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… PLAY THE MUSIC !

Guest post by Alberto Ferro

Inspirational yet enigmatic, the recommendation to NOT PLAY THE NOTES is typically given in music classes of conservatories all around the world. It suggests that a musician should forget about technical things and focus on the poetic content of the music. Easy to say. And it doesn’t even remotely hint at how that shall be accomplished. How can one play the music without playing notes? Is it perhaps figurative speech?

What is the relationship between music and notes? Music is a way to communicate ideas, emotions, aesthetic content, and the notes are a notational device that helps reconstructing the complex series of actions necessary for music to be performed. While music is an undefinable, ephemeral phenomenon, a musical score is an inescapable, very tangible instruction manual that conveys in a rigorous way how to produce refined combinations of sounds on your instrument. The score (and every kind of musical notation) is a practical tool instructing on practical operations. What scores don’t show are the poetic intention, and they never will.

A note is possibly the smallest item we can identify in a score, a small brick in the architecture of a piece. The similarity with written language is striking: like notes, letters are meaningless by themselves but necessary to form words and phrases of content. In language, for a sentence to acquire meaning it must be organized properly at the level of letters, words and above; syntax, content, punctuation, vocabulary, etc.

Musical notes are grouped into motives, phrases, periods that are dynamic, contextualized by further levels such as harmony, organized in rhythms, sections, according to proportions, characterized by articulations, etc. The score presents all of it in visual form, through black dots on white paper: it takes some years of musical education to see all of that just by studying the score. Even more significantly, seeing doesn’t exactly translates in hearing, and even less easily transforms in performing.

Notes and music belong to two quite different dimensions: instrument and art, instruction and expression, gesture and intention. The ability to maintain the former at the service of the latter is possibly the highest way of conducting ourselves in music.

When you listen to music, do you hear notes or do you pay attention to the music? What is more rewarding, to connect with the poetic message or to detect intervals, tonalities, chords, and notes? Any listener knows that music is relevant when it goes beyond its means of production: every score looks the same, black dots on paper, how uninteresting, but every piece of music is unique. The most passionate listeners don’t hear pianos, cellos, oboes, but emotions, art, sublime ideas, pure creations, etc.

As instrumentalists, when do you stop playing notes and start playing the music? As you practice, there is a point where you have grown so much familiarity with the piece that the score stops showing notes and starts presenting an emotional roadmap, a poetic journey, an aesthetic design. What makes a piece of music exciting are the ideas, colours, gestures, the human characters we find in it, so we must practice it until these emerge, until sound projects ideas, colours, gestures or characters.

‘You must learn by memory, then forget’. The score ought to be forgotten so to express the human message that is in the sound and missing from the score. Or, only when we ‘play without thinking’ music acquires a deeper meaning, since thinking is the very process by which we inhibit more instinctive ways of expression, and the number one reason we get distracted while listening to music.

Start with one bar, one phrase, one chord, and when it works build up from there: the bar, the chord, the phrase, will at once become a vision, a gesture, an emotion, and that means you are not playing notes anymore. There is only one way for the magic to happen and requires that everything is ready in place, solid in your fingers, clear in your heart, and you, the performer, must be free of concerns.

No doubt it is hard, but there isn’t any more valuable route in music. As listeners, for music to reach out and move us, it must be really a special mixture of unique qualities. For musicians the process is backwards: we first try figure out what is it that we are trying to say, why this music matter for us, what is the composer telling us, and keep trying until the exact balance of ingredients (gestures, ideas, visions, intentions, etc.) emerges to align in a perfect, magical mixture.

Alberto Ferro is a composer and pianist. Current Creative Director at the London Contemporary School of Piano, Alberto holds a Piano Performance Degree from Milan Conservatory and a Master in Music from Washington State University, U.S.

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Guest post by Caroline Wright

There’s little doubt that a performance diploma should not be undertaken lightly. Preparing takes a long time and requires thought, dedication, consistency and patience. The pieces are hard and, for most of us, the performance is anxiety-provoking. Indeed, for amateur pianists, the challenge can seem insurmountable. That said, the process of learning a diploma programme can also be fascinating, absorbing, energising, and hugely rewarding.

After recently taking my FTCL exam (but before knowing the result!), I’ve been reflecting on the last 18-months of work – was it all worth it? The answer is a resounding YES! I’ve learnt an enormous amount and grown immensely as a musician. I’ve also been fortunate enough to interact with the thriving piano community across the UK, and meet people of all walks of life who love the piano and are pondering their next pianistic step. So I wanted to share my experience, and thank the many people out there who listened, advised and encouraged me along the way.

Planning the programme

I’d been playing pretty consistently for quite a few years as an adult, but had drifted since my LTCL (back in 2012) and fallen out of the habit of really practising rather than just playing. I needed something to kick myself into action, and the FTCL seemed like ideal goal, albeit a rather daunting one. Perhaps it would be impossible, whilst also working full-time outside music, but how would I know unless I tried?

The first task seemed to be to select a programme. We pianists are spoilt for choice – there are just so many great pieces to play! I read the different syllabuses, and went round and round in circles for months, listening and playing, deciding and undeciding. Overall, the programme had to be musically balanced and make some kind of narrative sense. The pieces also needed to be at least potentially playable. (My hands are quite small, so realistically some repertoire is literally out of reach, and always will be.) And, most importantly, to survive the countless hours of practice, I had to really love the pieces – otherwise what’s the point?

Early on, I decided that I ideally wanted to combine something from one of the “great” classical composers (for me, that means Bach or Beethoven), with something short(er) and light(er), plus something from a contemporary composer. In the end, after much agonising, I settled on:

· Beethoven’s Waldstein Sonata, Op. 53 – good for the fingers, good for the soul.

· 3x Gershwin songs, from 7 Virtuoso Etudes, arranged by Earl Wild – beautiful mini-masterpieces.

· Graham Fitkin’s Relent – it’s not on any syllabus, but I’ve loved this whirlwind of a piece since I first heard it a decade ago, and dared to hope I might be able to play it.

It took me quite a while to arrive at the final selection, and there were ups and downs along the way. As I started to learn the pieces, I questioned my choices regularly, and almost gave up every piece because it seemed too hard! But I loved the whole programme and thought it would make a bold and exciting recital. The pieces are high-energy and life-affirming, which was just what I wanted!

Learning the programme

Deciding on a programme was one thing, but actually playing it was quite another. Learning to play 45 minutes of technically challenging piano music was clearly not going to happen overnight. I needed a plan.

Once I had finally decided maybe to give it a go, I gave myself a maximum of 2 years to work towards the FTCL. I peppered my time every few months with piano lessons (with my long-term teacher) and piano weekends (Jackdaws, Finchcocks, and Oxford Piano Weekends), plus a week-long music summer school (Dartington). These gave me a series of small goals to work towards, provided a source of regular expert input, and offered opportunities to play in front of people. As a result, I had a fairly clear timetable for learning the pieces, based on where I wanted to take them and when. I like to play from memory (and have blogged extensively about this before), so as well as physically playing the piano, the learning process also involved studying the scores and doing mental practice – which was really useful on holiday!

To my astonishment, everything worked out as planned. In the final few months, once everything was learnt and just needed (a lot of!) polishing, it was interesting to reflect on my progress*. I found the process of learning these three contrasting pieces quite different. I started with the Beethoven sonata, and initially made quick progress – the piece just made sense to me. I found it relatively easy to look at the score, understand the classical sonata structure, and memorise the notes. However, going from a mediocre to a good performance took ages. There’s a profound depth to this music that I hadn’t fully anticipated, and achieving satisfactory nuances of phrasing and dynamics whilst also maintaining rhythmic integrity was nearly impossible.

Once I had committed the Beethoven to memory, I moved onto learning the Gershwin songs (one at a time, of course). In contrast to the Beethoven, I found these almost impossibly difficult to read and memorise. While he was arranging these pieces for solo piano, Earl Wild added a staggering number of extra notes, many of which come from jazz harmonies and modal scales that were unfamiliar to me. Although the structure followed the original songs, it was sometimes hard to find the melodies buried deep inside the luxuriously dense texture. All three songs left me struggling and despondent for months, until things suddenly clicked, and I could just play them. After that, it was plain sailing.

When I had two Gershwin songs under my belt, I started on Graham Fitkin’s terrifying Relent. Initially, I wasn’t even sure how to approach learning and memorising such a complex modern piece, and had abandoned learning it years ago on the grounds that it was too difficult. But, motivated by my diploma goal, I worked away at it slowly, learning very small chunks at a time – often doing multiple micro-practice sessions throughout the day – then piecing them together gradually. Unlike the other pieces, my progress was pretty linear, and day-by-day I steadily got better at playing it. Graham himself was also kind enough to give me some advice about playing his piece, which was fantastic. When played at full performance speed and dynamics, the physical demands of this piece are considerable, and I had to be quite careful not to over-practice and injure myself.

After finally selecting and working on the last Gershwin song, eventually all the pieces were learnt, and I had played them all to various piano pedagogues along the way. Eventually, there was nothing left to do but admit that I probably could play these pieces and therefore really should give the exam a go!

* Being a scientist by training, I think quite conceptually, and couldn’t resist the urge to plot a simplified representation of these different, entirely subjective learning curves! Has anyone tried doing this before? I started by defining the top of a hypothetical “performance quality” scale as 10/10, an unattainable perfection that one can only imagine for any piece but never achieve – perhaps it’s a recording, or maybe just an idea. Then, somewhere below this, let’s optimistically say 9/10, is my realistically attainable performance. I think I came close to the latter, but probably never achieved it. Then, there’s the actual path of progress towards the best possible performance, which ideally tends upwards from zero as time goes by, moving at different rates and with different shapes for different people and different pieces. It’s hard not to plateau and stop improving, or worse, to go backwards, particularly when learning multiple pieces. However, I was doggedly single-minded about practising, and although my pieces progressed differently, I think they were all on a par with each other by the end.

Preparing for performance

Unfortunately, I’m not a natural performer. I don’t like being in the spotlight; I get nervous and mess things up. Although public speaking is usually OK, public piano playing is much harder. Performance anxiety is not uncommon amongst pianists, particularly adult amateurs, but it is incredibly frustrating! However, it is possible to improve, and clearly I was going to have to in order to get through an exam and indeed be deserving of something called a “performance” diploma! So, as well as learning my pieces really really well, I tried a number of different approaches to try to become more comfortable with performing.

First, I practised performing. I played in front of people, fairly regularly, mostly at informal gatherings of other pianists – because we’re a forgiving bunch, right? I also recorded myself often and learned to keep going, no matter what. As the exam date approached, I organised numerous small recitals in front of friends, family and (most intimidatingly) colleagues. I trialled different strategies for the day itself – including a mixture of practising, exercising and resting – until I knew exactly what I would do and when. I recorded myself, listened, critiqued, took notes, and improved. Little by little, the performance anxiety reduced; it didn’t go away, but I got better at managing my nerves.

Second, I augmented my musical preparation with yoga and mindfulness meditation. By the final few months, I knew I could play the pieces technically, but I was still working on communicating the programme in its entirety, and minor concentration lapses threatened to throw me off course. I needed to learn to be fully present in the moment of music-making, and not allow any unhelpful or self-sabotaging thoughts to distract me. Even a moment’s inattention can result in small slips that cascade into disasters, and the dreaded memory lapse is a perennial fear for anyone playing without a score. But I figured learning to stay focussed was like everything else in music: it improves with practice. So I started doing daily short meditation sessions aimed at recognising the wandering mind and bringing it back to the present. Ultimately, I have no doubt that mindfulness meditation helped me stay focused on the music and breathe through my nerves.

And finally, I studied. I read about Beethoven, about pianists, about memory and about performance. The list of authors included pianists, musicologists, music historians and psychologists. I also listened to different performances, as well as podcasts, interviews and lectures from musicians talking about their craft. All this helped me to get into the mindset of being a performing pianist and a musical interpreter.

Waiting for the result

It’s an age-old truism that the journey is more important than the destination. And that is certainly how I feel about my FTCL. Of course, I hope I’ve passed! But, regardless of the outcome, I’m glad I did it, from start to finish. I feel lucky to have been able to bask in such glorious music, to study it and really get to know it well. And I feel grateful to have shared that journey with so many other people who are passionate about the piano.

The only question now is: what shall I do next?

Caroline Wright is a musician (MMus, LTCL) and scientist (MSci, PhD). Her compositions have a diverse range of influences, from classical and contemporary to blues and jazz, film and folk, dance and electronica.

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Guest post by Jessica Yeartie

To our benefit, there are usually several paths one can choose to arrive at the same end result. Doing so in the traditional way or manner, and the unconventional way. Whichever decision you make is incumbent on the most comfortable way for you in accomplishing something.

To me, I am always seeking the easiest and most convenient way to do something, however I would not perceive myself as lazy. I am just conservative and selective with how I spend my energy. The only thing I exercise to the brink of exhaustion on a daily basis is my brain and thought processes. I can usually just take a nap to recuperate when necessary.

When I had decided I wanted to learn the piano, I knew seeking out a professional teacher to personally instruct me was out of the question, financially and time-wise. My mentors and research consisted of pianists who posted helpful videos on YouTube for beginners and affordable piano books and exercises I could purchase from Amazon.

Due to my circumstances, these choices suited my situation best and I made the best with what I had at my disposal. If aspiring pianists have the funds to hire a personal instructor, I would highly encourage you to do so.

Many tactics I did not learn until much later would have been made aware to me had I had someone to overlook my practice sessions and provide instant feedback I could apply on my own time. Though I think I have gotten on fine enough considering the circumstances.

Like everything in this universe, there are pros and cons when we make these choices. When we choose one thing over the other, we are knowingly sacrificing what could have been had we chosen differently. Sometimes the fear of ¨what could have been¨ can cripple us so much that we just do not make a choice at all.

Some have the opportunity to experience both but I cannot say if that is the default when it comes to decision-making. Although, I can say that hard work can certainly aid with filling in the gaps where personal instruction could have been well-utilized.

Pros

Learning anything outside our immediate area of expertise is a struggle, to say the least. Fortunately the individuals who would consider themselves to be of a more independent nature could definitely benefit from the self-taught avenue.

Adhering to Your Own Schedule

Going solo means you do not have to refer to someone else for when a task should be completed. Finding ways to manoeuvre around each other´s, sometimes very busy, schedules can be time-consuming and hard to negotiate.

Also, life is still going on around us. Many of us have outside responsibilities that come first before giving precious time to what most would consider a hobby. Things like family, relationships, work, household duties, etc. are more than enough to keep the average citizen occupied for the majority of their week.

Of course we definitely need sleep as well, especially me. We are not machines that only need to be recharged when we are feeling fatigued at the end of a long, busy day. Being self-taught can eliminate some of these issues.

Photo by Juan Pablo Serrano Arenas on Pexels.com

No Time Constraints

Typically, teachers expect you to have practiced a certain amount during the week and present that to them when you see them next. Sometimes, the pressure of performing and getting in the required time for a full practice session can be tiresome and anxiety-inducing.

While I immensely enjoyed taking a piano close as a Junior in high school, I hated the weekly tests the teacher would grade us on for the song he selected. I always performed so much worse during the exam than when I was practicing and it frustrated me to no end.

Also, my school did not have enough pianos for each student to have their own so our allotted time slot was much shorter time to accommodate our larger than average classrooms. Now that I practice in the comfort of my own home, I can take as much time as I need to make sure I fully understand a concept.

Working at Your Own Pace

Slow-learners and fast-learners are the bane of the other´s existence. We all have that one subject or skill we excel in and get mildly irritated when others are not. At least that was the case for me in the past. I was even more irritated when I did not understand something and everyone else did, leaving me behind while I struggled.

Some concepts take longer to comprehend than others so rushing them can exacerbate their feelings of inadequacy, leading them to eventually quitting.

On the contrary, moving too slowly can lead to boredom. It is hard for a professional and newbie to come to terms with their individual skill levels and find a way to move forward that satisfies both of their needs.

Working alone means you can work as fast or slow as you need. You can speed up when something comes easier to you or take additional time for more difficult roadblocks without feeling like you are infringing on someone else´s time while still moving forward.

Cons

On the other side, there are some hiccups one should take into consideration before taking the plunge. While there is a considerable amount of freedom that comes with being self-taught, there are also some factors one should think about. Determine whether or not these possible setbacks are something you are willing to take on during your progression.

Lack of Support

One thing that makes starting a new hobby so exciting is meeting new people who have the same passion as you. This can be said about starting a new sport, joining a club at school, or attending weekly community gatherings for a specific project.

What all of these activities have in common is a group of individuals that are physically present. You have others you can converse with as the two of you are working while establishing a relationship.

In the beginning stages, learning an instrument can be kind of isolating if you are teaching yourself. Having a teacher present can remind you that they are there to help and support you when you eventually hit a wall. We can sometimes lose motivation when we have no one holding us accountable.

Lack of Foundation

If you are anything like me, you tend to want to skip the ¨boring¨ stuff and tackle the more exciting lessons. The problem with this is you hit a plateau much quicker due to a lack of knowledge in basic strategies you should have focused on to begin with.

We all have songs in our heads we really want to learn so we convince ourselves, prematurely, that we can learn it at our current level only to receive a slap in the face when you realize you cannot even play both hands at the same time without being out of time.

It takes a responsible person to stave off instant gratification and spend time on the more mundane, but important, aspects that are the very foundation of what they can accomplish in the future.

Little to No Feedback

Unless you asked someone to watch over you who is well-versed in piano and the proper form, you do not have much immediate feedback so you would have to refer to second-hand resources for clarity.

Playing in front of someone can be extremely nerve-wrecking but it is worth it to learn in the early stages which behaviours need to be corrected so they do not turn into bad habits that are nearly impossible to break further down the line.

Don´t shoot yourself in the foot by relying on your intuition in unfamiliar territory. There are lots of resources and videos out there that will inform you on better ways to play arpeggios or the perfect posture to maintain when practicing.

In Conclusion

We are all different. Some thrive in solitude while others, in the company of others. I do not regret that I chose to be self-taught however I definitely believe I could have benefited greatly from having a stable authority present to help me when I struggled.

Ideally, I think the best situation would be to experience both. Have a teacher as a novice player then gradually become more independent as you improve. That is just my opinion, though.

Whatever decision you choose is ultimately up to you unless you have parents who insist on paying for your lessons. I hope whatever path you choose leads you to victory.

Keep playing!

Jessica Yeartie is a US-based writer and blogger.

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Are there pieces that are simply too challenging for non-professionals to even attempt?

Guest post by Caroline Wright

There are those who believe that, yes, there are indeed pieces that amateurs should leave well alone. Hugely technically challenging pieces – of which there are many in the piano repertoire –  should be respected by those who cannot hope to do them justice. We should all be aware of our limits, and leave the tough stuff to those who can handle it!

I think most musicians probably disagree with this position. Personally I don’t think any repertoire should be off-limits, to anyone. We all need to be aware of our level and personal limitations, but that’s true of professionals and amateurs alike. Many individuals have physical limitations that mean they will never be able to play certain pieces, but that has no effect on their ability to play other repertoire – for example, having small hands is a curse for pianists who wish to play Brahms, Rachmaninoff and Ravel, but may actually bean asset in Bach, Scarlatti and Mozart. Finding and expressing the beauty of a piece of music can be both a challenge and a joy for anyone, irrespective of it’s technical demands.

I cannot think of a better way of respecting the music of great composers than by dedicating many hours to playing and memorising it. Listening to recordings and live concerts given by great performers is wonderful too, of course, but undoubtedly a more passive way to experience music than playing it and internalising it yourself. Learning the music, to such a level that you can see the score in the mind’s eye and listen along without the need for external sound, is surely a greater mark of respect than playing it note-perfect in every performance?

In reality, the boundary between amateurs and professional musicians is blurred. Many amateurs are highly skilled, qualified musicians, and many professionals rarely perform in public. At the end of the day, any musician (particularly soloists!) must decide what repertoire they are happy to play in concert in front of strangers, versus that which they prefer to play for their own enjoyment, in the safety of their own home. And here, I believe, is where the most stark difference occurs between amateurs – literally ‘lovers’ of music – and professional performers who must make a living from music. Those of us who have the (dubious!) ‘luxury’ of earning a living outside of performing can afford never to play to a fee-paying public, if we so desire. We may play to friends and family, students and colleagues, or simply to ourselves, without having to conquer performance anxiety and the very real possibility of making fools of ourselves on stage. This choice should certainly not act as a barrier to playing particular repertoire. Professional performers, on the other hand, must make a living from performing and accept that anything less than a polished performance is unlikely to help their career progression or recording sales.

As an amateur pianist, there is no doubt that there are many pieces that I will never be able to play well enough even for my own satisfaction (and wouldn’t dare inflict on anyone else!), and others that I believe I play well enough both for myself and others to enjoy. There’s a balance that I find hard to strike between painstakingly learning more challenging repertoire and playing technically easier repertoire to a higher musical level. The guidance of a teacher to steer any unwary students towards repertoire that they will find challenging yet satisfying is crucial. But no music should be off-limits and, regardless of one’s ability, it is a privilege to be able to study some of the greatest works that have ever been created by the human mind.

Caroline Wright is a musician (MMus, LTCL) and scientist (MSci, PhD). Her compositions have a diverse range of influences, from classical and contemporary to blues and jazz, film and folk, dance and electronica.