Is Czerny a Prerequisite to Liszt?

    

A pianist writes that she is trying to "improve her piano playing." She states that Chopin etudes are" in her grasp" but wants to know how to "take the leap to Liszt's etudes." Pianist Vladimir Pleshakov responds correctly that there is "no mythical ladder" providing a rung by rung ascent to Parnassum. Pardon my reference to Muzio Clementi of Gradus fame.*

   

Czerny is not a prerequisite to anything. Well-meaning though he may have been, his one-thousand plus etudes designed to "strengthen" the fingers or increase "independence" provide little more than a distraction from the real work of working out technical issues in and learning concert repertoire. Remember, he was himself a celebrated prodigy, having made his debut at age nine in a performance of Mozart's C minor concerto. This begs the question, what etudes did he study? I speculate that, since he was a "natural" and doubtless had few if any technical issues, his etudes written for others less fortunate than he were the result of speculation on his part. And incidentally, there was money to be made.

   

Now, gentle reader, before sending me hate mail, consider this. The configurations in the Czerny studies can be found in standard Classical repertoire. Why not practice them there. You can, of course, play as many studies as you want, but you will only have learned to play studies. You will not automatically be able to play Liszt or Chopin. If the original poster can already "grasp" Chopin etudes, there is no reason to suppose she would not be able to move on to Liszt without first wasting time running around the barn. (If you are a regular reader of my essays, you know that we pianists don't train for physical strength and that the fingers are not and never will be independent of one another, though they can be made to sound as if.) 

    When I was a graduate student, I overheard one of my very accomplished colleagues practicing scales and advanced studies. They were flawless. When she emerged from her studio, I asked her why. She said she enjoyed it. That, my friends, is the only reason to play Czerny studies.

    Note: Major and melodic minor Scales have to be learned as a matter of keyboard topography and keyboard harmony. Once fluent, with hands together at a moderate tempo, it is not particularly helpful as a matter of technique to drill them endlessly. As a matter of convenience in the beginning stages, it may be useful to use some of the five-finger patterns in Czerny or elsewhere. Even so, these patterns can also be found in early sonatinas and other beginning pieces. If used as "etudes", these patterns will provide a head start on future repertoire.

*Gradus ad Parnassum (1817) by Muzio Clementi. It means "steps to mastery." Parnassus is a mountain in central Greece standing 8000 feet high. 

Crossing the Thumb "Under"

   In an expression of frustration, my father used to remark that he wished he had a nickel for every time he had to repeat himself. I suppose today, what with inflation and all, it would be more like sixty dollars. I don't mind repeating myself, though, even without getting paid.

    In a public forum a pianist writes: "I've had

trouble crossing my thumb under my third and fourth finger in my left hand when playing scales, causing my hand to stumble and lose its place, for forever." A well-meaning responder offers the following help: "It's the P word [practice?] again. Constant work at the scales starting slow until you're under control and  then increasing the speed will aid muscle memory to the [point] where you will do it without thinking. Like a drill in sports." 

   

Okay. Here's the thing. We don't drill at the piano the way we would in sports, should we be inclined to do sports. The muscles we train at the piano are refined and we work for physical coordination, not for bulk and strength. True, we do repetition training in order to "work in" our technical solutions so that they become automatic. We rely on this in speed.

    And yes we "practice" along the lines outlined in an earlier essay. But in order to move the thumb after we've run out of other fingers, we do not cross it under.  In a descending, left-hand scale (or right-hand), the thumb plays its note and immediately is allowed to hang (yes, hang) behind the second finger. It is allowed (not forced) to move in similar fashion behind each successive finger as that finger plays. This puts the forearm at an angle to the keyboard. (The arm may be at any angle with the keyboard as long as it is straight with itself.) When the thumb is required to play its note, it will already have arrived over it. It then plays by means of a rotation of the forearm, which is our quickest and most natural movement. (By natural I mean that it is a movement the forearm was designed to do.) If instead the thumb is pulled under the hand, the only way it can play is to fall on its note, which produces the result described by the original poster above.

    For a demonstration of this movement, select the tab above labeled "iDemos" and choose "forearm rotation." The discussion of thumb crossings begins at about 4:30. The example is in the right hand; the left is, of course, the same in reverse.   

    Please remember, efficient practicing is deliberate, with the brain engaged. First, decide on the correct movement and only then begin to work it in. Practice on purpose; reject mindless rote.

My New Domain

 

Gentle readers: There was a disturbance in the ether world resulting in the disappearance of my domain. The new domain is:               www.pianotechniquedemystified.com.

How Should We Play the Piano?

        

Someone on a public forum asked "how should we play the
piano?" An avid practicer responded with a helpful list in which he wrote the word practice one hundred times. At one-hundred-one he suggested repeating the above. A responder asked, insightfully, "but what if I'm doing it wrong?" The response was: "If you're doing it wrong, you're not trying hard enough...just put in a better effort."

    This reminded me of something my late friend Bob once told me in a fit of pique. It seems I had pushed a button when I criticized his driving—not signaling until after he started a lane change.  I pointed out that the object of signaling was to let others know in advance what he intended to do. "I've been driving for sixty years," was his indignant reply, and that was not the end of it. I bit my tongue, but I thought to myself that he'd been doing it wrong for sixty years.

     Well, of course we should play the piano correctly. But the word practice is itself loaded. In a way, it's like the word opera, which encompasses many disciplines. At the very least, though, practice implies repetition. But I would venture to ask, "repeat what?" One obvious answer might be "the notes" in order to beat them into our memory. Or the phrasing. Maybe the quality of sound and the relationship of dynamic contrasts. But no, for me practice, the repetition, begins after the intellect has decided what the objectives are and what are the appropriate mechanisms required in order to achieve the desired result. (Maybe we should call that  pre-practice?) How do I move from one note to the next? What is the most effective fingering? What is the technical shaping or grouping? (Shaping and grouping as techniques are discussed elsewhere in these pages.) Of course, I refer here primarily to passages that require specialized attention. Still, all practicing is something we do on purpose. It is not a mindless rote activity.

    I should add that for me, a correct approach is one in which the playing apparatus (fingers, hand, forearm) are used in a coordinate manner and according to their design.

Sight-Reading at the Piano: Is There Any Such Thing?

      

     My student wants to play chamber music, but doesn't trust his sight-reading skills. They are in fact, he says, non-existent. He is not a born sight reader, but his ear is good. I've found over the years that most pianists are proficient in one, but not both of these skills. Of course, there are a few who have both skills. We are allowed to dislike these people very much.
      When someone is a good sight-reader, it means they are able to bring the score to life at first look, 

making it sound like the piece. Some pianists, I've noticed, think that sight-reading means being able to read music. If one can read music, of course, one is using the eyes to do so. But poking out notes a few at a time is not what I call sight reading. A good sight reader learns to automatically associate the passage on the page with its location on the keyboard without passing through the intellect. This is the crux of sight reading.
     Now for an about face. There is really no such thing as sight reading, that is if one has at least some experience with notation. By that I mean the

process of reading music fluently can be reduced to simply recognizing a finite (probably?) number of patterns, repeated over and over again in various permutations. I know, this is not really very helpful. There are, however, exercise volumes addressing this very concept, deadly dull, mind-numbing whole pages of patterns to play repeatedly. Never mind. You don't need them.
     But do learn to recognize patterns. Our common-practice music is made up largely of 

scales and arpeggios. Look for these. Our music is also largely made up of tertian harmony, so learn to feel shapes of chords and their inversions. This will help with Alberti figures, too. 
     If you want to systematically work to improve your sight-reading skill, here is a plan:

     1. Do it. Every day. Set aside ten minutes of practice time. Really. Every day. I know it is not satisfying to have to do something that seems 

incomplete. Keep scores handy that are much easier than you are capable of actually playing. A hymnal is a good place to start, as hymns are mostly homophonic. Or Anna Magdalena Song Book. Or easier sonatinas or other Classical era teaching pieces.
     2. Scan. Before beginning, look through the piece. Look for any surprises, i.e., change of key or meter, technical challenges. I do this myself  when someone hands me something I don't know.
     3. Tempo. Decide on a tempo that 

accommodates the quickest note values.
     4. Continue. Begin to play keeping track of the pulses and don't vary. If something goes wrong, don't stop. Go on to the next beat or the next measure. If this happens often, the tempo may be too fast.
     5. Focus. Keep eyes on the page and don't look down. There are many great blind pianists, so we know it is not necessary to look at our hands. Did I say keep eyes on the page? This is important.
     6. Anticipate. As you are already keeping eyes on the page anyway, you might as well look ahead. It doesn't help to continue to stare at what you've just played. This is particularly wise at ends of lines.
     7. Find a partner to read with. This is a good 

way to force yourself to continue. A partner who reads well and is willing to play simpler music with you is ideal. There are also collections of teacher/student four-hand pieces. (I've published some of these myself for just this purpose. Look for them below.)
     For this study, it is okay to "sight read" the selection two or three times. And as always, try to see everything—dynamics, articulation—and enjoy the music.

     Here's a collection of teacher/student duets for practice. Have a look:

                 Guided Sight-Reading Practice

Using the Thumb at the Piano: Awkward Lump or Full Partner

 There was a time, long ago, when the thumb was considered a useless appendage at the keyboard.

Officially, the thumb was not allowed on the keys at all. Personally, I think there must have been the occasional scamp who saw its practicality and surreptitiously snuck it up onto the keyboard. Papa Bach may have been one of these, as the use of the thumb became more or less normal during his lifetime.

Once the ignored and much-maligned limb gained full access to its rightful place, there ensued decades of debate as to how it might be used. Stretching and pulling became the default instruction. Exercises were devised to train the innocent, unsuspecting thumb to press itself under the hand and wait there until it was time to play, at which time all it could do was fall on the note, not play it like its finger colleagues. This resulted in a bumpy-sounding scale and not a little discomfort. When the time came to play scales hands together, the bumps and discomfort might often be compounded.

    Here's my modest proposal: Let's figure out how to play the thumb like a finger, without falling on it, and in so doing establish the ground-work for smooth crossings and excellent coordination between the hands. If a passage sounds and feels uncoordinated, it is most likely because one hand is trying to do what the other one is doing rotationally. (See below for demos on rotation and crossings.)

    1. The thumb plays rotationally, not by being pulled under the hand.

    2. When crossing, the job of the thumb is to play its note and move the hand into the new position.

    3. The thumb connects to the key at the fleshy side of the nail, not by falling on the first joint.

    4. If the scale sounds uncoordinated, check the movement of the thumb at its crossing and compare it to what the other hand is doing.

    Once the concept of crossing the thumb rotationally in a scale hands alone is mastered, create nutshell exercises at each crossing. It is not particularly helpful to play the entire scale up and back until the coordination at the crossings has been worked in.

    

    For much, much more on this and other topics, have a look here:

                Piano Technique Demystified