Angela Hewitt, in person!

This past Saturday, I had a chance to watch a master class taught by Angela Hewitt at the Washington Conservatory. Three pianists in their 20s played, all conservatory graduates with strings of accolades in their bios (competitions won, honors garnered, etc.).

I was too shy to take a picture, worried that it would be intrusive, so I don't have any documentation other than my notes. But it was cool to see Hewitt at close range and hear her speak about playing the piano. She made a point of saying that she has not performed any of the three pieces on the program (a Schubert sonata; Chopin Ballade No. 1; and Beethoven Op. 111, first movement), which I thought was good, though it made me wonder why the performers didn't choose something in her repertoire so both they and the audience would get more out of the experience.

It was also interesting to me to first listen to these people play, making my own assessments, and then hear what Hewitt had to say. One of the performers, for example, I thought had a strange technique -- she lifted her fingers extremely high; from where I was sitting, I could see her right-hand pinky curling up before almost every note. Even though she played accurately and with expression, she looked uncomfortable, somehow. Hewitt zoomed right in on the finger thing, and also commented that she feels one should not hunch over the keyboard but sit back, both to be more open to the audience and to free the arms.

This was really the only time she mentioned technique (at least while I was there; I had to leave in the middle of the last person's session). The rest of the time she spoke about tempo (e.g., the idea that slow movements in which the harmony moves slowly should be played faster so they hold together better for the listener), phrasing, and voicing. She was fairly formal but was kind and respectful of the students. She played a bit to demonstrate some of her points, with the disclaimer that she was sight-reading, though she sounded beautiful.

All in all, a good use of a couple of hours on a Saturday afternoon.

The innards of a lesson

I thought it might be interesting for any pianists out there if I posted a description in a little more detail of what I worked on in a piano lesson -- and also as a record for myself!

At my most recent lesson, this is what we did:

We talked about my ongoing issues with playing scales fast, and then my teacher asked me to play the trill exercise that I've been practicing every day for this past year (it's one he still does himself, I believe). After observing what I was doing, he suggested another exercise that's difficult to describe, but involves holding down each finger on a note and tapping each adjacent key with the next finger, allowing the other fingers on that side to move as a relaxed unit. So you would hold a C, for example, with the thumb, and then play the D with the index finger, keeping the other fingers close and relaxed. Then hold down index finger on D, play the C with the thumb. Then hold down D with the index finger, play E with middle finger, and so on.

Then I played the Villa-Lobos Bachianas Brasileiras No. 4 Preludio. I had a memory lapse in the middle and so stopped to pull out the music and started back at the beginning; after saying that it was coming along, my teacher observed that I was attacking melody notes with flat fingers -- kind of smacking them down -- creating a harsh sound. Also that I wasn't keeping a steady tempo, and that in the final section of the piece, where there are big chords that require a lot of leaping around with the left hand, that I was short-changing the rhythm. He turned on the metronome and we worked with that for a bit. Final observation was that a tricky octave run in the left hand was suddenly loud, though not marked to be, which was jarring.

At my last lesson, he had told me to start learning Brahms Op. 79 No. 1, one of the Rhapsodies, so I played the first page or so (haltingly). He suggested that in working on this, I should count carefully, and in terms of physically playing it, should not hold onto the chords after they sound, allowing the pedal to do so, because otherwise it's impossible to play it at the proper tempo.

We then moved to Brahms Op. 117 No. 2, the beautiful B flat minor Intermezzo. I played it all the way through, and then we started talking about something interesting: moving at the keyboard. He asked me to move as I played so that my torso was directly in front of where the melody was being played -- and mentioned a sort of "rule of nose," that your nose should be over the melody note. I tried doing this, and it did feel more organic and like I was more connected with what I was playing, so I'm going to try to do this with everything and see what happens.

My teacher mentioned that there are pianists who don't think you should move, and then others who move very subtly so it's not that dramatic. So there are different schools of thought on this. I know from my experience playing the cello that moving while you play is essential, especially in chamber music if you want to stay together. But in addition, it connects you with your instrument and you become more of a unit with it. This is always harder to do with the piano because, well, you aren't actually holding the thing.

We finished up with Bach, the C minor prelude and fugue from WTC I. I played them both all the way through (from memory). In the prelude (and I kind of knew I was doing this), he commented that my sound at the end was more strident than it was at the beginning -- and I don't remember what else, but I do know that I played it again, and it was better the second time. Then on the fugue, he said something like, "It was certainly lively!" though that wasn't entirely a compliment! And we ended shortly after that when the next student arrived.

What always surprises me is how much we cover in an hour. When I'm teaching, I'm doing well if we even get partway through two short pieces, yet in what I've just described, we worked on technical exercises and four different pieces, yet it didn't feel rushed. Anyone out there reading, what's your experience? How much stuff do you play at your lessons?

A year of piano lessons

It has now been a year since I started taking lessons from my current teacher. What I've been learning has certainly altered my perception of what playing the piano is all about.

One aspect of playing that he stresses quite a bit is the tactile one: feeling the keys and the vibration of the string and the resistance as you lift a key. I had never thought of the piano in that way; it always seemed like a big monster machine, maybe a giant manual typewriter. I've known all along I was missing something, especially in recent years, but the various teachers I've had never mentioned anything like this, and I was too focused on playing notes to notice subtleties like these. Oh, I suppose on occasion when I had the chance to play a really responsive and beautiful-sounding piano, I would think, "Hey, there's more to this than playing the right notes," but I didn't know how to take it any further.

Another concept completely new to me was how little force one needs to use. I was raised on lifting the fingers and hitting the keys hard, but I'm learning that creating volume comes from the combination of using the wrist, the weight of the arm, and the speed with which the key is depressed, and that actually, plenty of volume usually is created without exerting a lot of effort. It's a kinder, gentler, more relaxed approach to playing the piano, and I think a warmer, purer sound is the result (though of course I still have a long way to go).

And then there is the matter of how to move around the keyboard, execute big leaps, and play fast -- all things I used to try to do with brute force and wishing for luck. In combination with using less effort, per the previous point, I'm finding I can play faster and more easily.

The whole issue of voicing, while not new to me, has been a major theme. How very much one must bring out the important line, and keep everything else in the background, is constantly surprising.

Most of all I have appreciated my teacher's patience and willingness to hold me to higher standards, though he always does so with good humor. I know when he tells me to do something, it's based on what he is hearing and not on a lesson plan or a rote instruction.

So sign me happy (music) camper.

Another year already??

I am way overdue for the obligatory new year's post: an occasion to evaluate the previous year and make resolutions for the next one.

The main comment I have is that this past year has flown by. In some ways it has been exciting: I finally am having the kind of piano lessons I have always wanted; I am really getting back into playing the cello; I started teaching again. I am more involved with music than I have been since I was at the conservatory. In other ways it has been frustrating: I never feel I have enough time to do justice to anything; my day job is less than compelling. I have done a lot of soul searching and pondering on what it all means and whether I'm following my best path.

In the big picture, I am very fortunate. I have the easy life of a person in a modern Western country, with the means and the leisure to follow my enthusiasms. I am limited only in the ways all people are limited.

I want to make some changes, but I do feel I am working from a good base already. So we shall see.

A curious phenomenon

I've performed for quite a lot of people in quite a lot of venues (aside from school recital halls and churches, I've played solo and chamber music in places like the Kennedy Center and Carnegie Hall). Admittedly most of my performing experience has been with the cello, but even on the piano, I have been brave enough to play in front of a number of audiences with a certain amount of musicality. But what has proven to be a high hurdle is playing my brother-in-law's Yamaha upright in his music room while the family listens. Somehow, when I sit down at that piano, bungling is the name of the game.

We were over there yesterday for Christmas dinner. I brought my carbon fiber cello along to show it to them because they had been curious about it:

I played a little Bach and a holiday-themed request ("O Holy Night," by ear, in C major), and then put the cello away and repaired to the piano. I pulled out the Villa-Lobos piece I've been working on (the Preludio from Bachianas Brasilieras No. 4). At home I can play it from memory, and even at my lessons I can play it pretty fluently by now, but here, even with the music in front of me, most of it was a disaster (my husband very helpfully asked "what happened?" as we were driving home later). My sister-in-law's innocent comment was that it was "scary" -- coincidentally, the same thing she said about the Brahms I played for them at Thanksgiving -- not exactly the vibe I'm going for! I followed up with some Bach, and that went better, but I was still stumbling over myself in a way I don't elsewhere.

What is it about this situation that causes me to regress to an almost nonperformer level? Part of it is the piano, which is serviceable but not inspiring (it has such a light touch that there's almost no resistence -- it booms if you breathe on it), and the bench, which is too low for me. Part of it is the negative feedback loop of hearing bad sounds that causes my playing to deteriorate as I go along. But another part, the more interesting one, is my awareness that I'm playing for people who listen mostly for the melody and who understand nuances subliminally at best. When you play the piano, the supporting material is usually what is difficult and also so very tempting -- all of those countermelodies, inner voices, bass lines, and special effects -- but listeners generally don't care about all that. They don't appreciate all of your struggles; they just want to hear the tune.

When I play for fellow piano students, or even for my teacher, I know they empathize with the difficulty of what I'm trying to do. Or when I play on a better piano in a bigger room with the audience farther away, the physical situation is more forgiving. But I feel it's a real weakness that lack of these things has such a powerful effect. I keep imagining that a true artist at the piano can compensate enough to have a musical experience no matter what. So if I can ever figure out how to play well at the in-laws', I will feel confident that I can play well anywhere!

New love

I recently stumbled across the cello concerto by Friedrich Gulda (1930-2000) and have been fascinated by it ever since. It was written for cello, wind band, and classical guitar.

I saw it described here as "a pioneering work of jazz-rock-classical-marching band fusion," which is about right. I love the way Gulda created a melting pot of styles, plus the audacity of his sticking a solo cello in front of a wind band and drum kit, and making it all somehow hang together. He also wrote some beautiful music for the cello.

The first movement (Overture) starts out very rock 'n' roll; here's a great performance by Gautier Capuçon. Note that I'm having trouble getting these videos to play today, and this first link may actually go automatically to the rest of the concerto:

Gulda Concerto First Movement (Overture)

Here's Capuçon playing the second movement (Idyll), which has whiffs of Dvořák (to my ear) and maybe even Mahler (I believe this link does go on to the next movement):

Gulda Concerto Second Movement (Idyll)

And here's Heinrich Schiff, for whom this piece was originally written, tearing up the last three movements (Cadenza, Menuet, Finale) with the composer conducting; unfortunately, the very end is cut off in this video:



After hearing this playing in my head for about a week, I broke down and ordered the music and a recording. It will be fun to play around with it.

What I'm playing this week: Change of course

At my piano lesson a few days after I wrote my previous "what I'm playing this week" post, I broached to my teacher the idea that perhaps I was working on music that was too hard for me. I've sensed from him that he hasn't been entirely convinced that I should be working on all of this stuff but that he didn't want to discourage me, either. I felt this particularly with regard to Kinderszenen; that is, I know he had some specific reasons for starting me on "Of Strange Lands and People" and a few of the others, but he wasn't enthusiastic about my continuing with the whole set though he didn't say so specifically.

And then he told me to work on the Brahms Op. 118 No. 1, and the shit hit the fan. This piece has highlighted my weaknesses as a pianist, as only Brahms can do: the big chords, wide jumps, and wall-of-sound washes of arpeggios, against which the pianist has to bring out the melody and make it expressive. I attempted this piece on my own a few years ago without much success, and this time around it has again been a struggle. It's hard to say whether I even like it or not; maybe I do in the sense that a gymnast likes her routine on the parallel bars -- not necessarily something you'd do for fun, but something that advances your technique and lets you show it to the world.

Anyway, the upshot of our conversation was that I have dropped the Schumann and Chopin for a while and am working only on Bach and Brahms (this piece plus Op. 116 No. 6 and 117 No. 2), plus a new piece: the Preludio from Villa-Lobos's Bachianas Brasileiras No. 4. I could see instantly why he chose it: It has the same big leaps and balance issues as the Brahms but is much, much simpler musically. (He also told me to stay away from YouTube and use my own imagination to come up with an interpretation.)

So that has been my task for the past couple of weeks. The big technical challenge for me is to learn how to let go of notes once I play them. My instinct (and I suspect this is probably common for a lot of people) is to hold onto everything even after it has sounded, even though this is often counterproductive. Once a note sounds on the piano, the only thing that affects its continued sound is the pedal; your hands have nothing to do with it after the hammer hits the strings. If you play a big chord, for example, and continue to press down the keys with the same force, your hand is in a position of tension, and it's also more difficult to move to the next note. But at the same time, one's instinct after grabbing something with effort is to hold onto it. Thus, quite a bit of retraining is involved here. We'll see if I can do it.

I also started another Bach prelude and fugue, the C minor from WTC I. I learned this set five years ago and never recorded it, so it's good to relearn it. I don't exactly feel "finished" with the D minor set, but when would you ever? I was able to play through both the prelude and fugue very cleanly and from memory at my last lesson and even got a couple of  "good"s from my teacher, so not so bad, right? Maybe I will try to record it again so I can compare it with my previous version.

On the cello: I am contemplating how best to proceed. Stay tuned.