ERRATA
Dear Readers: Many thanks for your support and for your interest in my new book. The first group has sold out. Alas though, human error rears its head—mine. If your volume has the typo in dilemma on page viii of the contents  (spelled dilema), then please print out the following paragraph and attach it to page 51. Somehow, previous incarnations of this example found their way into the final version. Words are like that...

These errors have been corrected in current editions.

Final paragraph of page 51:

Speaking of taboos, consider this: Despite what you may

have heard, the fifth finger may cross over the thumb and the

thumb may cross over the fifth finger, particularly in the playing of

dominant seventh arpeggios. But I do this whenever convenient,

now that I know how. Have a look at the end of this melisma of 48

notes in Example 9-1 below. Notice the editor’s fingering at the

high point turn around, from F and descending. Try the 1-4-3-2-1

combination as shown in the example with an added slur line.

When I first played this as a teenager, not knowing any better, this

is the fingering I used. Very uncomfortable and not really fluent.

Now try 1-3-2-1-5 on the same group of notes and continue as

marked in the top fingering. The thumb is the mechanism by which

the hand moves rotationally from one on D-flat to five on a white

key, C-flat. Yes, cross five over one, one being the thrusting agent.

The book is now available at Amazon, including the LOOK INSIDE feature. It is also available at  Create Space E-Store. As you may have surmised, the book was inspired by the posts in this blog, though many of the articles have been considerably expanded and illustrated. There are also several new sections, namely, a chapter on the co-dependence of the hands, a not-to-be-missed concluding "putting it all together" chapter and a chapter of teaching moments. I'll be interested to have feedback on any aspect of the book, especially those teaching moments, whether or not they are useful. It is time-consuming to devise these, but if they are useful I'll do more.

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.