny gives us repeated five-finger patterns, first in the left hand, then in the right. (I would be glad to know if any of you readers have come across such a passage in a piece of music.) I suppose this

is about endurance? Endurance equals strength training, so we don't need it. Is it about evenness? We know how to shape passages over and under to accommodate the different finger lengths, so once applied and worked-in, all this repetition is a waste of time. (Select the iDemos tab above for a shaping demonstration.) The composer tells us this is about the "action of the fingers, the quiet hand." In other words, he separates the fingers from the hand. Ow!

    I would rather spend my time on something like this (Mozart. Nine Pieces for Piano KV Anh. 270):

or:

Yes, there is more to coordinate between the hands, but the effort will result in a useable piece of music. And there are many more such examples to be found for students at different levels.

    Finally, I think it's misguided to think in terms of teaching particular techniques set apart from music: now we'll do five-finger patterns, scale passages, arpeggio passages, two-note slurs—you name it. These techniques can be taught within the context of the music when they come up. Then we extract the new concept from the movement and make mini-etudes of them. How can we make music of we're enduring something?

    

    

Is Czerny a Prerequisite to Liszt?

    

A pianist writes that she is trying to "improve her piano playing." She states that Chopin etudes are" in her grasp" but wants to know how to "take the leap to Liszt's etudes." Pianist Vladimir Pleshakov responds correctly that there is "no mythical ladder" providing a rung by rung ascent to Parnassum. Pardon my reference to Muzio Clementi of Gradus fame.*

   

Czerny is not a prerequisite to anything. Well-meaning though he may have been, his one-thousand plus etudes designed to "strengthen" the fingers or increase "independence" provide little more than a distraction from the real work of working out technical issues in and learning concert repertoire. Remember, he was himself a celebrated prodigy, having made his debut at age nine in a performance of Mozart's C minor concerto. This begs the question, what etudes did he study? I speculate that, since he was a "natural" and doubtless had few if any technical issues, his etudes written for others less fortunate than he were the result of speculation on his part. And incidentally, there was money to be made.

   

Now, gentle reader, before sending me hate mail, consider this. The configurations in the Czerny studies can be found in standard Classical repertoire. Why not practice them there. You can, of course, play as many studies as you want, but you will only have learned to play studies. You will not automatically be able to play Liszt or Chopin. If the original poster can already "grasp" Chopin etudes, there is no reason to suppose she would not be able to move on to Liszt without first wasting time running around the barn. (If you are a regular reader of my essays, you know that we pianists don't train for physical strength and that the fingers are not and never will be independent of one another, though they can be made to sound as if.) 

    When I was a graduate student, I overheard one of my very accomplished colleagues practicing scales and advanced studies. They were flawless. When she emerged from her studio, I asked her why. She said she enjoyed it. That, my friends, is the only reason to play Czerny studies.

    Note: Major and melodic minor Scales have to be learned as a matter of keyboard topography and keyboard harmony. Once fluent, with hands together at a moderate tempo, it is not particularly helpful as a matter of technique to drill them endlessly. As a matter of convenience in the beginning stages, it may be useful to use some of the five-finger patterns in Czerny or elsewhere. Even so, these patterns can also be found in early sonatinas and other beginning pieces. If used as "etudes", these patterns will provide a head start on future repertoire.

*Gradus ad Parnassum (1817) by Muzio Clementi. It means "steps to mastery." Parnassus is a mountain in central Greece standing 8000 feet high. 

Crossing the Thumb "Under"

   In an expression of frustration, my father used to remark that he wished he had a nickel for every time he had to repeat himself. I suppose today, what with inflation and all, it would be more like sixty dollars. I don't mind repeating myself, though, even without getting paid.

    In a public forum a pianist writes: "I've had

trouble crossing my thumb under my third and fourth finger in my left hand when playing scales, causing my hand to stumble and lose its place, for forever." A well-meaning responder offers the following help: "It's the P word [practice?] again. Constant work at the scales starting slow until you're under control and  then increasing the speed will aid muscle memory to the [point] where you will do it without thinking. Like a drill in sports." 

   

Okay. Here's the thing. We don't drill at the piano the way we would in sports, should we be inclined to do sports. The muscles we train at the piano are refined and we work for physical coordination, not for bulk and strength. True, we do repetition training in order to "work in" our technical solutions so that they become automatic. We rely on this in speed.

    And yes we "practice" along the lines outlined in an earlier essay. But in order to move the thumb after we've run out of other fingers, we do not cross it under.  In a descending, left-hand scale (or right-hand), the thumb plays its note and immediately is allowed to hang (yes, hang) behind the second finger. It is allowed (not forced) to move in similar fashion behind each successive finger as that finger plays. This puts the forearm at an angle to the keyboard. (The arm may be at any angle with the keyboard as long as it is straight with itself.) When the thumb is required to play its note, it will already have arrived over it. It then plays by means of a rotation of the forearm, which is our quickest and most natural movement. (By natural I mean that it is a movement the forearm was designed to do.) If instead the thumb is pulled under the hand, the only way it can play is to fall on its note, which produces the result described by the original poster above.

    For a demonstration of this movement, select the tab above labeled "iDemos" and choose "forearm rotation." The discussion of thumb crossings begins at about 4:30. The example is in the right hand; the left is, of course, the same in reverse.   

    Please remember, efficient practicing is deliberate, with the brain engaged. First, decide on the correct movement and only then begin to work it in. Practice on purpose; reject mindless rote.

My New Domain

 

Gentle readers: There was a disturbance in the ether world resulting in the disappearance of my domain. The new domain is:               www.pianotechniquedemystified.com.

How Should We Play the Piano?

        

Someone on a public forum asked "how should we play the
piano?" An avid practicer responded with a helpful list in which he wrote the word practice one hundred times. At one-hundred-one he suggested repeating the above. A responder asked, insightfully, "but what if I'm doing it wrong?" The response was: "If you're doing it wrong, you're not trying hard enough...just put in a better effort."

    This reminded me of something my late friend Bob once told me in a fit of pique. It seems I had pushed a button when I criticized his driving—not signaling until after he started a lane change.  I pointed out that the object of signaling was to let others know in advance what he intended to do. "I've been driving for sixty years," was his indignant reply, and that was not the end of it. I bit my tongue, but I thought to myself that he'd been doing it wrong for sixty years.

     Well, of course we should play the piano correctly. But the word practice is itself loaded. In a way, it's like the word opera, which encompasses many disciplines. At the very least, though, practice implies repetition. But I would venture to ask, "repeat what?" One obvious answer might be "the notes" in order to beat them into our memory. Or the phrasing. Maybe the quality of sound and the relationship of dynamic contrasts. But no, for me practice, the repetition, begins after the intellect has decided what the objectives are and what are the appropriate mechanisms required in order to achieve the desired result. (Maybe we should call that  pre-practice?) How do I move from one note to the next? What is the most effective fingering? What is the technical shaping or grouping? (Shaping and grouping as techniques are discussed elsewhere in these pages.) Of course, I refer here primarily to passages that require specialized attention. Still, all practicing is something we do on purpose. It is not a mindless rote activity.

    I should add that for me, a correct approach is one in which the playing apparatus (fingers, hand, forearm) are used in a coordinate manner and according to their design.

Sight-Reading at the Piano: Is There Any Such Thing?

      

     My student wants to play chamber music, but doesn't trust his sight-reading skills. They are in fact, he says, non-existent. He is not a born sight reader, but his ear is good. I've found over the years that most pianists are proficient in one, but not both of these skills. Of course, there are a few who have both skills. We are allowed to dislike these people very much.
      When someone is a good sight-reader, it means they are able to bring the score to life at first look, 

making it sound like the piece. Some pianists, I've noticed, think that sight-reading means being able to read music. If one can read music, of course, one is using the eyes to do so. But poking out notes a few at a time is not what I call sight reading. A good sight reader learns to automatically associate the passage on the page with its location on the keyboard without passing through the intellect. This is the crux of sight reading.
     Now for an about face. There is really no such thing as sight reading, that is if one has at least some experience with notation. By that I mean the

process of reading music fluently can be reduced to simply recognizing a finite (probably?) number of patterns, repeated over and over again in various permutations. I know, this is not really very helpful. There are, however, exercise volumes addressing this very concept, deadly dull, mind-numbing whole pages of patterns to play repeatedly. Never mind. You don't need them.
     But do learn to recognize patterns. Our common-practice music is made up largely of 

scales and arpeggios. Look for these. Our music is also largely made up of tertian harmony, so learn to feel shapes of chords and their inversions. This will help with Alberti figures, too. 
     If you want to systematically work to improve your sight-reading skill, here is a plan:

     1. Do it. Every day. Set aside ten minutes of practice time. Really. Every day. I know it is not satisfying to have to do something that seems 

incomplete. Keep scores handy that are much easier than you are capable of actually playing. A hymnal is a good place to start, as hymns are mostly homophonic. Or Anna Magdalena Song Book. Or easier sonatinas or other Classical era teaching pieces.
     2. Scan. Before beginning, look through the piece. Look for any surprises, i.e., change of key or meter, technical challenges. I do this myself  when someone hands me something I don't know.
     3. Tempo. Decide on a tempo that 

accommodates the quickest note values.
     4. Continue. Begin to play keeping track of the pulses and don't vary. If something goes wrong, don't stop. Go on to the next beat or the next measure. If this happens often, the tempo may be too fast.
     5. Focus. Keep eyes on the page and don't look down. There are many great blind pianists, so we know it is not necessary to look at our hands. Did I say keep eyes on the page? This is important.
     6. Anticipate. As you are already keeping eyes on the page anyway, you might as well look ahead. It doesn't help to continue to stare at what you've just played. This is particularly wise at ends of lines.
     7. Find a partner to read with. This is a good 

way to force yourself to continue. A partner who reads well and is willing to play simpler music with you is ideal. There are also collections of teacher/student four-hand pieces. (I've published some of these myself for just this purpose. Look for them below.)
     For this study, it is okay to "sight read" the selection two or three times. And as always, try to see everything—dynamics, articulation—and enjoy the music.

     Here's a collection of teacher/student duets for practice. Have a look:

                 Guided Sight-Reading Practice