Chapter 2

"At the very bottom and heart of this subject of mastery lies Concentration: without that, little of value can be accomplished. Students think if they sit at the piano and 'practise' a certain number of hours daily, it is sufficient. A small portion of that time, if used with intense concentration, will accomplish more. One player will take hours to learn a page or a passage which another will master in a fraction of the time. What is the difference? It may be said one has greater intelligence than the other. The greater the intelligence, the stronger the power of concentration.

"If a pupil comes to me whose powers of concentration have not been awakened or developed, I sometimes give him music to read over very slowly, so slowly that every note, phrase and finger mark can be distinctly seen. Not being used to thinking intently, mistakes occur, in one hand or the other, showing that the mind was not sufficiently concentrated. It is the mind every time that wins. Without using our mental powers to their fullest extent we fail of the best that is in us.

"In regard to technical equipment and routine, I do different work with each pupil, for each pupil is different. No two people have the same hands, physique or mentality; so why should they all be poured into the same mold? One student, for example, has splendid wrists and not very good fingers. Why should I give him the same amount of wrist practise that I give his brother who has feeble wrists; it would only be a waste of time. Again, a pupil with limited ideas of tonal quality and dynamics is advised to study tone at the piano in some simple melody of Schubert or Chopin, trying to realize a beautiful tone--playing it in various ways until such a quality Is secured. The piano is a responsive instrument and gives back what you put into it. If you attack it with a hard touch, it will respond with a harsh tone. It rests with you whether the piano shall be a musical instrument or not.

"A student who comes to me with a very poor touch must of course go back to first principles and work up. Such an one must learn correct movements and conditions of hands, arms and fingers; and these can be acquired at a table. Along with these, however, I would always give some simple music to play, so that the tonal and musical sense shall not be neglected.

"Of course I advise comprehensive scale practise; scales in all keys and in various rhythms and touches. There is an almost endless variety of ways to play scales. Those in double thirds and sixths I use later, after the others are under control. Arpeggios are also included in this scale practise.

"I have said that Concentration is the keynote of piano mastery. Another principle which goes hand in hand with it is Relaxation. Unless this condition is present in arms, wrist and shoulders, the tone will be hard and the whole performance constrained and unmusical. There is no need of having tired muscles or those that feel strained or painful. If this condition arises it is proof that there is stiffness, that relaxation has not taken place. I can sit at the piano and play _forte_ for three hours at a time and not feel the least fatigue in hands and arms. Furthermore, the playing of one who is relaxed, who knows how to use his anatomy, will not injure the piano. We must remember the piano is a thing of joints; the action is so delicately adjusted that it moves with absolute freedom and ease. The player but adds another joint, which should equal in ease and adjustment the ones already there. On the other hand a person with stiff joints and rigid muscles, thumping ragtime on a good piano, can ruin it in a week; whereas under the fingers of a player who understands the laws of relaxation, it would last for many years.

"This principle of relaxation is exemplified in the athlete, baseball player, and others. They have poise and easy adjustment in every part of the body: they never seem to fall into strained or stiff attitudes, nor make angular or stiff movements. Arms, shoulders, wrists and fingers are all relaxed and easy. The pianist needs to study these principles as well as the athlete, I believe in physical exercises to a certain extent. Light-weight dumb-bells can be used; it is surprising how light a weight is sufficient to accomplish the result. But it must be one movement at a time, exercising one muscle at a time, and not various muscles at once.

"For memorizing piano music I can say I have no method whatever. When I know the piece technically or mechanically, I know it by heart. I really do not know when the memorizing takes place. The music is before me on the piano; I forget to turn the pages, and thus find I know the piece. In playing with orchestra I know the parts of all instruments, unless it be just a simple chord accompaniment; it would not interest me to play with orchestra and not know the music in this way. On one occasion I was engaged to play the Sgambatti concerto, which I had not played for some time. I tried it over on the piano and found I could not remember it. My first idea was to get out the score and go over it; the second was to try and recall the piece from memory. I tried the latter method, with the result that in about three hours and a half I had the whole concerto back in mind. I played the work ten days later without having once consulted the score. This goes to prove that memory must be absolute and not merely mechanical.

"Students think they cannot memorize, when it would be quite easy if they would apply themselves in the right way. I ask them to look intently at a small portion, two measures, or even one, and afterward to play it without looking at the notes. Of course, as you say, this can be done away from the piano; the notes can even be recited; but there are other signs and marks to be considered and remembered, so when one can be at the piano I consider it better.

"Piano playing is such an individual and complex thing. I do not require nor expect my pupils to play as I do, nor interpret as I interpret, for then I would only see just so many replicas of myself, and their individuality would be lost. I often hear them play a composition in a different way and with a different spirit from the one I find in it. But I don't say to them, 'That is wrong; you must play it as I do,' No, I let them play it as they see and feel it, so long as there is no sin against artistic taste.

"I trust these few points will be helpful to both player and teacher. The latter needs all the encouragement we artists can give, for in most cases he is doing a good work.

"Volumes might be added to these hurried remarks, but for that my time is too limited."

IV

SIGISMOND STOJOWSKI

MIND IN PIANO STUDY

Mr. Sigismond Stojowski, the eminent Polish pianist and composer, was found one morning in his New York studio, at work with a gifted pupil. He was willing to relax a little, however, and have a chat on such themes as might prove helpful to both teacher and student.

"You ask me to say something on the most salient points in piano technic; perhaps we should say, the points that are most important to each individual; for no two students are exactly alike, nor do any two see things in precisely the same light. This is really a psychological matter. I believe the subject of psychology is a very necessary study for both teacher and student. We all need to know more about mental processes than we do. I am often asked how to memorize, for instance--or the best means for doing this; another psychological process. I recommend students to read William James' _Talks on Psychology_; a very helpful book.

"The most vital thing in piano playing is to learn to think. Has it ever occurred to you what infinite pains people will take to avoid thinking? They will repeat a technical illustration hundreds of times it may be, but with little or no thought directed to the performance. Such work is absolutely useless. Perhaps that is a little too strong. With countless repetitions there may at last come to be a little improvement, but it will be very small.

"There is quite a variety of views as to what the essentials of piano technic are; this is a subject on which teachers, unluckily, do not agree. For instance, on the point of finger lifting there is great diversity of opinion. Some believe in raising the fingers very high, others do not. Lifting the fingers high is not good for the tone, though it may be used for velocity playing. I use quite the reverse where I wish beautiful, singing, tone quality. The young pupil, at the beginning, must of course learn to raise fingers and make precise movements; when greater proficiency is reached, many modifications of touch are used. That the best results are not more often obtained in piano teaching and study, is as much the fault of the teacher as the pupil. The latter is usually willing to be shown and anxious to learn. It is for the teacher to correctly diagnose the case and administer the most efficient remedy.

NATURAL TECHNIC

"There is a certain amount of what I might call 'natural technic' possessed by every one--some one point which is easy for him. It Is often the trill. It has frequently come under my notice that players with little facility in other ways, can make a good trill. Some singers have this gift; Mme. Melba is one who never had to study a trill, for she was born with a nightingale in her throat. I knew a young man in London who was evidently born with an aptitude for octaves. He had wonderful wrists, and could make countless repetitions of the octave without the least fatigue. He never had to practise octaves, they came to him naturally.

"The teacher's work is both corrective and constructive. He must see what is wrong and be able to correct it. Like a physician, he should find the weak and deficient parts and build them up. He should have some remedy at his command that will fit the needs of each pupil.

"I give very few etudes, and those I administer in homeopathic doses. It is not necessary to play through a mass of etudes to become a good pianist. Much of the necessary technic may be learned from the pieces themselves, though scales and arpeggios must form part of the daily routine.

KEEPING UP A REPERTOIRE

"In keeping a large number of pieces in mind, I may say that the pianist who does much teaching is in a sense taught by his pupils. I have many advanced pupils, and in teaching their repertoire I keep up my own. Of course after a while one grows a little weary of hearing the same pieces rendered by students; the most beautiful no longer seem fresh. My own compositions are generally exceptions, as I do not often teach those. To the thoughtful teacher, the constant hearing of his repertoire by students shows him the difficulties that younger players have to encounter, and helps him devise means to aid them to conquer these obstacles. At the same time there is this disadvantage: the pianist cannot fail to remember the places at which such and such a student had trouble, forgot or stumbled. This has happened to me at various times. In my recitals I would be playing ahead, quite unconscious that anything untoward could occur--wholly absorbed in my work; when, at a certain point, the recollection would flash over me--this is where such or such a pupil stumbled. The remembrance is sometimes so vivid that I am at some effort to keep my mental balance and proceed with smoothness and certainty.

"Yes, I go over my pieces mentally, especially if I am playing an entirely new program which I have never played before; otherwise I do not need to do so much of it.

FILLING IN A PASSAGE

"You suggest that a composer may fill in or make up a passage, should he forget a portion of the piece when playing in public. True; but improvising on a well-known work is rather a dangerous thing to do in order to improve a bad case. Apropos of this, I am reminded of an incident which occurred at one of my European recitals. It was a wholly new program which I was to give at Vevay. I had been staying with Paderewski, and went from Morges to Vevay, to give the recital. In my room at the hotel I was mentally reviewing the program, when in a Mendelssohn Fugue, I found I had forgotten a small portion. I could remember what went before and what came after, but this particular passage had seemingly gone. I went down to the little parlor and tried the fugue on the piano, but could not remember the portion in question. I hastened back to my room and constructed a bridge which should connect the two parts. When the time came to play the fugue at the recital, it all went smoothly till I was well over the weak spot, which, it seems, I really played as Mendelssohn wrote it. As I neared the last page, the question suddenly occurred to me, what had I done with that doubtful passage? What had really happened I could not remember; and the effort to recall whether I had played Mendelssohn or Stojowski nearly brought disaster to that last page.

"As soon as my season closes here I shall go to London and bring out my second piano concerto with the London Symphony Orchestra, under Nikisch. I shall also play various recitals."

It was my good fortune to be present at the orchestral concert at Queen's Hall, when Mr. Stojowski was the soloist. It was pleasant to see the enthusiasm aroused by the concerto itself, and the performance of it by the artist.

V

RUDOLPH GANZ

CONSERVING ENERGY IN PIANO PRACTISE

"One of the most necessary things is the conserving of vital energy in piano practise," said the pianist Rudolph Ganz to me one day. "The wrong way is to continually practise the piece as though you were playing it in public--that is to say, with all possible energy and emotion. Some of the pianists now before the public do this, and it always makes me sorry for them, for I know what a needless waste of energy and vital force it is. An actor, studying his lines, does not need to continually shout them in order to learn how they should be interpreted. Neither does the lyric actress practise her roles with full tones, for she is well used to saving her voice. Why then should the pianist exhaust himself and give out his whole strength merely in the daily routine of practise? I grant this principle of saving one's self may not be easy to learn, but it should be acquired by all players, great and small. I think a pianist should be able to practise five or six hours daily without fatigue. If the player is accustomed to husband his vital force during the daily routine of practise, he can play a long, exacting program in public without weariness. In every day practise one often does not need to play _forte_ nor use the pedals; a tone of medium power is sufficient. Suppose, for instance, you are studying the Chopin Etude Op. 10, No. 12, with the left hand arpeggio work. Every note and finger must be in place, every mark of phrasing obeyed; but during practise hours you need not give the piece all its dashing vigor and bravura at every repetition. Such a course would soon exhaust the player. Yet every effect you wish to make must be thoroughly studied, must be in mind, and used at intervals whenever a complete performance of the piece is desired.

"As I said before, it is often difficult to control the impulse to 'let loose,' if the work is an exciting one. At a recent rehearsal with the Symphony Orchestra, I told the men I would quietly run through the concerto I was to play, merely indicating the effects I wanted. We began, but in five minutes I found myself playing with full force and vigor.

"In regard to methods in piano study there seems to be a diversity of opinion, resulting, I think, from the various ways of touching the keys--some players using the tip and others the ball of the finger. Busoni may be cited as one who employs the end of the finger--Pauer also; while the Frenchman, Cortot, who has an exquisite tone, plays with the hand almost flat on the keys, a method which certainly insures weight of hand and arm. Of course players generally, and teachers also, agree on the employment of arm weight in playing. The principles of piano technic are surely but few. Was it not Liszt who said: 'Play the right key with the right finger, the right tone and the right intention--that is all!' It seems to me piano technic has been pushed to its limit, and there must be a reversal; we may return to some of the older methods of touch and technic.

"The vital thing in piano playing is to bring out the composer's meaning, plus your own inspiration and feeling. You must study deeply into the composer's idea, but you must also put your own feeling, intensity and emotion into the piece. And not only must you feel the meaning yourself, but you must play it in a way to touch others. There are many pianists who are not cultured musicians; who think they know their Beethoven because they can play a few sonatas. In music 'knowledge is power.' We need all possible knowledge, but we also need to feel the inspiration. One of the greatest teachers of our time holds that personal inspiration is not necessary; for the feeling is all in the music itself. All we have to do is to play with such and such a dynamic quality of tone. Like a country doctor measuring out his drugs, this master apportions so many grains of power for _forte_, for _mezzo_, for _piano_, and so on. This plan puts a damper on individuality and enthusiasm, for it means that everything must be coldly calculated. Such playing does not really warm the heart.

"I believe in teaching tonal contrasts and tone color even to a beginner. Why should not the child form a concept of _forte_ and _piano_, and so get away from the deadly monotony of _mezzo_? I have written some little descriptive piano pieces, and my small boy learned one of them to play for me. There is a closing phrase like this," and Mr. Ganz illustrated at the piano; "it is to be played _forte_, and is followed by a few notes to be touched very softly, like an echo. It was really beautiful to see how the little fellow reached out for the pedal to make the loud part more emphatic, and then played the echo very softly and neatly. He had grasped the first principle of tone color--namely tone contrast, and also a poetic idea.

"There are so many wonder children in these days, and many marvels are accomplished by infant prodigies. Very often however, these wonder children develop no further; they fail to fulfil their early promise, or the expectations held of them.

"A youthful wonder in the field of composition is Eric Korngold, whose piano sonata I played in my New York recital. I have played this work eight times in all, during my present tour, often by request. To me it is most interesting. I cannot say it is logical in the development of its ideas; it often seems as though the boy threw in chords here and there with no particular reason. Thus the effort of memorizing is considerable, for I must always bear in mind that this C major chord has a C sharp in it, or that such and such a chord is changed into a most unusual one. One cannot predict whether the boy will develop further. As you say, Mozart was an infant prodigy, but if we judge from the first little compositions that have been preserved, he began very simply and worked up, whereas Korngold begins at Richard Strauss. His compositions are full of the influence of Strauss. The critics have much to say for and against these early works. I do not know the young composer personally, though he has written me. In a recent letter which I have here, he expresses the thought that, though the critics have found many things to disapprove of in the sonata, the fact that I have found it worth studying and bringing out more than compensates him for all adverse criticism. To make the work known in the great musical centers of America is surely giving it wide publicity."

On a later occasion, Mr. Ganz said:

"I thoroughly believe in preserving one's enthusiasm for modern music, even though, at first glance, it does not attract one, or indeed seems almost impossible. I enjoy studying new works, and learning what is the modern trend of thought in piano work; it keeps me young and buoyant.

"One of the novelties lately added to my repertoire is the Haydn sonata in D. On the same program I place the Korngold sonata. A hundred years and more divide the two works. While I revere the old, it interests me to keep abreast of the new thought in musical art and life."

VI

TINA LERNER

AN AUDIENCE IS THE BEST TEACHER

Between the many engagements that crowded upon the close of her long American tour, Miss Tina Lerner found time to talk over certain topics of significance which bear upon pianistic problems.

We began by referring to the different methods of holding the hands, moving the fingers and touching the keys, as exemplified by the various pianists now before the public.

"It is true that I play with the ball of the finger on the key, which necessitates a flat position of hand, with low wrist." Here the pianist illustrated the point by playing several pearly scales with straight, outstretched fingers. "I never realized, however, that I played in this way, until Mr. Ernest Hutcheson, the pianist, of Baltimore, recently called my attention to it. The fact is, I have always taken positions of body, arms, hands and fingers, which seemed to me the most natural and easy. This I did when I began, at the age of five, and I have always kept to them, in spite of what various teachers have endeavored to do for me. Fortunately my early teachers were sensible and careful; they kept me at the classics, and did not give too difficult pieces. The principles followed by most great pianists I believe are correct; but I have always kept to my own natural way. In hand position, therefore, I am individual; perhaps no one else plays with such a finger position, so in this I am unique.

"For some reason unknown to me, it has come to be imagined that I have studied with Leschetizky; this is entirely refuted when I say I have never been in Vienna. It seems we are getting away from the idea of helping ourselves out with the name of some great teacher. The question should be: What has the player in himself, what can he accomplish? not, Whose pupil is he? We know of some of Leschetizky's famous pupils, but we never hear of the thousands he must have had, who have come to nothing. A teacher can only do a certain amount for you; he can give you new ideas, which each pupil works out for himself in his own way. The piano student learns from so many different sources. He attends a piano recital and acquires many ideas of touch, tone, phrasing and interpretation; he hears a great singer or violinist and absorbs a wholly new set of thoughts, or he listens to a grand orchestra, and gains more than from all the others. Then there is life to study from: experience--living--loving: all go into the work of the musician. A musical career is indeed the most exacting one that can be chosen.