Practice: A Personal History
There's an anecdote that goes something like this. Once, the great
pianist-composer Sergei Rachmaninoff was asked for directions,
"How do you get to Carnegie Hall?" His flippant answer,
"Practice."
So practice is the key, is it? How exactly do you practice? When
I was a youngster taking piano lessons, I would look at the meaningless
sea of musical notes and symbols in front of me and muddle through
as well as I could until I got bored. I was told by my teacher
that I must practice two hours a day. I think I was lucky if I
practiced two hours on an average week. And, most of the time
I was 'practicing,' I wasn't even playing what had been prescribed
at my weekly lesson. At the time, it seemed to me that practice
meant boring, tedious, time-consuming repetition. If this was
what playing music was all about, I'd rather just turn on my stereo.
Yet, even at that larval stage in my development, something bothered
me. I loved music. Since I could remember, I'd play my brother's
records and tapes and sing along with all the songs. The sounds
fascinated me and I had an infinite curiosity for how they were
produced. So, I was thrilled when my parents enrolled me in piano
lessons. At first, it was tremendous fun. But after a few years,
things became more and more boring. The so-called music I was
playing at my lessons didn't sound anything like what I wanted
to play. I thought that somehow the keyboard players and guitar
players I heard on rock records must have some special knowledge
or insight that I didn't have. Instead of music becoming more
and more clear to me, it became more of a mystery. I knew that
my lessons had almost nothing to do with what music was really
about.
A chance occurrence at my high school started to clear up some
of my thinking. Actually, it's more accurate to say that it started
me thinking. There was a cute girl whom I was attracted to who
regarded me as a lower class plebeian. She would often talk about
the various boys whom she was dating, I think just to rub my face
in it. One boy she mentioned, Rob, was, in her words, "a
fantastic piano player - so musical." I thought, "What
am I, chopped liver?" I said that I also could play the piano
as could lots of other teens that had taken piano lessons. Why
was Rob so special? She replied that it was because he improvised
- he could make up anything he wanted on the spot.
Improvise? I was puzzled. I didn't know you were allowed to make
up your own music. Curious, I snuck in one afternoon, after school,
to watch Rob practice in the band room. It was like nothing I
had seen. He was making music, sort of. It sounded great. It almost
sounded like the pop songs on the radio. But, it had no shape
to it. Rob meandered around the music at will, creating effortlessly.
I began to wonder if I could do the same thing myself.
After that, I started to spend a lot of time at the piano just
playing anything. I had no sheet music in front of me. I just
experimented with any and all keys. After a few months of daily
meandering, I began to develop patterns that were pleasing to
me. I had only a vague idea of what I was playing. I could never
explain it in words; I just knew how to do it. In time, I could
play circles around Rob in my sleep but I still didn't get the
girl. That's okay. I got a far greater gift instead. I had found
a means of self-expression.
I played constantly: at home, at school, at friends' houses -
anywhere I could find a keyboard. Sometimes, I would attract an
audience; sometimes I was alone. It didn't matter. It was fun
for me and that's all I cared about. However, some things still
bothered me. When I was freely improvising I felt great and strong
but when I went back to my assigned Classical pieces or when I
learned pop songs by ear, I found it very difficult and slow.
Sometimes, through brute force of memory, I could perform a Classical
piece reasonably well but all my effort was focused on remembering
the damn notes! I couldn't really hear what I was playing. I tried
but I could never bring the freedom and clarity I had when I improvised
into a piece I learned. I concluded that I probably just didn't
have enough talent.
Even though I had given up on music at an intellectual level,
I still felt drawn to it. I knew that eventually, I would try
something with it. So, after much consternation, I decided to
record my own CD. In the process of composing, I was forced to
face up to the old issues. I could play freely and expressively
while improvising but now I had to set something down permanently.
How much did I need to know? What did I need to know? Could I
just do all the recording by ear?
Through the course of recording my first two CDs,"Inspirations"
and "A Comet's Tale," I
developed my favorite useful patterns. Between composing and my
growing teaching practice, I discovered that the key to music
knowledge (the intellectual side) lies in the recognition and
application of patterns. There are only four types of patterns:
rhythmic, melodic, harmonic, and structural. I turned this knowledge
of patterns loose on music that had previously eluded me. I found,
much to my delight, these pieces much easier to learn and master
than before. I was finally playing freely and expressively while
understanding exactly what I was playing.
In conjunction with my composing work, I've also been building
a teaching practice for the last several years. With my piano
students, I wanted to instill in them a sense of how to practice
so that they wouldn't have to take the long circuitous route that
I took to mastery of the piano. My experiences have led me to
the conclusions which follow.
First, you must accept what level you're at. In the case of an
absolute beginner, this is easy. You know nothing. By learning
how to play even one note and knowing which note it is you're
playing, you've made an incredible amount of progress. But, in
my experience, hardly anybody can be said to be an absolute beginner.
Most people who come to me to study music have had some music
experience; whether it be in public school, or from being part
of a community choir, or sometimes even someone who's learned
a few guitar chords from his older brother and now wants to become
Eddie Van Halen.
There are several solutions to this problem. First, when embarking
on a new course of study, you may temporarily put aside all previous
experience and consider yourself an absolute beginner. This may
require a great deal of patience but often, this is the approach
that will eventually yield the best results. Any weaknesses in
playing and any bits of missing knowledge will be fixed along
the way.
However, there may be some people for whom going back to the very
beginning would be a waste of time. In this case, it is wise to
find a competent teacher and take several lessons to have an assessment
of your current level of ability. (I will discuss whether to seek
out an instructor or to be self-taught in a later article).
Once you're aware of what level you're at, it's a good idea to
have a realistic goal to shoot for. You need to aim at something
that is just beyond your grasp. With all apologies to Robert Browning,
reaching beyond your grasp is an exhilarating experience but it's
not worth the suffering to always have to do things that way.
Building up that grasp slowly and extending the reach along with
it is far more satisfying and fulfilling in the long run. In setting
realistic goals, a good instructor is again helpful. Each practice
session, then, is dedicated to helping you reach your goals in
an enjoyable manner.
Practice sessions should take place at a regular time and should
occur at least four to five times a week. Initially, a short practice
session of only fifteen minutes may be sufficient. The regular
time is a commitment to yourself that you are dedicated to developing
and harmonizing the body-mind-soul connection. Outside of the
regular practice sessions, if you feel compelled to play your
instrument, there is no reason not to. Just bear in mind to show
some restraint, especially at the beginning. You don't want to
tire yourself out so that you hurt yourself physically or you
get sick of playing music.
[Now that you're primed and ready to go, future articles will
continue "The Zen of Music" to discuss such areas as:
"Instructor vs. Self-Teaching"; "How to Find a
Good Instructor"; and "Tips for Self-Teaching".]
