Hands for the Piano: Chopin, Liszt and, Alas, Schumann

Chopin's left hand

     I've written before about hands. We all have the same construction, assuming there's been no unfortunate accident or disease. We all have the potential for careening laterally up and down the piano keys by means of the physiological components of our limbs. There are both advantages and disadvantages to larger or smaller hands. The larger hand may grab wide intervals more easily, but at the same time it can feel crowded among the black keys. In contrast, the smaller hand, though interval challenged, feels like a Volkswagen Beatle, darting in and around traffic.

Stephen Heller (1813-1888), pianist,
teacher, composer and student of
Carl Czerny

     There is, however, one possible genetic advantage worth mentioning as a matter of interest, although without this advantage we can still achieve virtuosity. Chopin famously possessed a certain skill often described as flexibility. It seems that his fingers lacked webbing at their base. According to Maurice Hinson, who had in his possession a plaster cast of Chopin's left hand, "I cannot detect any webbing between the fingers...[and] the most extraordinary feature of the hand is the wide spaces between the fingers, especially between the second and third fingers and even more so between the fourth and fifth fingers." The hand otherwise appears to be of average size. According to Adolf Gutmann, one of his students, Chopin's entire body was flexible. According to Hinson, "Stephen Heller spoke of Chopin’s slim hands—how they would 'suddenly expand and cover a third of the keyboard. It was like the opening of the mouth of the serpent about to swallow a rabbit whole.'" This is an image we can use, even without the genetic advantage, because we must open—and especially close the hands—in order to avoid the feeling of extreme exertion in extended passages.

Edward Dannreuther
(1844-1905). 

   

Liszt's hand

      Liszt's hands are likewise described as "long and narrow... [with] fingers that were famous for their connecting tissues starting absolutely below the base of the fingers, therefore making his hand like the 'opposite of  webbed feet.'" This according to the descriptive wording of Edward Dannreuther, German pianist, writer, piano manufacturer and student of Ignaz Moscheles.  Liszt's fingers were apparently slim but not pointed, and the size of his hands was described as average. The image shows a decidedly wide space between fingers four and five.
     Everyone at the time seemed inspired for virtuosity by the violin playing of Nicolo Paganini, the ill-fated Robert Schumann among them. Rumors abound even now regarding the attempts he made to

Dactylion, the sort of device Schumann may have
 used for "strengthening" his fingers, resulting
 in the end of his piano career.

improve his technique. One such attempt, well-documented, included attaching his fingers to an improvised device using a cigar box and some wire. It was intended to prop up his fingers while practicing, the idea being to strengthen them and develop independence. But instead, two fingers on his right hand were permanently injured. Schumann knew Chopin and Liszt and perhaps noticed the lack of webbing between their fingers. One study suggests that the cause of his irreversible hand-injury may have been the sepsis that occurred after performing surgery on his own hand, cutting the webbing between his fingers. 
     So, dear colleagues, we must endeavor to make the best of our genetic predisposition. If you have webbing between your fingers, don't despair. We have other means of achieving flexibility; we use our limbs according to their design and avoid extremes of motion. Besides, with bad genes we have yet another issue to blame on our parents. Take joy in that.

Chopin Étude Op 10, No. 1, My Favorite Fingerings: But Is This Cheating?

     

F. Chopin

Étude  is a French word meaning study. For pianists, this conjures the horror of hours and hours spent on mindless rote repetition, as in Czerny or Hanon and their international accomplices.   Over the years—centuries, even—this has come to suggest a means to an end: do this and it is a sure bet you will be able to do that. Torture your mind and body for awhile and we, the above-mentioned gang,  promise you will develop the skills required to play actual music. I'm not a betting man. Can you sense my skepticism? I hope so.
     Chopin's études are not studies in the above-referenced sense. They are instead concert pieces designed to showcase skill; they are not a pedagogical canon. It goes without saying, of course, that any technical issue in a piece of music is a learning experience, a study, if you like. So this begs the question, when I play a concert piece called étude, am I supposed think of it as a stepping stone to some other piece that I may or may not play later on? Am I to follow the fingerings imposed by the editor—even those offered by the composer, who has a very different skill set? I'm glad you asked. The answer is no.
     This reminds me of a passage I once read in an essay by the distinguished 

Sir Donald Francis Tovey

musicologist (and pianist) Sir Donald Tovey. He wrote apropos of Beethoven's gnarly Hammerklavier Sonata, Op. 106, that it is a technically difficult piece and is meant to sound that way, or words to that effect—his point being that one should not seek to make it feel technically easy. Sorry, Sir Donald. If the piece must sound difficult, I will find an easy way to do that.
     The sound of Chopin's Étude Op. 10, No. 1, is that of cascading arpeggios. The difficulty, if there is one, is that the cascades cover wide open spaces, encompassing a tenth or more at the outer edges. Standard triad fingerings are not always possible for the average hand, as these fingerings often feel like awkward stretches. The over-all technical approach to this concert piece has to do with an understanding of shaping and grouping. But some judicious re-fingering can make all of the difference.
     Here are some of my favorites:

Chopin Étude Op. 10, No. 1 MM 33-39

     

Many more similar opportunities for expeditious fingering exist. Look for them. This is not cheating.
     

Forearm Rotation: Just a Tool

     

     My student had experience of forearm rotation before coming to me and understands it quite well. He is an advanced pianist with considerable facility, though he is not happy with the way passages feel as he careens laterally up and down the keyboard.
     As I watched him play, I could detect what seemed to me to be extra movement, though it was very slight. When we discussed this, he explained that in speed he reduced the rotation to the smallest movement possible. Here lies the difficulty.
     There is often misunderstanding about this very easy, natural and essential gesture, a gesture that underlies all of our playing. When teaching rotation, the first concept I explain is that it is an underlying tool; it is not how we move—it is not what we think of—in speed. Its purpose is to teach the finger/hand/arm alliance what it feels like to complete each note in succession as if walking—transferring weight from finger to finger. The result is the sensation of being at rest at the bottom of each key. Notice I didn't say relaxed—some effort is required in order to stand on a particular note, just as it takes some effort to stand upright on our feet, though we can do both without feeling tension.
     Forget the rotation. Yes, in speed we no longer attempt to

exaggerate the rotation, particularly when moving stepwise as in a scale passage. We use a more general way to support fingers with the forearm. This is called shaping. We rely on the playing apparatus to remember the sensation of transferring weight, of walking note to note. (Look for demos in the tabs above.)

Reading About Piano Technique: Where to Start?

     A pianist in France wrote asking for suggestions on which of my books to read first. I was of course flattered that she had some interest. It occurred to me that others may have similar questions, now that I've exceeded my original plan and flooded the canon of rhetoric on piano study. Lest I be accused of deliberate obfuscation, I wish to register here that my intentions are in fact to illuminate.

     In order to learn about a natural, effortless way to play the piano from my point of view, you might find Piano Technique Demystified: Insights Into Problem Solving useful. If that seems compelling, then the new book, Mystified No More: Further Insights Into Piano Technique, would be a logical continuation. If you want to put into practice some of the ideas,

particularly that of practicing technique in repertoire instead of using exercises, then you could have a look at The Pianist's Guide to Practical Technique and The Pianist's Guide to Practical Scales and Arpeggios. And for those readers with a shorter attention span, I have a new feature article in the January/February issue of American Music Teacher titled "Practicing the Piano."

Chopin Etudes: Arpeggios in the First and Last

Carl Czerny

Chopin

     A reader in Norway wrote with kind words about my new book, Mystified No More. He seemed particularly interested in my contention that it is more efficient to solve technical problems in repertoire than by using prefabricated exercises, practicing X in order to play Y.  Playing devil's advocate, he offered a quote by the distinguished Russian pedagogue Heinrich Neuhaus, mentor to Sviatislov Richter, Radu Lupu and others with major careers in the 20th century. 

Heinrich Neuhaus, the Russian
School

Neuhaus writes in The Art of Piano Playing, "One should not forget that, having begun the study of arpeggios...with the Czerny étude from the School of Velocity or the Art of Finger Dexterity, it [the study of arpeggios] should be completed with Chopin's Etudes Op. 10, No 1 or Op. 25, No. 12." Neuhaus seems to feel that practicing X will provide a path to Y. Keep in mind that the Chopin Études are concert pieces and not meant to be pedagogy, at least no more than any other technical passage in a piece of music—meaning that we learn from everything we play.

Czerny School of Velocity No. 3

Czerny Art of Finger Dexterity No. 2

     The arpeggiated figures in Chopin's first and last études are indeed related to the Czerny examples, related in the sense that they are arpeggios. The techniques, though, are quite different, so why not practice them in the actual pieces? In the C major étude, notice that the expanse covers a tenth. So, the first issue to consider is how to avoid feeling too open:

Chopin Étude Op. 10, No. 1

Simply put, take the thumb along. This is accomplished by means of a walking hand, thumb to second finger as indicated by the bracket above. Shape slightly in for four and five by raising the forearm slightly, giving security and "strength" to those fingers (indicated by arrows). One way to practice this feeling of being "closed" is to regroup the sixteenths, feeling a start on the second finger:

Re-grouping

Incidentally, look for more agreeable fingerings later on. For example, in measure thirty-one I use the following:

Fingering

     The C minor étude is more about the repeated note than the arpeggio. Use forearm rotation from five to one in the right hand and one to five in the left in order to move to each new octave position as indicated by the dotted arrows:

Chopin Étude Op. 25, No. 12

The arpeggio, then, is shaped slightly under in the right hand when ascending and over on the descent. The left hand is just the opposite. 

     Well, then, since I don't agree with Neuhaus on a pathway to music by means of Czerny studies, I ask myself what as a matter of policy do I recommend? Virtually any arpeggiated passage in the repertoire, I tell myself, that teaches the finger/hand/arm alliance what it feels like to shape. The final movement of Beethoven's Sonata Op. 27, No. 2, "Moonlight," comes immediately to mind, as do the C major concerto and the Sonata Op. 2, No. 3. Many examples abound if you want to prepare yourself for Chopin, but don't yet feel ready. Look into The Pianist's Guide to Practical Scales and Arpeggios or The Pianist's Guide to Practical Technique for more ideas. Don't waste time on exercises for which you have no particular use. Don't practice X in order to play Y. 

They Left Us Too Soon

Lipatti at his final concert

Dino Lipatti was one of the greats who didn't get a fair shake. You can hear his last public performance of Mozart K. 310, September 16, 1950, here: Lipatti's final performance, a concert he was unable to finish. He was 33. If you want to read more about that event, go HERE.
I grew up on his recording of the Grieg concerto, a definitive performance still.

William Kapell

     William Kapell, killed in a plane crash at the age of 31 while on tour, was near the start of one of the most brilliant careers ever. He was compared to Horowitz. His recording of the Khachaturian concerto is still a benchmark. Here he is playing Mephisto Waltz.