Van Cliburn: An Appreciation

Imagine, if you can, the thrill of a sixteen-year-old piano student hearing that an American pianist had won the first International Tchaikovsky competition, defeating the Russians—the world—on the Russians' home turf and in their own repertoire. The ticker-tape parade, the magazine covers with glowing articles and reviews, the speeches—"now that I've been a sensation, I hope to be a success"—all the hype for this remarkable pianist set fire to my own imagination. Imagine, too, what it was like that summer of 1959 when the announcement came that Cliburn would play at the Hollywood Bowl in my own backyard with Kiril Kondrashin, his Russian conductor from the competition, and the Los Angeles Philharmonic. My mother surprised me with tickets for the concert, which was so unlike her. 

When we arrived at the Bowl, the crowds added another level to the excitement—all these people sharing the same thrill of discovery, all of us a part of something important. I hadn't even thought to look up the program details. It turned out to be all Tchaikovsky, including the concerto, which, believe it or not, apart form the opening bars used as the motto for KFAC's Evening Concert on our local classical station, I had never heard.

On the way up the long winding ramp to the entrance gates, my mother and I noticed groups of people gathered in clumps, holding programs, coffees, snacks, gesturing, all chatting excitedly, I imagined, about the event before us. Just then Myrna Loy, Hollywood movie star from the thirties—Nora Charles herself, of the Thin Man movies—walked directly toward us. Asta, the little dog from the films, wasn't with her. I think, looking back, that this was the biggest thrill of the evening for my mother, who was not very interested in music.

I was mesmerized by the music, the performance, the glamour of it all. The concerto thrilled me to the core. The audience become wild at the end, a spectacle I'd never before witnessed, which would have been frightening in other circumstances. For an encore, they played the first movement of the Rachmaninoff third concerto, which I'd also never heard and it left me speechless.

Fast forward now to the mid 1970's, New York City, where I was busily chasing down a career as a collaborative pianist. One of my sopranos, who happened to work in the offices at RCA, invited me to lunch. We would meet at her building. She had a surprise for me. There was Mr. Cliburn, tall, rather elegant looking, and all smiles, putting me instantly at ease. He was at RCA, reportedly, to claim another advance on his recording royalties, which I imagine were considerable. We met, shook hands—his enormous hand enveloped mine completely—and posed for a photo. When I find that photo, I'll post it here. That brief meeting felt like a cap to a particular chapter in my musical development. By that time, of course, I had had many more experiences, heard much more music and many more pianists. But the Cliburn experience was singular for me and I have to say, and I don't think this is just nostalgia speaking, his live Carnegie Hall recordings with Kondrashin from 1958 of the Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff third concertos are still my favorite performances of those works.

I was deeply saddened on hearing of the death of this great musical ambassador.

On Learning Music Quickly

A student of accompanying asks for suggestions on learning repertoire quickly.

Accompanying, a specialty usually referred to these days as the collaborative arts, often demands of its practitioners the ability to learn music under pressure. Unlike the specialist in solo repertoire, the collaborative pianist plays everyone’s repertoire, not just a collection of his/her own solos and concertos he has prepared well in advance for a particular concert season. The collaborator must be able to play art songs in many languages—if you’re wondering why language matters, remember that the first step in figuring out an accompaniment is to understand the poem—and identical works in several keys in order to accommodate different voice types, often at short or even no advance notice. Add to this already considerable repertoire occasional pieces and instrumental sonatas, often very technically demanding, and the pianist might well find himself locked in the practice room buried under a mountain of scores, never to be seen again.

 

One important attribute of the successful professional collaborator is the ability to read well at first sight. So, that’s where I’ll start. In order to improve sight-reading, do it on a daily basis. Elsewhere in this blog I discuss reading techniques in some detail, but the basics are these: scan the piece looking for surprises, set a pulse that will accommodate the fastest passages, always look ahead in the score and not at your hands, keep going no matter what. I recommend keeping some scores handy that are technically somewhat easier than you can really play and use these for 10 minutes of reading in every practice session. And/or, set aside a session for just reading.

Collaborative pianists often live in pigeonholes; they are either vocal accompanists or instrumental accompanists. There’s no good reason for this. Instrumental sonatas tend to be technically more challenging, but the vocal accompanist is called upon, more often than not, to be orchestra, conductor, scenic designer and vocal coach. I submit to you, gentle reader, that all of these skills are required for any pianist who hopes to be considered an artist. This is why I always recommend to my soloist students that they work with other musicians in order to learn to listen not only to themselves, but also to the inner workings of the music they play.

So, soprano Madame La Bella Voce or violinist Tossi Spiccato has called upon you to play this weekend at a gala event and could you please rehearse tomorrow afternoon at their home. They invariably have an ancient piano, of which they are unreasonably proud. The pedals don’t work, “But you don’t really need them, do you?” (I’m not kidding.) Side note: Invite them to your own studio at a time that suits you. Be sure to inquire about the piano you will play at the event, Will it be tuned? Do they actually have a piano? (Again, I’m not kidding.) Your heart has stopped pounding enough to consider how to begin cramming the repertoire. Do not—I repeat—do not start playing the pieces through over and over again in a blind panic.

Do this: 1. Look through the repertoire list—with any luck at all you will have played some of it already—and select the most technically challenging movement. In this challenging movement, scan through to the end of the piece away from the piano. Note the gnarly places and begin there, as slowly as you need to and not faster than you can. Gradually work in this one passage until it is up to a respectable tempo. Then move on to the next place in this same piece or in a different piece until you have covered all of the technical issues. This will give you confidence. 

Remember, the first encounter is only a rehearsal. You will need to make an impression on your partner, especially if you are meeting for the first time, and you will need to keep up with him in repertoire that he already knows (presumably). But this first meeting is, ideally, an opportunity to work out issues. You can ask to work on sections that bother you, not just be at the beck and call of your partner. Singers very often need to be led, as in arias, and they need help managing breathing, so work this into your own practicing. The placement of the pianist’s beat with singers is on the vowel, a little more sluggish, perhaps, than with a string player who is more likely to be precisely on the beat or a little ahead. This is why we listen. (See the article on raised piano lids for thoughts on balance.)

Do this: 2. Practice focusing on the solo line. If you can play all of your part and sing the solo line, this is great. If not, play just your bass line and sing or play the solo line. This is the single most important skill of the collaborator, I think. That is, to be able to arrive with the partner, adjusting imperceptibly as necessary, on his beat. A well-meaning woman once came to me after a concert and gushed that I was such a fine accompanist, I followed so well. It was a nice compliment, of course, but I hasten to point out here that a good accompanist doesn’t follow, he anticipates. In order to anticipate, the pianist must be inside the solo line at all times.

I am of the opinion that all collaborations are partnerships. However, in the case of instrumental sonatas, both players are equal partners and must give way or lead depending on who has the leading voice. I once played a duo recital with a violinist from the Heifetz class, a duo recital because I had been asked to play a Beethoven solo sonata in addition to her repertoire. Her father came to me afterwards and pointed out that the pianist shouldn’t share the fee equally, but rather only gets a portion of it. When I explained that I had actually played more than she had, he begrudgingly agreed and we split the fee. No one offered to pay me more, though, for my extra effort. Sigh. (See Gerald Moore, The Unashamed Accompanist, for more on fees and other delicious topics.)

Do this: 3. Look for the essence of the piano part. What does it contribute to the overall meaning? This is particularly important in art song, where the piano sets the scene or creates a mood. Consider Schubert’s bubbling brooks, horses on the hoof or wind in the wimple. Look for preludes, interludes and postludes, where the piano is featured and make sure that these sections are soloistic and secure. Look also for scene changes and notice where the change occurs. Does the pianist make the change, perhaps during an interlude? Or does the partner do it first? In a well-written piece these changes are clearly audible in the music, but when in doubt, consult the text (with which you are already intimately familiar).

Orchestra reductions, such as arias or concertos, should be made to sound orchestral. I know. We only have a piano. But a piano staccato is sharper and drier than an orchestral staccato. Woodwinds have a different voice, a sharper more defined attack, perhaps, than strings, which can be more cushioned. Above all, though, remember that a reduction is just that; it is someone’s idea of how to realize the orchestra at the piano. Your own thoughts about sonority might be just as good or better than the one printed. So don’t be afraid to make changes. And certainly don’t be constrained by arbitrary technical issues. In arias, where the pianist is orchestra and conductor, he might lead the entire effort, providing the singer with a secure rhythmic foundation. Likewise, in some concerto passages and motoric music, the pianist must just keep a steady beat, without trying to adjust to rubato in the solo part. This is particularly true after the first movement cadenza in Mendelssohn’s concerto where the violin plays spiccato arpeggios.

Do this: 4. Look for oceans of similarity. Does the piano create waves of sound on E flat for measures on end? Look at it and move on. Ostinato passages can be a lifesaver. Once noticed, they only need repetition. Mark off sections and practice in sections.

Do this: 5. Look for possible ensemble difficulties and make sure you understand the rhythmic connection of the piano part to the other part.

In short, take care to be familiar with both parts, how they work together rhythmically and how they play off one another musically. A well-prepared partner will know the piano part in addition to his own.

Learning music in a hurry is not ideal but sometimes is necessary, especially when one’s livelihood depends on it. Don’t turn down a job because you would rather study the music and rehearse for weeks and know the music inside and out. With determination and thoughtful selective practicing, a fine performance can result and with more experience, even an exemplary performance is possible. 

Tip: Learn a song per day from anthologies of Schubert, Schumann, Brahms, Strauss, Faure and Duparc and you will eventually have a respectable repertoire of often-programmed music. Add Falla and Poulenc as needed. Leave big instrumental sonatas for ad hoc occasions, though Schubert sonatinas and Mozart violin and piano sonatas make excellent sight-reading material. Do familiarize yourself with the three Brahms violin sonatas (look at technical spots), the Beethoven Spring and possibly Prokofiev D major.

ON LEAPS (With Video Demonstration)

ON LEAPS (With Video Demonstration)

A student came to a lesson and said, “Look how far I can stretch my hand.” I thought, ouch, are we doing yoga?

Then he said, “I measured it; I can reach a 10th.”

Oh no, I thought, it’s a competition.

Well, here is a student new to my studio, a rather advanced pianist already, who suffers from a fairly common malady. Somewhere in his early studies he developed the notion that stretching is better than moving, when in fact the opposite is true. It is more efficient and healthier to move than it is to stretch. I know this may seem counter intuitive to some, but stay with me. I don’t mean that the hand can’t be open, it can, and flexible, of course. But anytime the hand is opened to an extreme, danger lurks in the effort. (We select fingering to avoid a stretch, but that’s another topic.)

Let me explain. If our objective is to learn how to play the piano using the body according to its design, then we must exclude efforts that act against it. (Of course, there are many accomplished and successful musicians who play the piano using various technical points of view, or more likely, no point of view at all. We wish them all the best.) Well, what are some efforts that act against the hand’s design? Opening it so wide that it feels tense is one. Lifting the fingers individually away from the hand, especially the fourth finger, which has tissue on top that prevents it from lifting away, is another. 

 

So, here’s a useful question to ask, “What does the hand want to do? “ It wants to be in a relatively closed position. Try this: Drop your arm to the side and let it hang freely. Notice how the hand feels. This is what it wants to feel. Can we achieve this feeling in the act of playing the piano? The simple answer is yes, as long as we don’t fall victim to suggestions in the notation that seem to be saying “stretch, pull.” (More about “notation bound” in another blog.)

So how do we play the piano without acting against the hand, without turning it into a gnarled claw, veins bulging with tension?

I’m glad you asked.

One way to use the hand according to its design is to learn how to negotiate leaps. Other issues are at work, too, underlying tools that also contribute to efficient hand use. But for now let’s consider how to leap. By my definition, a leap takes place whenever the hand moves from one five-finger position to another without a thumb crossing, a shift if you like (as in string playing). It doesn’t matter whether the leap is to the very next note, i.e., if you want to play stepwise with the same finger, or if you want to leap several octaves.

 

Here is the rule: THE NOTE BEFORE THE LEAP GETS US THE DISTANCE. That is, the last note in the group of notes before a leap takes us to the first note of the new group. It’s that simple. (Well, almost.) Anxious about making a leap, pianists very often neglect to finish playing the last note of a group; they tend to skip over it. This is a pity, sometimes even tragic, because that last note is the all-important springboard for negotiating the distance to the first note of the next group. So don’t be in too big a hurry. 

 

It is just as futile to cling to that last note, losing the advantage of its thrusting power. With a well worked-in and coordinated combination of springing, forearm rotation and walking arm, leaping great distances feels like going next door. So don’t be afraid to jump.

Okay, I know I sprang some new terms on you. But I promise that leaping is a simple and safe movement, all of which will become clear when you view the demonstration video above.

A word of caution: Notice where you want to land before you leap.

Full Stick, Short Stick or No Stick: The Piano in Chamber Ensemble

An unhappy amateur string player writes:


"So many pianists love to play with strings, but have little awareness of appropriate voicing. Young professional groups have the same problem, using a full stick that overpowers the sound."


I feel (hear) his pain. There is nothing worse than playing one's heart out only to have it trod upon by inconsiderate colleagues. Every player wants his/her lovely inflections to be heard and responded to musically. I think the operative word here is consideration, which is about listening to one another and not about the length of the piano stick. I write as a professional collaborative pianist and amateur string player.


The piano sounds muted if the lid is closed. This would be similar to the string players putting on their mutes, and no one wants to play like that. The short stick can be a solution if the piano is particularly bright and the room is small. But the raised lid is not so much about volume as it is about quality of sound. And here is where the importance of listening comes into play. Very often in amateur groups, the pianist can feel so overwhelmed with the difficulties of his part that there is a disconnect between the ear and the hands. The obvious solution here is that the pianist learn his part. 


But let's say the pianist is in control of the notes and is free to listen. He should be able to hear his colleagues, especially the leading voice(s), just slightly above what he is playing, keeping in mind that the music rack blocks much of what he hears of himself. If he hears his colleagues free and clear, well above what he is playing, then he is too soft and not playing as a full partner. And, of course, if he doesn't hear them at all, he is too loud.


The string player points out: "Chamber Music has traditionally been played on small instruments in intimate settings. After all, pianos originated in the quiet voices of seventeenth and eighteenth century harpsichords and clavichords."


Any pianist can obliterate any string player sonically. This is a given. It is, however, misleading to equate modern instruments with those of the 18th century. Early keyboard instruments were indeed more demure, but so were their string colleagues. Whether the development of these instruments into their modern counterparts was proportional I can't really say, although I suspect the piano made greater strides with its concert hall sizes and the introduction of metal harps. I have to say, though, that's it's a rare situation to find a concert grand housed in a private setting. So size isn't very often an issue. 


Let's make a very general assessment of the repertoire. In the classical period strings began as an obligato addition to the piano part, sometimes only doubling the piano. This is particularly prevalent in many Haydn trios and all but a hand full of Mozart violin sonatas. In the Mozart piano quartets, the piano part is very concerto like. With Beethoven, even already in Op. 1, we begin to get a more equal division of labor. And in the 19th century, finally, we get sonorities of strings vs piano in passionate struggle (I'm thinking of Brahms). Chamber music has traditionally been played in parlors, in intimate settings, yet the music itself has evolved into anything but intimate.


Finally, a word about the practical nature of the setup. The cellists, of which I am one, complain the loudest. He is usually placed right in the bend of the piano, where he is pummeled with sound. What he hears next to him, though, is not what a listener several feet away hears. It's natural for musicians to play to the room and not to the person sitting next to him. The cellist feels the need to either play forcefully all the time or make threatening grimaces at the poor pianist, when it may not really be his fault. So I always suggest, if feasible, that the strings find positions somewhat away from the piano. Or, alternatively, rethink the nature of projection and play for each other instead of for the room. In concert halls I have heard all periods of music played superbly with appropriate balance, yes, using a concert grand with the stick on full extension.

To Czerny Or Not to Czerny

On Czerny Vs Chopin Etudes


A student asks which Czerny studies he should select in preparation for Chopin Etudes. This student has already played all movements of the Moonlight sonata.



My Response: The Chopin etudes are concert pieces, and in that regard somewhat misnamed. Chopin, I'm quite sure, wasn't thinking pedagogically, about building a technique. Having said that, however, one can learn a great deal studying them, just as we learn technique studying any piece. 


I think Czerny and studies of that ilk are largely a waste of time. They have in their genesis the notion that repetition builds strength and endurance, a notion long since discredited by pianists who've given it any thought. We don't build strength in larger muscles so much as we train muscles for refined coordination. So, I'd rather he use his time working out technique in the Chopin, even if he doesn't get them up to top tempo first time around. Revolutionary is a good place to start. I also like F major from Op. 10 for the right hand. 


For an "etude" on the two-note slur, have a look at the Tempest sonata of Beethoven.


For more on the value of exercises, please see my previous post.

On the Value of Exercises

A pianist writes: "I have been told by some pianists that Hanon's "The Virtuoso Pianist, In Sixty Exercises" is a waste of time....it's stupid and nonsense. One pianist even asked me, "Do you think Tchaikovsky or Mozart played these? Throw the book away."

On the other hand, a piano student studying for her phd in piano performance told me that she plays them every day and that she believes it helps her playing?

What is the general consensus on this? I believe if it works for you then by all means play it. However if that's the case then should all teachers teach all their students Hanon?"

My response: What do you mean by works for you? When playing something (an exercise) that is supposed to prepare you for something else (a piece of music), I think it's important to ask yourself why? What is the purpose of this particular exercise? 

Unfortunately, Mr. Hanon only gives metronome indications and says to repeat the exercises. He doesn't really tell us how to play the exercises, except to lift the fingers high(!). He tells us that they will produce agility, strength(!), independence and evenness. 

The mindset from which this point of view stems has largely been replaced over the years, although some still cling doggedly to it, i.e., that it takes physical strength to play the piano. It does not. (A small child can do it.) We gain power not by lifting the fingers away from the hand, which is something they weren't designed to do efficiently, but rather with the discreet participation of the forearm. Hanon's supposition is that by lifting the fingers they will become strong and independent, but we don't train like weight lifters train, by building muscle mass. Rather, we train for refined coordination. The fingers never will be independent of each other, nor need they be; they can, however, be made to sound that way.

In short, "you can play whatever you want, dear," to quote my teacher, but once you know how to play the exercises correctly, i.e., with the participation of the forearm, there is no longer any reason to play them. In fact, there's no point in playing them at all because the technical issues can be addressed in music.

As for the Phd candidate, that routine may serve several purposes: provide a comforting and mindless routine, a delay tactic for avoiding the real work to come or some other obsessive/compulsive purpose. In graduate school I knew a wonderful pianist who drilled scales for hours. Her scales were indeed perfection and she played the 4th Beethoven concerto like an angel. But the same compulsion that drove her to drill those scales, and they were beautiful, drove her into some sort of breakdown and when I last heard she had given up the piano entirely and joined a protective order of some sort. Admittedly, that is an extreme case and this particular pianist was apparently troubled. Playing Hanon won't necessarily cause so severe a reaction and probably won't case any particular harm, unless the idea of lifting fingers is taken to extremes.

Later in the post someone writes:


"Any system, method, or approach is only as good as the teacher and the student practicing. The success probably goes beyond the method. I think that if something is repetitive, and if the person practicing it is wrongly guided or self-guides, there might be harm because a wrong motion done repeatedly will hurt. At the same time, if a right motion is well-guided, then you have a well-practiced set of right motions that will serve you well."

My Response:

You are right. But just as the success goes beyond the method, so too do the failures. By failures I mean conceptual misunderstandings. Perhaps this is what you mean by practicing "wrongly." But it's more than practicing wrongly. (Please don't think I'm just being argumentative here. I'm genuinely concerned about this issue.)

The concept inherent in exercises in general is that repetition of note patterns will create strong fingers or independent fingers or that these patterns will occur in the same way in music. These ideas date from the 1880's and have their origins in the experience of keyboard players who were steeped in harpsichord techniques. I believe Czerny and Hanon and the others were probably sincere, although I don't completely discount the notion that money was to be made off of the burgeoning piano market. When Hanon, for example, was popular and adopted by so many institutions, Matthay had not yet written about the use of the forearm. Keyboard players thought primarily about lifting fingers, despite Schumann's unfortunate experience. (Google Landowska's photo of her claw-like hands.)

If you discard Hanon's "instructions," as I believe all pianists should, the exercises can be used to show how patterns can be grouped together for technical ease, how to shape. But I learned these techniques in a Mozart sonata (K. 333). If you don't believe in lifting the fingers away from the hand (as he instructs) or training for strength and therefore using repetition for endurance (wrong concepts), then I implore you to ask yourself what specifically you hope to gain by practicing Hanon.

Let me be clear: I don't think the exercises themselves are "dangerous" and carcinogenic (LOL) but the underlying concepts that students take away are not in sync with a system of playing that uses the body efficiently, the way it was designed to be used. Students invariably take away the idea that repetition of patterns is the key to success, when the "working-in" of specific, local and correct physical movements is the key to success. By "local" I mean "what do the finger, hand, arm do in this spot to get easily and efficiently from here to there?" This, of course, requires knowledge of the working mechanism (but one doesn't have to be a doctor).

It is possible to play the piano with great success using many different points of view, or from no point of view at all. I choose to use a specific physical approach that allows my hands to be used according to their design. The fingers are strong and sound independent if the forearm is allowed to play its part, and there is nothing wrong with the 4th finger, just in case anyone was wondering.