What is your first memory of the piano?

The instrument itself rather than the music. I remember being fascinated by the mechanics of it as a very small boy: how a finger could set in motion such a complicated chain of events, all culminating in a single note. It struck me then, and still does, as one of mankind’s great inventions.

Who or what inspired you to become a teacher?

Disappointment, perhaps. Like many young musicians, I imagined the concert platform would provide all the fulfilment I could ever require. It did not. One eventually realises that performing is only one means of serving music. Teaching allows one to leave something behind in another human being, and I have come to regard that as the greater privilege.

Who were your most significant teachers?

My first teacher taught me discipline. My second taught me imagination.

The first is indispensable. The second is everything.

What do you consider the most important qualities in a musician?

Curiosity. Not merely about music, but about life itself. One cannot hope to understand music through music alone. Beethoven, Schubert, Chopin – all demand something of our humanity as well as our musicianship. Technique is acquired through work; humanity has to be lived.

What do you expect from your students?

Honesty. I do not mind mistakes, but I do mind pretence. A wrong note played with conviction tells me more than a flawless performance that has nothing to say.

What is the greatest challenge in teaching exceptionally gifted students?

Protecting them. The world is very eager to applaud talent, but considerably less interested in preserving the person who possesses it. A gifted young musician must be allowed to remain curious, to read, to fall in love, to walk in the countryside, to make mistakes. Otherwise, one risks producing a brilliant pianist and an impoverished human being.

How important is technique?

Essential, but technique is a servant, never the master.

Students often imagine they are practising scales. In reality, they are practising freedom. The better the mechanism functions, the less one has to think about it when the music begins.

How do you approach interpretation?

By asking questions rather than providing answers. Why has the composer written this harmony? Why this dynamic? Why silence here rather than another note? If a student discovers the answer for themselves, they will never forget it.

How do you deal with performance anxiety?

Preparation first, perspective second. Though I would be dishonest if I suggested either is always sufficient. Fear is not necessarily rational, and knowing that one is prepared does not always silence it. I remind my pupils that audiences do not attend concerts hoping the pianist will make mistakes. They come because they wish to be moved.

Which composers do you return to most often?

Beethoven remains inexhaustible. Every decade of one’s life reveals another Beethoven. I suspect I shall still be discovering him on my final day.

Brahms has become increasingly dear to me with age, while Debussy continually reminds us that the piano is capable of colours we scarcely imagine.

Do you think performance and teaching belong together?

Absolutely – one informs the other. A teacher who has never stood before an audience cannot fully understand the peculiar loneliness of the concert platform. Equally, a performer who never teaches risks believing music exists only for applause.

What gives you the greatest satisfaction as a teacher?

The moment a student no longer needs me. That sounds rather melancholy, but it is precisely as it should be. A teacher’s task is not to create dependence, but independence.

Do you have a favourite pupil?

No – though there are certain students whose gifts make one feel extraordinarily fortunate to have crossed their path.

What advice would you give to a young musician embarking upon a professional career?

Do not chase success. Chase truth in the music. Success, if it comes at all, is merely a by-product. And remember that there is a life beyond the keyboard. If your music is to speak honestly, it must be nourished by friendship, kindness, disappointment, literature, laughter, and love. Otherwise you will become a very accomplished pianist indeed, and have very little worth saying.

A note about Mr Hines

Sadly, you won’t find Icarus Hines listed amongst the great piano teachers of the early twentieth century. He is a fictional character from F M Wilson’s debut novel Facing the Music, in which he is the teacher and mentor of the gifted young pianist Theo Browne. His opinions, however, are entirely his own…

(Image generated by AI)