HARDEST PIANO OPENINGS: A Pianist's Nightmares

     Yesterday, I came across a YouTube video in which the author announced a list of difficult

opening passages in certain repertoire that scared him. This caught my attention, naturally, as I am of the opinion that passages shouldn't feel intrinsically difficult and one shouldn't be fearful if the technique is completely understood. We all agree, of course, that public performance can be fraught with any number of psychological impediments. But let's not blame the music.

     His list of "difficulties" surprised me. First, there was the opening leap in the left hand of Beethoven's Op. 111. He argued against dividing the two octaves

Beethoven Sonata Op. 111

  between the hands

  as being contrary to

  the dramatic intent,

  though many artists

  do just that, Evgeny Kissin and

Maurizio Pollini, for example; Andras Schiff does not.  (There is a video of the great Myra Hess missing the leap, her musical intention superseding her technical knowhow.)

     I have to say, if he needs a security blanket to start his concert, there's no shame in dividing between the hands. No one will notice or care. Still, if he feels that somehow this dramatic gesture requires the leap without a net, then he should rethink his technical approach along the following lines:

    

In the video, I greatly exaggerate the rotational gesture, of course. In speed, the hand remains as close to the keys as possible, the fifth finger acting as a hinge.

     His next fright is the opening of Beethoven's G-major piano concerto. This, I think, is probably more psychological in nature, as the notes 

Beethoven fourth piano concerto, opening

themselves present no outlandish difficulties. But in order to quiet the negative committee that often sits

on our shoulders, we need a positive approach to just what the musical intention is and how we achieve it. If he wants a singing sound—I'm sure he does—I suggest imagining what it feels like to sink into the outer notes of this four-part chorale-like passage, emphasis on the right hand. I compare this feeling with that of pressing fingers into wet sand, the melody fingers pressing deeper. Think it first. Take a deep breath. The conductor will wait. What is the dynamic shape of the phrase? Does it rise first to the C atop the ii chord, then fall back a bit before rising via a G major scale to a new high point on the D? I mention the obvious because these are the thoughts that pull us back into the music and away from the fearful committee. (John Crown, one of my undergraduate teachers, felt this scale was one of the most difficult in the repertoire. I'll admit, one does feel exposed.)

     Alas, poor Beethoven gets blamed yet again for another frightening passage: 

Beethoven Appassionata 

     

     

     My correspondent apparently fears this passage because it requires the hand to be "open" while playing fast and furiously, which of course would be uncomfortable and perhaps cause missed notes? Again, a better technical solution is the answer. It is always calming to know how to do a given task. This passage feels quite comfortable, even easy, when the hand is allowed to feel relatively closed by means of forearm rotation rather than made to extend to block a chord. 

      Next he tells us of a nightmarish experience involving two false starts as he attempted to play the opening piece in Schumann's "Kreisleriana," which apparently crashed each time. 

      

     This is about grouping notes together that move in the same direction. Our correspondent may be enslaved to the notation and forgetting to take his thumb along with his hand, keeping the hand unnecessarily open. Repeat: take your thumb with your hand, don't leave it lagging behind. I've added slurs to indicate the groupings I use. It's easy to remember. Start each group with the thumb and think tiny under shape. (Shaping is discussed elsewhere in these pages.)

     

     Side note: It's possible to follow the articulation Schumann indicates in the score, but in so doing the tempo slows considerably. Is this an argument in favor of taking a slower tempo, I wonder? The first edition gives the instruction äusserst bewegt, literally "extremely moved." When the German is replaced with Italian in subsequent editions, this becomes Allegro agitato, fast and restless. You decide. 

    

    So, if fear strikes, especially in rehearsal, have a look at the mechanics of the passage. This is especially important for beginnings. If fear emerges suddenly in performance, play slower and more deliberately even if panic sets in and the instinct says go faster. Yes, really. If the beginning feels shaky, the committee will chatter away into your left ear because that's where the devil hangs out. You may have to play louder to drown them out. In the final analysis, focusing on the musical story helps the most.

     

COORDINATION (Fingering) IN KABALEVSKY'S SONATINA: Another Case of the Evil Twin at Work

     My adult student brought this familiar foray into 20th-century classical style. He stumbled often, but not always, at the two scale passages, G minor as shown here (Ex. 1) and the same passage on C minor a few measures later. Notice that nothing could be more innocent harmonically: a G minor scale over a first-inversion arpeggio, also G minor: 

Kabalevsky Sonatina, Op. 13, No. 1, Third Movement

     Reliable fluency seemed unattainable. So, we set out to solve this mystery. Two issues are in play here: the musical objective and the technical means, which are at odds with each other. I know. I know. What else is new? I point this out because my student fell victim to the musical objective as indicated in the score, trying for a “whoosh” without first solving the technique, which is about noticing the milestones along the way. One hand attempted to lead the other astray. This passage is, of course, a rudimentary example. But it behooves us all to notice groupings in extended passages in order to facilitate the technique. The hand can sometimes be a little stupid; it can't conceive of a seemingly endless array of notes without stepping stones along the way. 

     Step one is to notice which fingers of each hand partner each other and encourage them to cooperate by feeling a slight down together. Do this very slowly. (I've indicated these fingerings in Ex. 2.) Feel these pairs first on each eighth. Then, moving on to step two, feel the pairs on each quarter—still very slowly. Then comes the crucial third step: Notice the pair of fingers on the downbeat of measure two. Aha! This is not the beginning of the scale. Feel a secure starting place here. Gradually work up the tempo feeling, though not hearing, the pulses. Go ahead. Try it. It's fun. Twins should work together.

 

 

 

ON THE VALUE OF PRACTICING ETUDES: A response (Repost)

     I was delighted recently to receive a thoughtful response to my essay on the value of etudes ("Scales, Arpeggios..." in which I argue that Czerny, Hanon and others of that ilk thought strength-training was required). My correspondent argues that "most exercises are NOT training for strength, but rather they are more NEUROMUSCULAR in 

nature." And he has a use for exercises. I'm glad he seems to agree that strength training is not the desired goal. I suspect this is a forest-for-the-trees situation. But I think it's worth working through the concepts.
     Unfortunately, the impression many students and teachers take away from exercises has to do with strength training. The two most ubiquitous composers of etudes, Hanon and Czerny, have created a strength and 

Charles-Louis Hanon
1819-1900

finger-independence cult. In the preface to his 60 Exercises, Hanon states that "The fourth and fifth fingers are almost useless for lack of special exercises for these fingers, which are always weaker than the rest." There is nothing wrong with the fourth and fifth fingers—they are not weak—unless at some point they've been slammed 

Ouch!

in a car door. Our job at the keyboard is to learn how to use them according to their design. (Making the fingers feel "strong" is addressed elsewhere in these pages.) Further, he instructs students to "lift the fingers high." This is pointless and possibly dangerous, but again that is a different topic. The fingers are not physiologically independent of one another but can be made to sound that way. (Did you know that Hanon was an organist? Just saying.)
     Czerny, on the other hand, gives almost no 

Carl Czerny
1797-1857

instructions on how to master his studies—just play them. Some of the titles in The Art of Finger Dexterity, though, give hints as to what he is thinking: "Action of the Fingers, Quiet Hand." One of my favorites is titled, "The Passing Under of the Thumb." This isn't really about strength, but it is one of the old wives' tales that have come down to us. The most efficient use of the thumb is not achieved by "passing under." (Thumb crossing is discussed elsewhere.) I often wonder what studies the five-year-old prodigy practiced. (Doesn't he resemble Schubert in the above photo?)
     But my correspondent's main point of contention, which he argues ever so politely, is that exercises are useful because they are not music. "They are NEUROMUSCULAR in 

nature." "Technique," he says, "is in the brain, not the body." The first half of that statement is right on point. Yes, we think first. But we think about what the body needs to learn. This is what I call practicing on purpose, working into an automatic response the appropriate technical solutions which we first have to conceive of.  Everything we play is, of course, neuromuscular. We rely on physical conditioning, particularly for speed. He points out that students have "too many distractions" in a piece of music: "reading, tone productions, balance, phrasing, tempo." If he really wants to play unmusically (I'm sure he doesn't), he can do that in passages in a piece of music just as well as in an exercise.
     And this is really what I'm talking about. When I say ignore exercises in favor of music, I mean select challenging passages in the music to use as etudes. This might be a scale passage, an arpeggio, two measures of double notes or an octave group. In so doing, we have a head start on a piece we really want to play. And don't tell me that this devalues the music; if a technical problem arises, it has to be solved independently of the music anyway. If you master Hanon, say, you have, well, an exercise that trained your hands to play that exercise. This will not make it possible to play the "Appassionata." 
     "With exercises," my correspondent states, " we can revel in the beauties of pure technique." We can do that in problematic excerpts from music, too. If a pianist has a problem in a particular passage, that becomes an etude independent of the rest of the piece. Personally, I see no reason to ever play ugly; we should always be aware of the quality of sound, articulation and dynamics as they have their own techniques to work in. That's not too much to think about in, say, a four-measure excerpt. I have the sinking feeling that many teachers run to the shelf to select a book of exercises because that seems easier than thinking about what technical help the student needs for a particular piece. 
     I can hear my teacher now: "Dear, you can play whatever you want as long as you play it correctly." Of course, if you know how to play your exercise correctly, then you don't need to play it.

HANDS TOGETHER PLEASE: The Pianist's Curse

     I have been following a lengthy, sometimes heated, discussion on the turn-of-the-20th century practice of mis-aligned hands, the left hand sounding slightly ahead of the right. The evidence in support of this theory is based largely, if not entirely, on recordings made at the ends of the careers of some legendary pianists who may or may not have sensed the import of these recordings. At the time, recording was a novelty, not the industry that it has become, and pianists very possibly were not thinking in terms of posterity, that they would be held up as an example of a particular style of playing. Still, there they are, these recordings, for us to ponder and marvel at.

    I personally love feeling a connection to the musical past. I don't dispute the notion that chords were often rolled for extra-expressive purposes, rolled without authorization from the composer. I do dispute the notion that composers accepted this as a given, calmly acquiescing to the casual whims of any flamboyant virtuoso who happened to pick up a score. Here's why: Brahms and the others knew how to put a wavy line in the score—they often did—so why not put more of them in if that is really what they heard? It seems to me that by not putting in more wavy lines, they are telling us not to roll those chords. 

    We have written accounts of distinguished musicians praising public performances for not deviating from the score. (Having attended a recital by Liszt, Clara Schumann remarks in a letter that she felt he relied too much on the score.) This tells me that, even though the practice may have been prevalent, it was not considered tasteful even at that time. It is definitely out of fashion today.  

    I think what we're talking about is the propensity for playing with the hands slightly askew, a sort of rolled effect, to telegraph how meaningful the music is, a sort of elbow to the ribs. This was a style of playing that was both tolerated and enjoyed by different groups of players/listeners. I used to do it spontaneously myself during the throes of adolescence to show how musical I was, not having heard anyone do it or being told to do it. It came quite naturally to me, unconsciously, as I played. But when I heard it back, I found it annoying. I thought it distracted from the music. I still think so. (Under the "Listen" tab above, listen to Adelina d' Lara for a good example of this style. I wonder what Madame Schumann would have thought.)

    I'm sure some pianists in the 19th century did it and some not. I would guess that Clara Schumann did not, as she was an advocate of the sanctity of the score and to my knowledge didn't write about this or make any indications in her editions. She virtually single-handedly changed the concert from a circus to the more serious piano recital we know today. So, for me, she has a certain authority. It seems to be about taste, which as we know changes.

     It was suggested in the discussion that the modern way of playing, without rolling chords at will, began with such pianists as Backhaus, Rubinstein and Arrau. Well, Backhaus studied with Eugene d'Albert and heard d'Albert play the Brahms concertos with the composer conducting. Rubinstein's education was supervised by Joseph Joachim, a close associate of Brahms. Arrau studied in Berlin with Martin Krause, a pupil of Liszt. So, I have to wonder what influenced their approaches to expressive playing. Why did they opt not to roll chords and perpetuate a style of playing that is now considered old-fashioned? I suspect they caught on to the notion that music could be still more expressive without the distraction of superfluous ornamentation, which is what a rolled chord is, an ornament. 

    I propose that those who enjoy this way of playing do so, keeping in mind that they might be thought eccentric by people who know the score. (I promise not to run screaming from the room.) Yet, others who do not know the score might find it charming. This would be along the lines of Gould's experiments in playing standard repertoire "wrong" or differently in order to get people to listen to familiar music with fresh ears.

The Evil Twins: Teaching Thumb-Crossings at the Piano

    In the previous post, we learned how to cross the thumb in an efficient way, that is, making use of forearm rotation. Now let's talk about coordinating the crossings between the two hands. Remember, in parallel scales, the crossings occur in each hand at different points in the scale. The hands are mirror images of each other. Even though they are called upon to play parallel passages, the movement is not always the same in each hand.

When there is a lack of coordination, it's that evil twin trying to make its sibling misbehave and do what it's doing. So, take a deep breath and read on. This sounds more complicated than it really is. (Review forearm rotation here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h1Gwvaw7SQk).

    Excellent coordination requires really only one thing: when the thumb makes its rotational crossing, notice what type of rotation is required in the other hand at the same time. Practice that. Simple. 

Well, at first it's a little like trying to pat your head and rub your tummy at the same time.  Exaggerate the movements, first in one hand then the other. Then put the hands together. Slowly. Deliberately. Breathe. Don't panic. Keep in mind that this is an underlying tool and becomes so tiny in speed as to be invisible. 

    

    Notice that in the video I add an in/out shaping to the scale. Ignore this at first until the coordination is well worked-in. Remember, my demonstration is greatly exaggerated. 

    

    Now exhale.

        

TEACHING PIANO AT THE EARLY GRADES: The All Important Thumb

     I had just begun my tenure as a university professor when after a concert I was ambushed by several local piano teachers. They had heard I "didn't believe in scales." They were outraged at the sacrilege. 

    "Well," I responded as I stepped back, pressing my hands against the cinderblock for support. "'Believe' is such a loaded word." My mind is racing to place their complaint in context. How had I gained this reputation as an infidel—and so early in my career? "My students tend to be advanced," I offered. "They come to me (presumably) already equipped with scales, so I don't teach scales and certainly don't want to hear them."

This seemed to quell the hysteria somewhat. But I was on a roll, now, and not about to release them back into the wild without more information. I pointed out that scales are necessary as an aspect of keyboard harmony and topography—and most importantly, how the thumb works in coordination with the other fingers. But once fluent with hands together at a moderate tempo in all major and melodic minor keys, relentless practicing of scales hoping for some miraculous technical advancement is a waste of time. Yes, waste of time. The scales we practice in "root"position rarely occur in concert music, if ever. We are better off extracting scales from repertoire we want to play and practicing those. My inquisitors are right, though, to question my pedagogy. For their elementary students, scales are imperative.

    So what is a scale? If we're going to teach scales, we should know what they are. An octave-worth of notes that move stepwise in the same direction? Yes. Two groups of notes that fall easily under the hand? Yes. (Getting warmer.) Two groups of notes played by fingers and are connected by the thumb. Connected by the thumb! What we need to teach when the time comes is how to efficiently manage the so-called thumb crossing from one group of notes to another. If I had to describe a single most important aspect of piano technique, it would be how to use the thumb, a technique that is often misunderstood and one that can be taught in the early grades. 

    The thumb is itinerant. It does not reside on the white keys alongside the fingers as we are sometimes told as children: "Every finger lives in its own house, including the thumb." Not true. Try it. This gesture crunches the hand into a ball, pulling muscles against each other. The thumb has two jobs: Playing its note and clicking the hand into the new position.

    Here is a demonstration. The thumb crossing appears at about 4:40. Forearm Rotation and Thumb crossing.

    Once the crossing is mastered in each hand separately ascending and descending, the hands need to learn to play together. The issue here, of course, is about coordination, which is another story. Here's a hint: The crossing occurs first in the right hand, then in the left. Make a nutshell example beginning on the  third note in each hand and ending on the sixth note. What does this look like? How does it feel? I know this sounds complicated, but it is really quite simple once the hands learn to work together.

    Stay tuned.