On Retraining While Actively Performing

     A professional jazz pianist came to me complaining of discomfort in his right arm. The problem apparently stems from an injury unrelated to the piano, though playing exacerbates the discomfort. Imagine how disheartening it would be to have to suffer while doing the thing that you love. He even considered giving up playing, but finally concluded that wouldn't be an option. This pianist is highly sought after and performs regularly for many hours at a time. It is his livelihood. What to do? How do we treat that part of his underlying technique that is not functioning while he continues to perform in public? 

     Normally when there is pain or discomfort I suggest a piano vacation until the pain subsides. This is because in order to monitor new physical movements, it is easier to work with a fresh playing apparatus. Much of what we consider while training is how the new movement feels; we evaluate the sensations. If the new movement is somehow encumbered with the leftovers from old movements, physical confusion can ensue. Muscle memory is very powerful. After all, we rely on it in speed.

     Since a pianistic vacation was out of the question, we decided to proceed by examining the obvious: What was his relationship of fingers to the key. We found that much of the time—but not always—he hovered above the keys. By this I mean that he wasn't completing each note before moving onto the next. He wasn't allowing his fingers to walk from key to key, transferring weight as he went. Instead, much of the time he held his arm rather rigidly above the keys and depressed the key by isolating individual fingers. This is something like trying to walk down the road without really making a footprint. In order to feel really at home while playing, the sensation should be one of balance, of being at rest at the bottom of each key before moving on to the next. Try this: Stand at ease on both feet. Now, take a step forward, but instead of putting all of your weight on that step, favor it as if it had a sprain. This is a hobble, and at the keyboard the sensation is very similar. I call this a bump in the action. Trust me, these bumps can add up to considerable discomfort over a period of hours.

     In the process of getting him established in the key, by getting his forearm behind the finger playing and developing the sensation of walking note to note through a forearm rotation, we discovered, quite by accident, that some of the riffs he uses regularly in his jazz interpolations contained built-in bumps. These bumps occurred regularly in semi-arpeggiated figures at points where the thumb needed to throw the hand into a new position. By retraining the thumb in these passages, we were able to make considerable progress in a rather short time. He reports that already he is beginning to feel a more agreeable relationship with the keyboard, although there is considerably more work to do.

     So it is possible to retrain while maintaining a performing schedule, though it is not my preferred way to work. When I was much younger and accidentally stumbled upon this way of playing, I, too, was in the midst of a performing career but decided to retrain anyway. Fortunately, though, I wasn't coming from injury but instead was interested in learning how to be in charge of my technique. I write more about these issues in my new book, Piano Technique Demystified: Insights into Problem Solving.

     

Mozart Sonata, K. 330: Controlling the Left Hand

     A former student writes: "I heard versions of movement one with detached bass measure 26-29 . (A version I preferred opted for pedaling measures 27 & 29.) But trying the 4 measures detached was difficult, as I found myself unable to keep the detached passage QUIET and even.  Any hints?"

Mozart Sonata, K. 330

     My response: Without seeing what you are doing, it's hard to say exactly what might be bothering you. But generically, for detached L.H. in measure [2 above], try starting with 5-4-1, then 5-3-1, 4-2-1. Start a little out with 5 and move in the direction of the fall board (in) for thumb. So, shape from out to in. The finger plucks from the key, as if trying to flick an ash off, but this is tiny, tiny, tiny. You will remain very close to the keys, even riding the key. I wouldn't pedal measure [3 above] but might rather over-hold the L.H. C to give more sonority. 

     The shaping in and out is a more general way to get the forearm behind the finger that is playing. The way we apply the weight of the forearm is how we control the dynamic. The slight plucking motion of the fingers gives the hint of detachment he is looking for.

     The student indicated he had problems with the trill at the opening of the movement. Like all ornaments indicated with only a symbol, it is necessary to assign to it a specific number of notes, a rhythm and determine its relationship to the left-hand figure.

     He'll let us know if this helps.

On Perfectionism in Piano Performance

     We pianists tend to be compulsive types. If we aren't at the piano, we feel we should be. If we aren't practicing for that next big event, something gnaws at our unconscious. This drive is both an asset and a liability. On the one hand it compels us to achieve great things and on the other it compels us to attempt to over-achieve. Striving for perfection is a good thing as long as we realize how elusive it is.

     There was a time, yes, even in my lifetime—that's how old I am—when a performance was ephemeral. It happened in time. Floated for a magic moment in one's consciousness and then was gone forever, leaving only shards of impression in the listener's mind. Preparing for such a performance was not so different from preparing today, except that today our performances come in the wake of umpteen recordings, shaved to perfection in the studio. How do we compete, live, with such perfection? Well, we can't, not really. Though I would venture a guess that this particular pressure has contributed to the ever-increasing technical prowess of young pianists—and, regrettably, to the homogenization of many of the resulting interpretations. The anxiety level, too, has without doubt risen correspondingly.  And YouTube looms as a burgeoning threat, perhaps to come back and haunt the performer long after the fact. When performances are captured surreptitiously, unauthorized, it is theft and diminishes all of us.

     Standards of accuracy in performance are much higher now than they were even when I was young. It was possible to make an impression with musical effects, though imperfect in technical execution. The Brahms B-flat concerto and the Rachmaninoff third were benchmarks, thought impossible to play technically reliably. I grew up on Rudolf Serkin's technical imperfections and insightful interpretations, thinking that was the standard. Then along came Garrick Ohlsson, who played the Brahms note perfectly one summer at Tanglewood.  I was shocked. Van Cliburn won the Tchaikovsky with a stunning performance of the Rachmaninoff third that was sprinkled with inaccuracies; it's still my favorite recorded performance. Today, every young pianist can play it without event. 

     Just because we now know these spectacularly accurate performances are possible, does not necessarily mean that they are the norm. I've heard many a great artist fail to meet his/her own benchmarks on many an occasion, which is not to say that the performances were at all disappointing. So let us prepare as best we can, setting our goals high, but let the idea of the music carry us along so that, just in case a note or two falls by the wayside, the music will survive.

     Take a look at this video of assorted greats in not so great moments, starting with a spoof by Victor Borge. I was present in the audience for that fateful return to Carnegie Hall by Horowitz. The concert was electric. About halfway through the video, which I assume is authorized, there is a wonderfully insightful interview with the immortal Arthur Rubinstein: Great Pianists, Great Imperfections.

Producing Tone at the Piano

     I recently participated in a discussion of tone production at the piano. Once again I realized that we pianists are remedial when it comes to understanding our instrument. Wind players know the ins and outs of key pads, air holes, reeds, valves and indeed carry with them repair kits. They know what types of embouchure to employ in order to produce a given effect. String players understand about the relationship of bow speed to downward pressure, that too much pressure—or bow hair—can have the effect of damping the string’s vibration instead of producing more sound. They understand the overtone series as it relates to the vibrating string because they often are called upon to touch these nodes in order to produce harmonic sounds. 

     We pianists, on the other hand, seem more likely to rely on imagery when approaching our instrument. Some respondents in the discussion refer to “caressing the key.” This is the first step toward coming up with a valid musical point of view. Like it or not, though, the piano is a machine subject to certain laws of physics. So, it behooves us as artists to figure out how to communicate our imagery through this machine to the listener. 

However it is achieved, the hammer must cause the string to vibrate in order to produce the sound. 

     There are two types of attack: From above the key, feeling a slight slap against the pad of the finger, and from the key, a sort of springing away as if from a diving board. The former, especially when combined with weight and speed, can produce our most percussive sound, bringing to the fore the upper, more dissonant partials of the over-tone series. The latter, which is for most pianists the default attack, tends to be a more cushioned sound, favoring the consonant partials. So we can control the timbre to some extent. (Remember, in physics quality is determined by the number and prominence of overtones.) 

Of course, movement after the note sounds is not going to change the sound. Only God can do that. Some  pianists disagree, though. Brendel is one. He likes to vibrate on the key after depressing it. I think, as some have suggested, that the intention of the gesture before the sound is made can affect the sound produced. Both types of attack, by the way can be affected by weight and speed. 

     One respondent explained tone production at the piano as follows: “...So you can play from the key, from the bottom of the key or from the air above the key. That's only the beginning. The finger can go straight down, or it can go to the right, or go to the left, and anything in between. Using only the finger, you can move from the tip of the finger or from the second or third joint of the finger, or from behind the knuckles. The entire process of communication begins with your ear, and the audience will listen to you listening.” 

     I like the notion that communication begins with the ear, though I might change that to read “begins with the idea.” Still, listening is paramount to communicating.  If you are going to play from the "bottom of the key," as he states, you would of course have to play from above the point of sound within the key, which is possible, though tonal possibilities are somewhat more limited. I use this often—I call it riding the key—in accompaniment patterns. I can't imagine how approaching from the side or the knuckle would change anything about the actual sound, as we are trying to get the hammer to strike the string. 
     He continues: “The knuckles remain loose with lots of air around them to allow the flow to continue from the front of the hand all the way to your shoulder without any tourniquet restricting that flow.” I’m not really sure what he means. But I notice that nowhere does he—or anyone else in the discussion—mention that pressing levers that cause hammers to strike strings produces the sound we make. Hammers striking strings is the end result of our effort at the key. I am, therefore, hard put to imagine how moving sideways into the key will change how the hammer strikes the string. Having said that, depressing the key with a certain intention, that is, to caress it, could affect how the key is depressed, the speed of descent and the amount of weight applied. I think this use of imagery is fine. I do it myself often. It can help connect us to the music and to the audience. But our connection should also be with the instrument itself and an understanding of its properties. 

     Maybe if we played more 20th century music, such as George Crumb, Henry Cowell and John Cage, we might develop a greater appreciation of the characteristics of our instrument and how to coax from it the effects we want. Additionally, why not offer courses in the maintenance, even the tuning, of the piano in college curricula? This, too, might give us greater insights into the mysteries of tone production.



 

Finding a Hand Position at the Piano

     Finding a hand position has long been an issue among teachers. Some advocate rounding the hand into a circle, a sort of fist, as if squeezing a tennis ball. Some feel the fingers should be pulled in (shudder) so that the thumb is in line with the fingers to make a triangle between thumb and index finger.  None of this is in harmony with what I call a natural approach because the hand is being made, forced, to do something requiring work, something it doesn't want or need to do.

     Here's how I find the perfect hand position. Drop your arm to your side. Allow your arm and hand to just hang. Notice what the hand feels like. Look at it in a mirror.Then, raise the arm and hand up from the elbow without changing how the hand feels and rotate the arm toward the thumb in order to place the hand on the keys. This will be a perfect hand position. It will be slightly curved, but not gripped or pulled. 

     The normal placing of the hand is with long fingers on short (black) keys and short fingers (thumb and five) on long keys, although we can of course play anywhere on the key. For adults, the thumb does not need to be over the white keys. This is true even for children, though sometimes its easier to let their smaller hands drop where they like, at least until they can take in more instruction. Chopin taught B major as one of his first lessons in order to instill this idea of positioning the hand on the keys, and because there is only one possible fingering. 

     The fingers do not grip as if pulling inward toward the palm. This gripping motion tends to isolate the fingers from the hand and arm, which is not an efficient or well-coordinated way to play. To me, gripping implies continuing a finger activity after the point of sound has been reached, which would be wasted motion. When I look at my thumb, the opening formed is neither a circle nor a triangle, but rather more like a rectangular window with the index finger forming a slight descending awning. 

    I've never seen a satisfactory answer to the question of hand position in lesson books.

Get a coffee and settle in for a video excursion through an overview of some great 20th century pianists. This is a wonderful survey of pianism with its origins in the 19th century of Liszt. Select the Listen tab and enjoy.