From the bench

I recently read two novels about pianists that my wife gave me for Christmas, and both were excellent. I will also briefly mention a third I read several years ago. I’m not going to try to write very thoughtful or complete book reviews here; I’ll briefly describe them and then point to reviews elsewhere.

The first, and better for the musically literate, is An Equal Music by Vikram Seth. He is probably best known for An Unsuitable Boy; Music is his second prose novel. The main character is a violinist in a top string quartet based in England. He pines for the professional pianist with whom he had a romance while they were both students in Vienna; by chance they meet again and embark on a passionate but sometimes painful affair (she is now married). The rich detail about the lives of professional musicians, and the experience of practicing as well as performing, is remarkable: it is very hard to believe that Seth is not himself a professional musician. The characters also convey a wonderful sense of the details and art of the music they play, as well as their emotional engagement with it. Yet, despite the serious and deep treatment of music, the novel is a very good yarn that reads easily and quickly. There is also a companion CD with good performances of the main pieces referenced in the book. The most enjoyable music novel I’ve ever read. [Amazon (UK) page with reviews] [The Complete Review]

The second is Body and Soul by Frank Conroy. This is the story of a development of a concert pianist, from age six to mid-30s, set largely in New York City. The musical writing is sensitive and accurate, though not as emotionally compelling as Seth’s book. Claude is an only-child of a single mother who lives in a basement flat and drives a taxi. His talent is discovered early by an old-fashioned music store owner who becomes his first and most-beloved teacher, before he necessarily moves on to study with the very best. One high point was the presentation of the different teaching styles and approaches to technique employed by his several teachers. His emergence in early concerts as a promising performer is quite moving. The personal story (family, romance, friendships) is portrayed very straightforwardly, but episodically, with surprising gaps that left me wondering. [Amazon page with reviews]

The third, which I read several years ago, is The Piano Tuner, by Daniel Mason. It’s the story of Edgar Drake, who is commissioned by the British Government to go to Burma in the late-1800s to tune the piano of a strategically important warlord. Drake, of course, plays, and there are some wonderful moments, particularly of him playing the Well-Tempered Clavier on the less than pristine Erard he finds when he arrives in Burma. The story is not as rich in musical detail as those above, though Mason does convey passion for and sensitivity to piano music. [Amazon page with reviews]

On 20 Jan 08 I attended a startling — in a wonderful way — concert. Yuja Wang gave a piano recital in magnificent Hill Auditorium. Only 20 years old, Wang has been on a very successful world tour for the past two years, after studying with Gary Graffman at the Curtis Institute. Last year she was selected for a prestigious Gilmore Young Artist award.

I was startled because Wang was fabulous in ways I didn’t anticipate. I knew she was a technical wizard, partly from seeing videos of her playing on YouTube. I didn’t expect her to be so emotionally mature, or musically expressive.

First, a word about her technique: yes, she can play extremely difficult passages with seeming ease. (Her program included Ligeti’s Etudes 4 and 10, and Liszt’s B minor Sonata.) But what, for me, distinguished her from so many other young wizards was her pianissimo. I was absolutely floored: she could play long passages, fast, in the most wispy pianissimo (I was in the 7th row yet almost had to strain to hear it), yet every note sounded, and sounded clearly and distinctly. I kept shaking my head and asking myself, “How does she do that?” She seemed able to draw sounds out of the Steinway D that are simply not physically possible on a piano. Amazing.

But my greater wonder is reserved for her emotional maturity. It’s not so much that she conveyed age way beyond her years (like the also remarkable young Jacqueline du Pre when she gave her definitive performances of Elgar’s autumnal Cello Concerto), but that had a depth and breadth of expression rarely heard in a young technical wizard. She drew out new feelings and colors, especially in the Liszt (also in Ravel’s La Valse). I was particularly moved by her patience: her ability to extend a rest, or slow a passage to a near crawl while maintaining forward motion. Indeed, several times her rests and slow passages were so engaging that I leaned forward in my seat, as if she were reaching out to me and I was responding. I felt concerned for her, and what she was feeling.

Wang also surprised in her ability to abruptly shift mood, in a completely convincing way. And so many moods, some nuanced, some expansive. Her (volume) dynamic range was terrific, but her emotional (dynamic) range was overwhelming. I was in tears several times during the performance, sometimes from joy, other times from the ineffable sadness she could convey.

Part of my wonderment, I think, is due to seeing her the day before give a small master class at the UM School of Music. One of my Ph.D. students is a friend of hers and told me about the unadvertised class (it was attended primarily by the students of two piano professors at the School). In that setting she seemed like the 20 year old young women she is: caually dressed, giggly, convincing but not especially impressive (she is no natural-born teacher). She encourged the students to take chances, to invest their playing with more emotion, but I had no clue what I was going to be hearing from her the next afternoon.

I’m not a qualified music critic. I have only a so-so ear for nuance and color. Maybe I’m way wrong in my assessment of Wang’s capability. But I have heard quite a few great pianists perform, and this was the first time I heard someone young and not yet well known (she has no commercial recordings, for example) and walked out convinced that this was the real thing, a performer who would succeed and play at the highest levels. I think we will be hearing a lot more about Wang in the years to come.

Chris Lewis is a pianist, organist and teacher in Vermont, and is one of the regular faculty at the Sonata adult piano camp. I think he is an unusual and remarkable analyst of piano playing, and a uniquely terrific teacher. He is a fabulously talented performer, so his methods apparently have worked for him!

Chris has spent years thinking about what it is we do that actually makes the music we here. The main points he makes are basic, and not exactly novel, but I’ve not met nor read a teacher who makes the points as clearly, firmly and compellingly. I’ll try to summarize one of his points (probably not very well).

Ignoring for a moment the pedals, there are only essentially only two things we can do to affect the sound (of a note) we make: change the velocity at which we make the hammer strike the string, and change the duration . That’s it. Pushing the key against the keybed does nothing to change the sound. Moving the elbow does nothing. Rolling the arms up and down like a bird’s wings or a wave doesn’t change the vibrations of the string. Whether we start with our finger on the key, a little above, or far above doesn’t matter — the speed with which we strike the key is all that matters (it may be easier or harder for us to generate or control speed depending on where we start, but the position itself doesn’t affect the sound). Likewise, the key raises itself when you release it. As long as you lift your finger the slightest bit faster than the mechanism, nothing you can do changes the speed of release. Lifting your finger 1/16th of an inch above the key (or even not at all) creates exactly the same sound as lifting an inch, or flinging the arm off. As Chris puts it, nothing is happening to the sound between the keyboard and the sky.

So what? Chris advocates creating strike speed and release with a minimum of muscular effort and motion. The occasional flourish is neither here nor there, but why spend energy and practice time on things that do not actually affect the sound we are making? Focus on the sound you want to hear, figure out what it takes to create it, and do that. And “that” is very little: it’s moving the key down at the speed you want, and releasing it when you want. Lifting the fingers high above the keys is generally wasted effort. Any wrist or arm movements that are not directly part of the vertical lever (that is, that are not directly affecting the speed of strike or release) are wasted effort. So what? Chris scoffs at “relax” — “if you just relaxed, you’d be a puddle on the floor”. But he believes in practicing and learning only the muscle motion necessary to make the sound he wants, and having the extra resources for speed and control.

To watch him play is amazing. His fingers rarely raise noticeably above the keys. His arms and upper body are quiet — not rigid but calm. But he can play blindingly fast (I’ve seen him play the Liszt B minor Sonata at breathtaking speed, and all of Chopin’s big works), and at the same time expressively (he is not a mere technical wizard).

I’m currently attending, for my fifth year in a row, the Sonata piano camp in Bennington, VT. This is a year-round institution, running for 38 years now. Originally it offered only a summer piano camp for children. Since 1979 they have been offering 10-day adult piano camps throughout the year. There are currently 9 sessions, plus 4 shorter (extended weekend) “Intermezzo” sessions.

This is a family run business, and is held in the huge (40 plus room) family homestead. Each session has about 24 students, most staying in the house (some choose quieter and more private quarters in nearby motels or bed and breakfasts). The typical day has 4 scheduled hours of practice, a 90 minute class (topics such as music theory, musicianship, music literature and appreciation, improvisation, sight reading, etc.), an evening master class or concert, and round-the-clock unscheduled practice time. There are about 26 pianos available. In addition to the master classes, there is a duet recital, and a final day solo recital.

The teachers are uniformly good, many of them fabulous. The owner and director, Polly Vanderlinde (eldest daughter of the founders, Rosamonde and Rein Vanderlinde), is an accomplished performer with an MA in performance, and a truly gifted teacher. She gathers additional faculty from all over New England, nearly all of them conservatory trained, professional performers and top notch teachers. During the camp each student receives 4-5 hour-long private lessons, in addition to the group master classes.

I get an enormous amount out of my time here. The students come from all over the country (and often elsewhere in the world). Most return year after year. They range in ability from raw beginners to the highly accomplished (recital pieces over the course of a typical year include things like Chopin sonatas or Fantasies, the Brahms F Minor sonata, Bach Partitas, etc.). I have made several good friends; we stay in touch throughout the year, and campers often get together in regional gatherings. My regular teacher is fabulous, but the opportunity for multiple lessons from top faculty, plus the many hours of concentrated practice and multiple performance opportunities can’t be beat. Hearing other students and the faculty talk and perform is also very inspiring.

This year my new repertoire was severely limited by having my left hand in a cast for 12 weeks (two separate fractures, the second two weeks after the cast came off the first), but I still have enough to make camp very worthwhile. Last night I performed Schubert’s A flat Impromptu (Op. 90, No. 4) in master class. Saturday I’ll play the third movement of Beethoven’s Pathetique sonata in the solo recital. Thursday night I’m playing the theme and two variations from Brahms’s Variations on a Theme of Haydn (the St. Antony Chorale) with Rosemary Perry, in a simplified arrangement for four hands, one piano (the original is written for two pianos). I’m also working on Rachmaninov’s G sharp minor prelude (Op. 32 No. 12), and Chopin’s F major etude (Op. 10 No. 8).

I just discovered that the have this picture of me as one of their publicity shots on the website. This was taken during “Monsters” rehearsal (we all learn a set of duets, but play them on 5 or six pianos as a piano orchestra).

InfoChopin, The International Chopin Resource Center, is filled with historical information, events, organizations, publications, etc.

Ben Clapton offers a blog devoted solely to music practice.

Prof. Brent Hugh (Missouri Western State College of Music) maintains a rather extensive page on piano practice principles and methods. Throughout he sprinkles observations from the psychology of learning to clarify and justify the principles. I’d be happier if he provided some references for these “psychologists say” comments, because it is easy to mis-generalize research findings (or give too much weight to findings with little empirical support). But the practice principles seem sensible, and the methods standard. The big plus is that he offers explanations on why different methods “work”, and what their advantages and disadvantages are.

Chris Foley (Collaborative Piano Blog) spent October writing a music practice essay a day. What an undertaking! I think many of his ideas are good, and several are new to me. Some will be controversial (most modern serious teachers I know think Hanon-type exercises are very unproductive, for example), but Chris seems to be aiming at musicians of all levels, and ideas that more serious teachers don’t like might be helpful for novice or intermediate students. (I confess to enjoying Hanon from time to time — it appeals to my obsessive-compulsive side, and a belief hat it helps me develop independence in my fingers. I also relied heavily on in for several months after breaking my left hand twice in a row (the second time two weeks after the first cast came off), when I needed serious piano-specific physical therapy to regain strength, flexibility and control.)

Here is a listing of the books I have on practicing the piano. And a listing (incomplete) of the books I have on music generally (including practice, interpretation, playing, theory, harmony, history, etc.).

I’m struggling currently with Rachmaninov’s Prelude in g sharp minor (Op 32, No 12). To cheer me up now and then I watch Igudesman and Joo. What a great idea!

For a quite nice performance of the g sharp minor, see Richard Pohl’s video.