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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.

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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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Guest post by Jennifer Griffin Gaul

My mom used to tell a story about me. She said that she would lie in the bathtub at night and listen to me practice piano.

I find this story strange because I honestly have very, very few recollections of practicing. I know I played because I remember the irritation I would feel at competing with the blare of the TV, or my angry older brother yelling at me to stop making a racket. But then there was the idea of “practice”, which was a bit of a fuzzy concept for me. Was it playing things over and over again until I could play it perfectly? Or was it something else altogether? I didn’t really know and there was no one at home who understood it either.

I didn’t start piano until I was 9 years old. We didn’t own a piano and my parents only
experience with music lessons was my brother’s aborted attempts at trumpet, which
left them unenthusiastic about investing in lessons for me. The subject of piano only
came up because they received a call from my best friend’s mother. Mrs. Kim had
called to say that I seemed to spend a lot of time around her piano and she thought
they should have me start lessons. My father balked at the idea of purchasing a piano
for an 8-year-old so I was given a plastic recorder and signed up for recorder lessons. I played recorder for a year and when it became clear that I loved music, they figured
out a way to get a small spinet piano.

I adored my first piano teacher, Mr. Erikson. He was a tall, gangly, bearded man with a
raspy voice. He started me off and we worked together until I was nearly 16 years old.
Every week when my lesson rolled around I’d feel a flurry of emotions. Anticipation was usually the biggest one. Sometimes a bit of shame for not doing the music worksheets he would assign. And also for not “practicing”. I didn’t like to let him down and I knew that practicing was important. I just wasn’t sure how to do it. But I also didn’t want to ask him what it meant because it seemed like I should understand it already.

Something magical always happened in those lessons with Mr. Erikson. Our work
together would absorb me completely. The lesson would flash by as I immersed myself in each new intricacy of music-making and sound. I progressed steadily. I must of practiced, right? How do you progress without it? And yet why didn’t I understand
what it was?

My musical life stumbled after a tearful parting from Mr. Erikson when he moved to
California. Limited for competent piano teachers in my small town in Rhode Island I
had begun lessons with a music professor at the local university. That relationship was life-changing. My weekly lessons became agony. There was no flow or understanding during lessons. Just a series of orders of what I was supposed to do. I was unable to focus because I was so frightened of this teacher. My ability to immerse myself in the music and grow and learn evaporated. Each week became worse as I was berated over and over again with my musical (and perhaps personal) deficiencies.

By this point, I had been accepted into the university at age 16 to pursue a Bachelor of
Music. He was the teacher I needed to work with in order to get my degree. He was
annoyed with me for this early acceptance, which he had been against. He said I
wasn’t mature enough. He was also annoyed with me for being accepted into the
Young Artist Piano Program at Tanglewood over the summer before I started at
university. He had told me I would be wasting the time of the audition committee if I
applied and would never be accepted. I auditioned anyway and spent a month
studying with Robert Taub, surrounded by amazing young musicians who were far
better than I was. They practiced! I was starting to get the concept.

And I DO remember practicing for him. I practiced a lot! But I just couldn’t seem to
progress. I couldn’t connect with the music. And each time I sat down to practice,
determined to show him what I could accomplish, I would just become more
discouraged. I ran scales. I did technique exercises. I worked on the assigned music.
Joylessly and with trepidation, driven by a sense of his seemingly endless disapproval.
It all came to a head during a lesson when I was mucking up the Mozart Sonata he had
assigned. By this point every time I played for him my hands would shake, my eyes
would have trouble focusing and my brain would go blank. In a fit of irritation he told
me that I had no capacity for hard work and I was just someone who liked music but
would never be a musician. He then told me to play it again for him. I couldn’t because
I was crying so hard I couldn’t see the music. He sighed and said “This proves what
I’ve said. Go home.”

I was devastated. My teacher Mr. Erikson came back for a visit that fall. I played for him and he just stared when I finished. “What happened?” he said weakly. Not only could I not play fluidly or with any musicality, I had developed so much tension that I was losing the feeling in my arms and hands. All that practice had done significant damage.

Before he returned to California, Mr. Erikson helped me to make some changes. I
altered my program from a Bachelor of Music to a Bachelor of Arts in music because
that allowed me to drop piano lessons.He had a long consultation with a friend who
had a D.M.A. from Eastman School of Music and set me up with this new teacher. I
began commuting to Boston every Saturday for lessons. I had to relearn how to play
again. Gradually I began to heal. Gradually I started to play again (or was it practice?). I adored my lessons with my new teacher. The sense of ultra focus and immersion
during lessons returned and I made enough progress to be accepted into University of Texas at Austin’s music program where I earned a Master of Music in piano.

So how does this impact my own teaching and the advice I give to parents and
students about the importance of practice?

In my opinion, at every level students need help understanding what they’re trying to
achieve when they practice. That understanding needs to be age appropriate. And it all springs from the quality of the teacher/student engagement during lessons. Working together in a way that feels collaborative, exploratory and uncovers each student’s connection to the music sets students up for better success on their own. Lessons that include regular, honest, and non-judgmental conversations between a teacher and a student about what (if anything) the student achieved in the week. We all know lesson time is precious because there just isn’t enough of it. But it is time well spent for students. Learning to self-reflect. Learning how to engage with sound. Learning to recognize how technique is tied to the sound produced. Learning to immerse themselves in a process that, when it goes well, can make an incredible difference.

Many years ago, I heard a friend joke that “you don’t need to practice if you just play
every day.” And I realized I finally had my answer to how I had made my progress.

Jennifer Griffin GaulJennifer Griffin Gaul is a US-based pianist and educator. She holds a Master of Music in piano pedagogy and performance from the University of Texas at Austin.

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A post for World Piano Day 2022 on why we LOVE the piano – a compilation of comments received via Twitter and Facebook.

Thank you to everyone who contributed

It’s complete. Since I was a child it’s been the place I go to relax. I’m not a pianist but I can play and it makes me extremely happy. During the first lockdown singing made me sad for all we were missing (especially my co-musicians). I found solace at the piano. (CS, singer)

The colours produced by harmonies in even the simplest pieces. I was teaching a piece from a tutor book to young beginners this week and as soon as they added the LH to produce 3 and 4 note chords something magical happened. (MJ)

The touch of the keys, the sound, the huge variation in textures, the colour of the wood, the space where it sits…..and the fact the whole family have access to it! (RN)

The ability to thunder away one minute then tug at your heart the next with soft, quiet subtlety (T)

Photo by Itay Weissman on Pexels.com

The possibilities I have to play like a whole orchestra, but also very simplistic and moving melodies. The dynamics and the tone forming. Being a one (wo)man player or a chamber musician, working with a singer or giant orchestra… so many things to love about my piano. (FK)

you can see what you’re doing… (TC, composer)

The combination of intuition and control. (EMcK)

You never have to bring it with you. Wherever you go, it’s there. If it isn’t there, you’re in the wrong place. (RN)

Not having to get it out of a box (HW, composer & pianist)

Duration and decay (Kirkdale Bookshop)

A musical instrument and dinner table! (A)

Photo by Steve Johnson on Pexels.com

I like the fact it’s (often) a place as well as an instrument. The room gathers memories, which enrich the music making. I like how you can see all the notes physically even when silent. But most of all I love the sound. Just playing a big C major arpeggio is, to me, a joy. (JD)

It’s mindfulness, it’s meditation, it’s calm. And when headphones are involved it provides a much needed solitude, as I escape into its world. As I mainly improvise, it’s a crafting table, that gives life to new music. I love the tactile connection. The piano is home. (JW)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways: the sound of a singing treble with the sostenuto pedal, the richness of full chords and the power one feels as they sound, the immense satisfaction of feeling & hearing the clangourous sounds… and so much more! My beloved instrument. (BC)

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The amount of opportunity it has to offer, the range and the versatility (ID)

I love the feel of the keys! They are my friends! (BO’R)

…as a medium, the piano is its own self sufficient universe. I don’t think any other solo artistic activity can boast the same level of storytelling or emotional exploration as well as refined pianism does (ES)

The variety of tone colours at your disposal, ability with sustain pedal to play so many notes at once, you almost have the whole orchestra in front of you. As a child I was mesmerised by being able to ‘see’ all the notes at once and wonder about their possibilities, I loved exploring and finding the scales by ear by noting the order of keys and shapes and patterns your hand made, the similarities and differences. (RR)

Liszt’s Bosendorfer piano at the Franz Liszt Museum in Budapest

Underneath a grand piano there are all sorts of secret hiding places for valuables (watches, jewellery, money, etc). No other instrument offers this possibility. Imagine trying to stuff a Rolex inside a piccolo or viola? That’s what I love about the piano. I also love the fact that the notes are all there- all you need to do is play them in the right order (takes a bit of skill grant you). A more serious answer – the piano is a glorious instrument of ‘make believe’. It forces the imagination into overdrive – we ‘think’ we’re hearing something which is not happening. Its defects are, paradoxically its virtues.  (JH)

The ability to use so many of one’s senses. I like the fairness factor of piano: you put in a hard work, you get the results. You don’t, it shows too. In life it is not always as fair as that. (JM)

The SOUND. I just bloody love the sound of the thing. Why would anybody want to play another instrument?! (MV)

All of the little tiny parts of the action like a bird skeleton, with their daft names (DG)

The immediate visual appeal it has without even being played; the fact that a mechanical machine that needs no electricity is capable of (in competent hands) making music that elicits emotions in such a profound way. There is nothing as deliciously decadent as a dusty, old upright sitting in a forgotten corner, waiting to be played. And the majestic presence of a grand that is always begging to give all its rich harmonies. The piano can be the best friend and the worst enemy because it seduces you but enslaves you as you try to get more and more depth and richness from it. The piano reveals one’s inner struggles like no other instrument does (MAdB)

The sense of freedom from the world when playing it (JK)

Every time you play at a concert you will meet a new instrument. I love the whole experience of getting to know the instrument and trying to get the best out of it. They are all so unique and it can be so rewarding (WH)

Someone recently asked me “what do you like to play”? Usually people just ask “what do you play.” It was a reminder for me to never forget the “like” and “love” origins of my work, especially during difficult practice days or performances that don’t quite go to plan. (SE)

a deep connection with musicians of the past and the now makes the piano and piano music so life-affirming (AH)

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Long read guest post by Dr Michael Low (read Part 1 here)

My journey back to playing the piano started when I casually suggested to a new colleague that perhaps we should play some chamber music together. I honestly didn’t think that she would take me seriously, but the next day I found the scores of Schubert lieder and Puccini arias in my pigeon-hole. Although one part of me wanted to go back on my word, the other told me to just get on with learning the notes, and I was grateful for the latter. The most valuable lesson I learnt from working with a singer is the shaping and the breath of the musical phrase, no melodic line is rushed, and the sense of rhythmic pulse is often relative to the direction of the music. Following my brief appearance as a repetiteur, I founded a chamber ensemble amongst my colleagues to perform the chamber music versions of Mozart piano concertos and movie soundtracks.

My new musical project was not without obstacles, both logistically and musically. Because initially there were only six of us, the piano has to ‘fill in’ the missing parts – this meant that I had to play both the solo part as well as the orchestral tutti, a challenge that I relish (having studied my fair share of Romantic transcriptions, the orchestral reduction of the tutti passages were to be the least of my worries). However, nerves still presided over my performance, but the ensemble was generous in their support and patience. ‘It gets better with every rehearsal’, was one member’s assessment of my playing. Another told me that it is just a matter of ‘practising performance’, and I will never forget the words of our leader (sadly no longer with us) when I felt that I could have played better after one particular rehearsal. ‘That’s why we are here to practise’, he smiled at me. Away from the music and the piano, I met Laverne, who was to become my wife in the not-too-distant future.

I was no longer the rhythmically wayward student, yet something was still not clicking. Physical tension still existed which translated into uneven semiquaver passages. I found myself with a sense of musical déjà vu, but told myself that I was no longer that hot-headed student: ‘Everything is difficult at the beginning, but once you have worked it out, then it is easier.’ I also reminded myself that my repertoire was predominantly 19th-century, and Mozart still a composer I had yet to study in detail. I turned to my doctoral supervisor, Hendrik Hofmeyr, for advice. Hendrik told me that in order to eliminate the tightness in my playing, I would have to adopt a different mindset. He showed me a way of playing the piano which utilises the bigger muscles of the body, especially the weight of the arm.

https://youtu.be/7HzzoLTZJCY

I eventually understood what Hendrik was after but only after weeks and months of frustration and tears: every time I felt strain and pressure during practise, I would stop and retrace my steps, and play even slower. The primary objective was now to find a position of the hand (and body) that enabled me to play with the greatest ease whilst freeing myself of any physical tightness. The biggest breakthrough came when I adjusted the way I sit at the piano, but it was to be at least another two and half years before I could feel the difference in my playing.

For over two years I studied Mozart piano concerti and very little else. More importantly, I relearnt the significance of one particular musical gesture that makes up so much Classical and Romantic music – the Mozartian slur, sometimes known as the classical slur; this completely changed the way I view and interpret music especially when I revisited old repertoire. The Mozart concerti were followed by Beethoven’s first and last piano concerti. I then studied Schumann’s Opus 54, which is more akin to an augmented piano quintet, and what a glorious one it is! The Schumann Concerto was followed by Rachmaninoff’s second and third piano concertos, as I finally got comfortable with my new way of playing the piano.

As patient as the ensemble were, they were beginning to wonder if there would at least be some performances at the end of all the rehearsals. Although I was tentative, a concert was eventually scheduled and we made our debut in front of an audience of about two hundred people. The performance was well received but old musical wounds resurfaced. Yet again I walked off stage haunted by musical discrepancies despite the standing ovations and calls for an encore. I recalled the words of a former professor, ‘Something very intense inside you is preventing you from playing the intensity of the music’. Laverne encouraged me to keep going and play further performances, but I was reluctant, and a heated argument ensued. I told her my belief of how some were chosen whereas other chose to perform and faced a backlash, ‘This is such b***sh**t! The people who get it right on stage are those who get up there and do it over and over again until they are comfortable. As talented as you are, you are not going to play the “Emperor” Concerto brilliantly on your first attempt!’ Furthermore, Laverne also assured me that it is the audience’s perception of my performance that is ultimately more important than my own: ‘You have the ability to connect to the audience through your playing, surely this is more important than the odd wrong notes and occasional memory lapse?’

Laverne’s insightful words were of great comfort to me, and it was on her recommendation that I began to address my musical wounds in the formal setting of psychotherapy. ‘I think it will help you to reconnect the dots and explained why certain things happened the way they did,’ she told me before my first session with my psychologist. Ultimately, Laverne was right. It was not Christianity or God, nor was it table tennis, golf or CrossFit, but the work that I did with my psychotheraphist that provided me with the most conclusive explanation to my performance anxiety and stage fright.

I agree with Zach Manzi that there is plenty to dislike about the Classical music industry – an industry resistant to change, safeguarded by numerous holier-than-thou gatekeepers who have placed themselves on a musical pedestal. I like Manzi’s idea of making Classical music more ‘accessible and inspiring,’ and I certainly would like to find out more about his ‘audience first’ concert format design. However, it is my humble opinion that audiences around the world don’t attend live concerts just to hear Bach, Beethoven or Wagner anymore. This has partly to do with the fact that there is no definitive way of interpreting a piece of music. What the Classical music industry has been promoting since time immemorial is the cult of the personality. People now go to concerts to hear the performer rather than the composer: Schiff’s Bach, Barenboim’s Beethoven, Trifonov’s Rachmaninoff, Thielemann’s Wagner, etc. And this is perhaps the main reason why concert agents and managements are more likely to look for a ‘performer’ than a musician when filling their concert diaries. In other words, if we don’t think you can sell tickets, then why the hell should we book you? Performers are more sought after than musicians, as the commercial value of the former trumps that of the latter.

Please don’t get me wrong. I am not, for one second, suggesting that some of the great performers are not great musicians first and foremost, but if you look at the artists signed by major recording and distributing companies in the last decade or so, you will find that many of them fit a certain marketable profile in terms of looks, dress code, and perhaps the most importantly, being able to say the right thing at the right time, especially in front of the cameras.

There is one side of me who believes that the route currently taken by the Classical music industry is inevitable, as it has to adapt and keep up with increased commercialism, and Classical music has never been the art form for the masses. At the same time, I find it problematic that some of those who hold the industry’s most prominent positions are not often the best people. It is an industry that still favours nepotism and the ‘old-boys’ network’ (if I may use such a term), which means that it is often a case of who you know, or rather whose ego you are willing to stroke (and, by the same token, how successful you are at negotiating politics), that gets you places. I also don’t think that it is right when so much power is placed in the hands of those in authority, especially teachers: the one person who can make a student feel completely sh*t about him/herself is the only person who can also galvanise the student. There is something fundamentally unhealthy about this, and when it is coupled with the abuse of power and trust (which has been shown in amongst numerous high-profile musical cases in recent times), it only makes the Classical music industry even less desirable. Hence it is not difficult to see why the more sensitive artists are less inclined to trade their souls, knowing full well that Mephistopheles doesn’t deal in refunds.

Despite its unpleasantness and Weinstein-esque overtones, I have never regretted my decision to pursue a career in Classical music. I knew that the cards were stacked against me, yet I was determined to make something of it. When I swallowed the red pill and saw the industry for what it is, I realised that I have one of two choices: b*tch and cry that life is unfair or find another way forward, and I am glad that I did the latter. To borrow Laverne’s phrase, ‘Once you have decided what the system is, then you can choose how far removed or how far involved you want to be.’

I am eternally indebted to all my professors, especially Graham and Hendrik, but my greatest teacher has been life itself. It has taught me that there is no such thing as a timeline or timeframe in my quest for artistic truth. If you are not an international prize-winner by the time you are in your late twenties it doesn’t necessarily mean that you haven’t ‘made it.’ By the same token, if ‘it’ doesn’t happen for you now (whatever ‘it’ may be) ‘it’ might still happen: when the future is uncertain, anything is possible. You might not necessarily end up where you envisaged, but it is exactly the place you need to be in the present moment. Ultimately, the one person truly responsible for your own musical ambition is you yourself: don’t sit around waiting for the phone to ring, go out and make things happen. Be bold, promote yourself, build communities, surround yourself with like-minded colleagues, and embrace your musical flaws and technical limitations as an artist. Allow yourself the license to play wrong notes and have the odd memory lapse, and try not to crucify yourself after every performance, as there will always be people who will do that for you. Music is a reflection of life, and life itself is far from perfect.

When Laverne and I visited the heritage part of Penang in 2018, we were humbled by way of lives of the street food vendors, who spent their life perfecting one local dish with the recipe handed down from past generations. There is something very humbling about knowing your place in your community and doing your best to be part of that. We often underestimate our own work, but someone else may deem our contribution invaluable. I know of many excellent musicians and performers who are not part of the world’s ‘famed’ orchestras, nor do they regularly perform at venues such as the Carnegie Hall or London’s Royal Festival Hall, but this doesn’t mean their performances are any less committed or engaging. At the end of the day, I think it is the beauty of music as well as the desire to keep on learning that keeps all musicians going.

I leave you with a conversation that took place between a former student and myself.

Student: ‘Dr Low, I am going to stop piano lessons now, is that OK?’

Me: ‘Sure, I have never believe in making someone do something they don’t want to, but at least tell me the real reason behind you wanting to stop.’

Student: ‘Well Sir… I will never be rich and famous if I play the piano, right?’

Me: ‘(The student’s name), the joy is in the playing.’

Student: (Blank stare)

Michael Low, January 2022

As a teenager, Michael Low studied piano under the guidance of Richard Frostick before enrolling in London’s prestigious Centre for Young Musicians, where he studied composition with the English composer Julian Grant, and piano with the internationally acclaimed pedagogue Graham Fitch. During his studies at Surrey University in England, Michael made his debut playing Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto in the 1999 Guildford International Music Festival, before graduating with Honours under the tutelage of Clive Williamson. In 2000, Michael obtained his Masters in Music (also from Surrey University), specialising in music criticism, studio production and solo performance under Nils Franke.

An international scholarship brought Michael to the University of Cape Town, where he resumed his studies with Graham Fitch. During this time, Michael was invited to perform Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto for The Penang Governer’s Birthday Celebration Gala Concert. In 2009, Michael obtained his Doctorate in Music from the University of Cape Town under the supervision of South Africa greatest living composer, Hendrik Hofmeyr. His thesis set out to explore the Influence of Romanticism on the Evolution of Liszt’s Transcendental Etudes.

In 2013, Michael started a project in Singapore collaborating with The Kawai School Elite in a series of masterclasses and workshops for teachers and students. Having grown up in the East and lived his life in the West, Michael believes that both cultures has much to offer and envisage an exchange between Singapore and Cape Town in the future.

Michael is also the co-founder of the Elvira Ensemble – a Classical Chamber Orchestra specialising in the Piano Concertos of Mozart and Beethoven as well as Soundtracks from Blockbuster Hollywood Movies. The Ensemble have given performances at several high-profile events such as the wedding of Justin Snaith, South Africa’s leading race-horse trainer. In January 2020, the ensemble was engaged to perform at the wedding of the former Miss Universe and Miss South Africa, Miss Demi-Leigh Nel Peters.

Michael has also worked with numerous eminent teachers and pianists, including Nina Svetlanova, Niel Immelman, Frank Heneghan, James Gibb, Phillip Fowke, Renna Kellaway, Carolina Oltsmann, Florian Uhlig, Gordon Fergus Thompson, Francois du Toit and Helena van Heerden.

Michael currently holds teaching positions in two of Cape Town’s exclusive education centres: Western Province Preparatory School and Herschel School for Girls. He is very much sought after as a passionate educator of young children.

Michael has also served as a jury member in the 2nd WPTA Singapore International Piano Competition in 2020. He has been engaged for a series of talks and masterclasses with the WPTA Indonesia in September of 2021.

Michael Low’s website