For those of you who want to get a head start, my book is available now at Create Space E-Store, which is an Amazon company. Amazon.com will have it within the week. Remember, the first reader to notify me of any typos may have a free piano lesson if feasible. Or choose a limited-edition, signed photo similar to the one posted in this blog under "Off Topic." I'll soon have a link to my portfolio, where you can take your pick. If you find an error in my book, just click on the contact button above and let me know the page number and location and leave your contact information. I decide if it's a valid error.

Piano Technique Demystified: Insights into Problem Solving... Available NOW at Amazon

  An Excerpt from the Introduction

     When I was a young piano student the best advice offered me was to practice slowly, practice in rhythms and do this repeatedly. Never was it explained to me how slowly to practice or why. Nor was I told the point of practicing in rhythms. In fact, never was the concept of practicing explained to me at all. I learned a four-octave routine in which I could rattle off major and minor scales in octaves, sixths and tenths. But once I had it down, something in me rejected that route as a way of life. I realize now that my instinct saved me a great deal of time. Of course, like most anxious children who tend to be intimidated by authority, I was at a loss for words, particularly in the form of a question. I don’t recall ever asking a question, except once when I came across a mordent symbol for the first time.

     A certain facility came quickly and easily to me, which may explain why I escaped more rigorous incursions by teachers into my private musical world. Czerny studies were offered, though as I recall, not stressed with particular enthusiasm. From rather early on, ever more advanced repertoire passed through my hands and, exciting as that was for an eager musical mind, problems would abound and my instinct was to pass over, play through or otherwise ignore them. Somehow I made the music convincing enough to pass inspection, at least for a time, but I always felt at the mercy of the piano and its mysteries. There appeared more and more brick walls and by the time I reached collage, my forehead was quite sore.

     I was definitely not a prodigy. Facile sight-reading, physical dexterity and the emotional outpourings of the neurotic loner made up my skill set. When I practiced, and I use the term here loosely, technical passages sounded best on the first few readings. The more I repeated them the worse they got. Strange, no? You may be wondering how I handled this phenomenon. Simple, I practiced less and played more.

     Did you spot the clue I planted in the previous paragraph? If so, you may have a head start on the material in this book. If passages get worse on repetition, that is, if the mechanism tires and accuracy or speed become forfeit, then muscles are not working in an efficient, well-synchronized manner. Back up now to the first paragraph. When I got serious about perfecting a movement, and I was a very serious student, all I knew to do was repeat slowly and in various rhythms. All that this produced, sadly, was a working-in of technical vagaries, perhaps correct and useful or wrong and destructive. Fortunately, since my practicing consisted primarily of playing, I escaped injury.

     The advice given to me about practicing is akin to a doctor treating a patient without an examination. No doctor would prescribe all of his remedies to every patient for every ailment, regardless of the complaint. The advice is too general and vague. It comes from an approach that assumes muscles are muscles and if you build them technique will come. This is not true.

     A pharmacist friend of mine spent most of his career observing the inner workings of the pharmaceutical industry. He has developed a somewhat cynical attitude, justifiable I think, regarding the development of remedies. Many pills go through many trials and are often rejected for their intended purposes. What then to do with these pills? Obviously, invent a disease. I offer here some remedies, but if you don’t have the ailment, don’t invent one. Every pianist comes from a different technical background in which some, perhaps most, of the technique works just fine. My purpose here is to describe as well as words will allow what the body can do, what it wants to do and how to put it to use in the service of making music at the piano.

Dear Readers,

      They said it couldn't be done and yet here it is. My new book should be available at Amazon by May 9th, or so. You may recognize the title. Yes, it was inspired by and is based on articles published here. In the book, though, these topics are greatly expanded and illustrated with photos and musical examples. There is a must-read introduction, several new topics, an appendix of a Pianist's Essential Library and a section called Fifty Teaching Moments, in which I explicate familiar problems in standard teaching pieces. You will be able to thumb through some of its pages at Amazon. Speaking of the thumb, I've added more detailed information about how the thumb "crosses" and included some of my own suggestions for fingering certain passages. The first person to bring to my attention any typos gets a free piano lesson.
       Here is the publication blurb: In this volume you will find the distillation of a life in music, a "how to" for the muscian seeking joy in music-making. Here are insights into learning to play using the natural design of the body. Dispel old wives' tales and myths left over from the 18th century. Learn to make accurate leaps, to play fast without feeling hurried. What is practicing and how and why should we memorize music? And how can we put anxiety to good use? What is a good hand position and really, how slowly should I practice? If you've ever felt at a loss as to how to achieve the excellence you would like at the piano, then take a look at this book. Non-pianists will find information on performance anxiety, memorizing and effective practice methods, in addition to concepts on how the body wants to move.

     

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.