boris berman book

8/19/2019 Boris Berman Book

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notes from the


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Boris Berman

pianist ’s bench Yale University Press • New Haven and London


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Published with the assistance of the A. Whitney Griswold and the Frederick W.

Hilles Publication Funds of Yale University.

Copyright © 2000 by Yale University. All rights reserved. This book may not

be reproduced, in whole or in part, including illustrations, in any form (beyond

that copying permitted by Sections 107 and 108 of the U.S. Copyright Law and

except by reviewers for the public press), without written permission from the

publishers.

Designed by Nancy Ovedovitz and set in Scala type by The Composing Room of

Michigan, Inc., Grand Rapids, Michigan. Printed in the United States of America

by Sheridan Books, Dexter, Michigan.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Berman, Boris.

Notes from the pianist’s bench / Boris Berman.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

isbn 0-300-08375-0 (alk. paper)

1. Piano—Instruction and study. 2. Piano—Performance. I. Title.

MT220 .B15 2000

786.2193—dc 00-036514

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability

of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council

on Library Resources.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1


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contents

Preface ix

Part I In the Practice Room

1 Sound and Touch 3

2 Technique 24

3 Articulation and Phrasing 53

4 Matters of Time 75

5 Pedaling 97

6 Practicing 112

Part II Shaping Up a Performance

7 Deciphering the Composer’s Message 139

8 Seeing the Big Picture 150

9 Technique of the Soul 169

10 At the Performance (and Prior to It) 179

11 The Art of Teaching and the Art of Learning 198

Notes 211

About the Author 215

Index 217

Music Publisher Credit 223

vii


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preface

This book is a compendium of various thoughts, discussions, and experi-

ences that I have had in the course of my work as a performer and teacher. A

reflection of my personal and professional experience, it presents issues that

arise continually in my work with advanced students or that seem relevant to

me as a performer. Much of the book has been written during concert tours

as well as in the wake of numerous lessons. This has influenced the choice

of the repertoire discussed here.

I do not purport to cover each and every problem that pianists may en-

counter, nor do I aspire to produce revelations; in fact, I hope that my col-

leagues will be able to identify with much of what I have to say. I also hope

that they will find helpful some of the ways I suggest to address familiar

problems. My goal is not to replace the piano instructor. Rather, students

should approach the book in the same way they approach a master class—as

an opportunity to be exposed to another point of view to complement the in-

struction of the teacher. The teacher faces a multitude of problems during

the short time of a lesson. Between correcting notes and rhythms, suggest-

ing a better fingering, and discussing the interpretation of a particular piece,

he can seldom find time for a general discussion of any of the issues covered

in this book.* Thus, I hope that some of my colleagues may occasionally as-

ix

*In writing this book I struggled with the grammatical issue of gender parity. I ul-

timately felt that constant use of “he or she” makes the text cumbersome. Because


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sign a chapter as useful supplemental reading for a student to complement

the more concrete work done during the lesson.

This is neither a how-to book nor one confined exclusively to general mu-

sical matters. My experiences as both teacher and performer have convinced

me of the fallacy of separating practical and ideal aspects of the art of playing

piano. I strongly believe that these two areas cannot be addressed indepen-

dently of each other. Technical work should always have a musical goal in

sight, and lofty ideas need to be supported by know-how to be put into prac-

tice. In lessons with students, discussion of the stylistic features of a partic-

ular composer whose work is being studied can switch to the examination of the position of the student’s hand or a search for the best fingering for a

diªcult passage. The book reflects this interdependence of the practical and

the ideal. Although it is divided into two parts—the first dealing with more

technical issues and the second with more artistic ones—this separation is

made only for purposes of easy reference. In reality, even an accomplished

artist occasionally revisits technical issues and revises his approach. In this

sense, an inquisitive artist remains a student for a lifetime. By the sametoken, a talented student, even one whose expertise is limited, is an artist

and should be treated as such.

I often had diªculty deciding which material should go into which chap-

ter, for one cannot really separate articulation from technique, or draw a di-

viding line between work on sound and work on technique. Cross-refer-

ences abound between both parts, as well as within them, reflecting my

strong conviction that we should mobilize all the tools and approaches atour disposal to re-create a work of music in all its richness.

Sometimes, for the sake of clarity, issues in the book have been formu-

lated and separated too neatly. The reader will do well to remember that in

real life they are often interwoven with, and infringe on, each other with fas-

cinating complexity. Or, as Goethe said: “Grau . . . ist alle Theorie / Und

grün des Lebens goldner Baum.” (Grey is all theory / And green of life the

x Preface

much of the writing reflects my own experience, it seemed more natural to use mas-

culine pronouns throughout the book. I hope that my female readers will not mind.


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golden tree). Students naturally look for clear-cut answers to their problems,

and teachers understandably try to respond with catch-all solutions. Yet,

apart from working with young beginners, no recommendation or solution

should be given (or received) with the words “always” or “never” in mind. In

the green of the music’s golden tree there surely is room for many excep-

tions to even the wisest rules.

The chapters of this book do not have to be read in order. I encourage pi-

anists to turn to individual chapters that respond to their current needs.

Readers who are not practicing pianists (no pun intended) may be daunted

by the technical discussions in certain chapters of Part 1 (“In the PracticeRoom”). For them, Part 2 (“Shaping Up a Performance”) and such chapters

of Part I as “Articulation and Phrasing” and “Matters of Time” may be more

interesting.

This book could not have been written without the help and encourage-

ment of many people. My sincere thanks go to Michael Friedmann, my

friend and fellow faculty member at Yale School of Music. His advicethroughout every stage of my work has been invaluable. Other colleagues

read early versions of the manuscript and contributed extremely helpful

opinions. Among these individuals are Claude Frank, Peter Frankl, Annie

Frankl, Stephane Lemelin, and Janos Cegledy. Harry Haskell of Yale Univer-

sity Press guided me through the unfamiliar terrain of the publishing world.

Harold Meltzer, Wei-Yi Yang, Dmitri Novgorodsky, and my meticulous edi-

tor Je¤rey Schier all helped me to prepare the manuscript for publication.Harold Shapero produced photos, Leora Zimmer formatted music exam-

ples. I gratefully acknowledge the assistance of the Griswold Fund and the

Frederick W. Hilles Publication Fund of Yale University.

Finally, I thank most a¤ectionately my wife, Zina, and my children, Ilan

and Daniella (my first reader), for their constant encouragement, particu-

larly when the task seemed to be too immense and daunting. I doubt that the

book could have been written without their support.

Preface xi


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P A R T I in the practice room


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1 sound and touch

Many issues are important in shaping the pianist’s skills. Technique, rhythm,

memorization, and repertoire are among them and will all be discussed in

this book. I would like to begin, though, with a topic that is frequently ne-

glected by teachers and students or that receives only perfunctory attention:

sound . For music, this omission is as strange as ignoring color in visual arts,

or body movement in acting. Sound production should be considered part of

technique in a broader sense, for technique is much more than the ability to

play notes rapidly and evenly.

On the rare occasion when sound production is discussed, it is often re-

duced to such platitudes as “It must sound beautiful,” “Sing!” or “Change

the color.” Instructors rarely give advice on how to achieve a beautiful sound,

what to do with the hands or arms to make the piano sing, or what one needs

to do physically to create the sensation of a change in color. I believe that the

teacher must be specific to meet the needs of students who seek more prac-

tical guidance on these matters. Over the years, I have developed a way to

deal with this issue. Before presenting it here, I would like to o¤ er a few

caveats:

1. Although I find it actually quite easy to teach the basics of sound pro-

duction, these skills usually do not “stick” to one who is indi¤ erent to qualityof piano tone, or to one whose ears do not crave a particular kind of sound.

In short, you cannot refine your touch without refining your ear. I am refer-

3


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ring to two kinds of “musical ears.” One is the “subjective ear,” the pianist’s

image of the kind of sound he would like to produce. The more specific the

image, the better the results will be. The other is the “objective ear,” which

refers to the musician’s ability to monitor the sound that actually comes

from under his fingers. Objective listening is a perennial goal, a life-long

battle, for a musician always tries to listen objectively to his own playing but

never fully succeeds. The pianist cannot do meaningful work without learn-

ing to listen intently and tirelessly to every sound he produces on the piano

(more about this in the chapter on practicing).

2. Often overlooked is the need to work on an instrument that respondssuªciently to the nuances of touch. (No electronic keyboard will do, I’m

afraid.) Chopin apparently had this opinion because, according to his student

Karol Mikuli, in the master’s house “the pupil played always on a magnificent

concert grand, and it was his duty to practice only on best quality instru-

ments.”1 As Russian pianist and writer Grigory Kogan put it: “The pianist

must be able to play on any piano, but he must practice only on a good one.”2

3. The pianist may be tempted to look for sound of absolute beauty that fitsall occasions. I often tell my students that there is no such thing as beautiful

sound; but there is sound appropriate to a particular style, piece, or passage.

(To be sure, there is such a thing as ugly sound, and the pianist should know

how to avoid producing it.) Sound that suits Rachmaninov would feel out of

place in Mozart, and vice versa. In fact, sound can and should be used as a tool

of stylistic definition. Stylistic awareness, expressed in the choice of tempo,

rhythm, phrasing, and articulation that the performer considers appropriateto the style of a work, should incorporate the notion of a proper sound.

4. Even a two-year-old can produce the “right” sound occasionally, but it

will be a sound, a single note. Only a well-trained pianist can produce a sec-

ond sound to perfectly match the qualities of the first. It is crucial for

pianists to have the ability to sustain a certain type of sound for the length of

a passage or a phrase and to change it at will.

When pianists talk about beautiful sound, they usually mean a singing,

long-lasting tone that reveals as little as possible of the piano’s inherently

4 In the Practice Room


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percussive nature. Even in the relatively infrequent instances when com-

posers highlight the instrument’s percussiveness (examples that come to

mind are Bartók’s First Concerto and Stravinsky’s Les Noces), the pianist

should not be indi¤ erent to the quality of sound; he should aspire to emulate

the brassy resonance of a gong or the powerful combination of dryness and

resonance of African drums, rather than a clatter of kitchen pots.

Each professional pianist has (or should have) endured long and often

frustrating hours in the practice room looking for his own way of producing

this beautiful, long-lasting sound. We are all di¤ erent physically, and for this

reason every pianist develops his own strategy. The multitude of approachesand their combinations, however, can be reduced to two generic types. My

late teacher the wonderful Russian pianist and pedagogue Lev Oborin

defined the polarity of these physical approaches as sostenuto and leggiero. I

prefer using the English words “in” and “out.” Both of these ways of playing,

as we will see, share a common goal: to mask the most treacherous, danger-

ously telling moment—that of the actual attack, when the hammer hits the

string.Eloquent imagery has been used to describe the “in” kind of sound pro-

duction. Rachmaninov talked about fingers growing roots in the keyboard.

Joseph Ho¤ mann said that the sound should be produced as if there were a

very ripe strawberry sitting on a key and you had to push through it. These

images imply two important features of the “in” type. One is the deliberate

speed of the process: the slow pace at which the roots grow, and the unhur-

ried tempo at which the strawberry must be penetrated to avoid a messy key-board. The other is the continuous quality of the process; the roots grow

without stopping at a certain point. The “in” type, then, is based on a slow

immersion in the keyboard: the action continues even after the sound has

been produced, as if the moment of attack were ignored. The weight

brought into the key stays there without being released; it is then “poured”

into the next note of the phrase.

The “out” type is quite the opposite. The sound is produced by a quickstroke, as if the finger left the key even before the sound could be heard. Ob-

viously, if the note has to be sustained or connected to the next, the finger

Sound and Touch 5


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does not leave the key. But most of the weight is gone; only a vestige remains

to hold the key down. This type of action is similar to playing the harp (is not

the piano essentially a horizontally placed harp?). The harpist strikes and

then escapes the strings almost before the notes are produced, otherwise the

sound is dampened by the fingers. Or think about the way the percussionist

plays the tam-tam: the performer never leaves the mallet pressed against the

instrument. After striking the tam-tam he pulls the mallet out of the way,

allowing the instrument to resonate without being obstructed.

Playing this way, the pianist should not direct the movement downward

into the keyboard. Rather, he should employ a circular (tangential) motion,as if passing through the key but not stopping. Once again, the action is sim-

ilar to the circular motion used to pluck the harp, strike the tam-tam, crash a

pair of cymbals—or play baseball or tennis. In the sports analogy the tennis

racquet and baseball bat pass the point at which they strike the ball, continu-

ing in a circular motion (called follow-through). The pianist directs the mo-

tion toward himself as if he were “grabbing” the sound from the keyboard

and bringing it out.*Some pianists prefer to move the hand forward rather than toward them-

selves. Konrad Wol¤ describes Artur Schnabel’s playing in this manner.3

Schnabel may have learned it from Theodore Leschetitzky, whose other stu-

dent (and one-time wife), the legendary Russian pianist and teacher Anna

Esipova, recommended: “Place your hand on the keys, form the chord, and

move the hand as if pushing a drawer into a desk.”4 What is important to me

is that both this motion and the “out” way as discussed above do not aim ver-tically downward but touch the key at an angle. Both motions can be de-

scribed as caressing; they both allow the finger to glide along the key.** I

find it more practical to move the hands toward me instead of away from the

body because in the latter case the the piano’s name-board restricts the


*The circular movement approach is executed by either finger, hand, or forearm,

depending on which lever the pianist decides to employ at any particular time. The

reasons for choosing a particular lever are discussed below.**The gliding movement can be very helpful in achieving smoothness of legato,

though strictly speaking it is irrelevant for producing the sound.


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movement on the far end. More room exists between the keyboard and the

pianist’s body.)

These two types of sound production, the “in” and the “out,” almost never

appear in their pure form; rather, there are countless combinations of the

two. Di¤ erent national schools have shown preferences for one or the other:

pianists of the Russian school have favored the “in” approach, while those of

French or German musical descent seem to have preferred the “out” way of

playing. (I use the perfect tense here because the current cross-fertilization

of traditions has left hardly any national school untouched by other influ-

ences.)For me, it is important to use di¤ erent kinds of sound for di¤ erent types

of music. A work of introverted character, such as Brahms’s Intermezzo

op. 119, no. 1 (Ex. 1.1), may benefit from an “in” approach, while more out-

spoken, extroverted music, like the beginning of Chopin’s C-Minor Noc-

turne (Ex. 1.2), asks for the “out” stroke. Many pieces can be presented

equally convincingly using either of these approaches—Chopin’s F-sharp

Major Nocturne, for example (Ex. 1.3). The pianist who is conversant withboth may choose the one that seems more appropriate.

Sound and Touch 7

Ex. 1.1 Brahms, Intermezzo in B Minor, op. 119, no. 1

Lento

mezza voce

Ex. 1.2 Chopin, Nocturne in C Minor, op. 48, no. 1


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At times the pianist may wish to imitate the sound of other instruments,

especially when trying to realize an orchestral reduction at the piano. The

airy sound of the French horn, as in the beginning of the orchestral part of

the B-flat Major Concerto by Brahms (Ex. 1.4), will be better rendered by the

“out” stroke. The warmth of the strings in the excerpt from Liszt’s First Con-

certo (Ex. 1.5), on the other hand, calls for the “in” approach.


Ex. 1.3 Chopin, Nocturne in F-sharp Major, op. 15, no. 2

3

Ex. 1.4 Brahms, Concerto no. 2 in B-flat Major, op. 83, mvt. 1

Ex. 1.5 Liszt, Concerto no. 1 in E-flat Major

So far, we have contemplated ways of producing the sound while dealing

with relatively soft music. For loud playing, I am afraid, the “in” approach al-

most never succeeds. Imagine a long crescendo: as we increase the speed of

immersion into the key to produce the louder sound, the time between the

moment of attack and the imaginary goal of the movement becomes shorterand shorter, until the two coincide. As a result, instead of masking the mo-

ment of attack we are highlighting it; the sound becomes unpleasantly hard

and harsh, and immersion turns into pressure.


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My solution to avoid harshness of sound is to switch to the “out” way us-

ing a “hit-and-run” approach. The louder the dynamic level is, the faster the

movement should be. The chords in Ex. 1.6, for instance, are played as if be-

ing torn from the piano. (Naturally, the pedal will prolong their duration and

enhance the resonance.) If the notes must be sustained, the fingers do not

leave the keys, but the weight of the hands is used for the attack only, and

they do not sink into the keys even for a moment. A good example of this ap-

proach is the first subject of Beethoven’s Fourth Concerto (first movement)

as it appears forte in the beginning of the recapitulation (Ex. 1.7).

Sound and Touch 9

8 8

Ped.

Allegro deciso

Ex. 1.6 Liszt, Concerto no. 2 in A Major

Ex. 1.7 Beethoven, Concerto no. 4 in G Major, op. 58, mvt. 1

Earlier, I was talking about the need for the pianist to have sound imagi-

nation, the refined “subjective ear.” This is not enough, however, for the per-

former must also possess the technical ability to realize the sonorities he

hears in his head. The pianist needs to know what physical actions influencesound and in what way. Here are several variables that are used in both “in”

and “out” types of sound production. Some also a¤ ect other aspects of play-

ing, such as articulation or velocity. (The real life of a practicing pianist can-


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not be neatly compartmentalized.) But first I would like to mention one

physical constant that is indispensable for producing rich, nuanced tone:

the flexible wrist. Josef Lhevinne compared its role to that of shock absorbers

in a car.5 The wrist cushions the sound and absorbs the excess force. (Fre-

quently the pianist uses the elbow as an additional shock absorber, as

described in the next chapter.)

1. Weight . The more weight that is applied to the key, the fuller (and/or

louder) the sound. The pianist needs to be able to use the full weight of his

fingers, hand, forearm, and upper arm. Equally important is knowing how

not to use weight when a lighter sonority is required. I often ask my studentsto experiment with making their fingers heavy by letting the weight of the

bigger joints “pour” into the fingers (not to be confused with applying pres-

sure), and then gradually withdrawing the weight to regain the lightness.

(For the latter, imagine a vacuum cleaner being applied to your shoulder

blade, sucking the weight from the hand. This image can be particularly

helpful for larger-sized pianists who find it diªcult to prevent the weight of

their arms from participating when the music requires lightness of touch.)These experiments are important for learning one of the most necessary

skills for the pianist: to let in just as much or as little of the weight as is

needed for a particular passage.

Pianists who possess a delicate physique sometimes feel that they cannot

muster enough weight to play a loud passage. They try to compensate by

pressing into the key using the “in” touch, which is generally not suitable for

forte, as discussed above. The pressure usually produces a hard, forcedsound. In such cases I strongly recommend that the pianist resist the temp-

tation to apply additional pressure. Instead, I would switch to the “out”

approach and increase the speed of the stroke.

2. Mass. This variable concerns how much of the body is involved in

sound production. The sound can be produced with the finger alone, or with

the finger supported by the hand, or with finger supported by the hand plus

the forearm, or with the finger supported by the hand plus the forearm plusthe upper arm. The bigger the participating joint—that is, the greater the

mass—the fuller the sound.



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When we want to increase the volume we activate the bigger joints. When

we want to stay at the same dynamic level, however, and at the same time,

achieve a fuller sound, we seek the support of the bigger joints, rather than

their overt participation. To help my students accomplish this goal, I often

mention that they should develop the feeling of a “long finger” or imagine

that all the “juices” from the arm are flowing into the finger. Another useful

image is that of a “long neck” to help feel uninterrupted succession of mus-

cles from behind one’s ear to the neck, to the upper arm and so forth down

to the finger tip. (Compare this with the “extension” principle discussed in

the next chapter.) When the pianist feels the need to add air to his sound,which he experiences as excessively thin and “bony,” a flexible elbow can be

particularly helpful. Imagining a parachute attached to one’s elbow can be

useful.

It is important to distinguish between mass and weight. One can use the

whole arm and still make a very light sound, or use just the finger, which

would have the weight of bigger joints “poured” into it.

3. Speed . The speed with which the finger strikes the key contributes tochanges not only in volume but also in articulation. Elementary physics

teaches us that speed can be developed only over a certain distance. This

means that a finger needs to fall from a certain height, unless we want to

play very softly. If the pianist tries to play loudly while his fingers remain

glued to the surface of the key, all he can do is to push the key down, produc-

ing a very pressured sound. The greater the speed we want to develop, the

higher we should position the finger. At a certain point, however, the pianistcannot rely merely on the energy of the falling finger; he must involve the

hand as well. (This is discussed further in the chapter on technique).

In my discussion of the “out” way of playing, I stated that its basic move-

ment must be fast. Yet gradations of the speed can add much variety to this

type of touch, and in my lessons I use di¤ erent images to underline the

di¤ erences. I talk about “taking” the sound out of the piano as opposed to

“pulling” it or, on the other end of the spectrum, “tearing” it out as opposedto “plucking.”

Speed not only can compensate for insuªcient weight, it can also be in-

Sound and Touch 11


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terchangeable with mass. A similar dynamic level can be achieved by using

a larger joint with lesser speed, or a smaller joint with greater speed. The de-

cision regarding the course of action to take depends on the pianist’s feeling

of the sound that is best suited or most appropriate stylistically for a particu-

lar piece of music. A mezzo-forte singing line in Mozart, for example, may

require using fingers to activate keys fairly quickly, probably supported by

the hand, possibly with just a little participation of the forearm. In contrast,

a similar dynamic level in a Rachmaninov work will be best produced by

bringing the weight of the arm into the key with a relatively slow speed. The

lean sound appropriate for Mozart is quite di¤ erent from the full or thicksound suitable for Rachmaninov.

4. Perception of depth. More than the other variables, this depends on the

pianist’s imagination, because the depth of the key has very little leeway per

se. Yet every properly trained pianist is able to hear the di¤ erence between

deep and shallow touch. One usually plays deep into the key to achieve a

singing tone. (The depth should not be exaggerated, though, as it invites

pressure, which in turn produces a forced, strangulated tone. I have seenpianists who played as if they were intent on making a hole in the bottom of

the keyboard.)

A common mistake is to aim deep while playing loudly, but to use a much

shallower stroke while playing softly. For developing the deep touch in

piano, Esipova’s advice is very useful: “First practice the phrase (which is to

be played pianissimo) slowly, feeling the bottom of the key and in the dy-

namics of mezzo-forte. Afterward repeat it with the same feeling of depth,but very softly. Keep switching from one way of playing to the other.”6

The depth of the touch should remain the same for the duration of a

phrase or passage. Inconsistent touch, when adjacent notes are produced in

di¤ erent layers of depth, is clearly noticeable to the trained ear and testifies

to the pianist’s poor sound control. However, not all lines in the musical tex-

ture need to sing; for those that do not a shallower touch may be more ap-

propriate. For each particular line or phrase we aim for a certain depth in thekeys. It is crucial to sustain this depth until the nature of the material

changes. Very often we have two or more elements, played simultaneously

or in quick succession, each performed with a di¤ erent depth. Obviously,



19/29

this situation requires great ability to control the touch, especially when

these di¤ erent elements appear in the part of the same hand. (Di¤ erentia-

tion in articulation, very much linked with the subject of depth, is discussed

in the chapter “Articulation and Phrasing.”)

When the “out” way of playing is used, the di¤ erence in depth can be as

e¤ ective as with the “in” touch. For the “out” approach I encourage students

to imagine taking (or pulling, tearing, and so on, as described above) the

sound from a deeper or shallower layer within the keyboard.

5. The shape of the fingers. Josef Lhevinne observed: “It is almost an axiom

to say that the smaller the surface of the first joint of the finger touching thekey, the harder and blunter the tone; the larger the surface, the more ringing

and singing the tone.”7 The di¤ erence in sound is made by touching the key

with either the fleshier part of the finger or with the tip. To play music that

requires clarity of articulation, the pianist often curves his fingers so that the

smallest joint is almost perpendicular to the keys. On the other hand, e¤ orts

to create a singing sound of great warmth will succeed if the fingers assume

a flatter position, shaping the phrase as if molding warm clay. To avoid mus-cular tension, fingers should never be outstretched more than is natural.

The physiologically correct position can be checked by letting the arm hang

freely alongside the body; the fingers will naturally assume their proper

curved position (Fig. 1.1).

Whether one uses flatter or more rounded fingers, the sensitivity of the

fingertips is of supreme importance. The tips of the fingers have to be

“alert” and active even in the softest and most delicate passages. To quoteNatan Perelman, the doyen of piano professors in St. Petersburg, Russia,

“The soul of pianists is located in their fingertips.”8

Having described these concrete tools of piano playing, I should empha-

size that they serve to achieve the most important goal: the ability to create an

illusion. What one does is infinitely less important than the sound that

emerges from the instrument. Thus, for instance, it is not always necessaryto play physically legato to create the legato sound. In fact, e¤ orts to connect

notes physically may make the melodic line less smooth than by playing it

non legato (naturally, with the help of pedaling). In the passage from De-

Sound and Touch 13


20/29

bussy’s “La fille aux cheveux de lin” (Ex. 1.8), the pianist who tries to connect

the chords with his fingers can easily become “stuck” in the keyboard; the

lightly gliding melodic line will be better served by gentle non legato play-

ing, assisted by a frequently changed pedal. The key to success in this and

similar cases is an ideal matching of the attacks of successive chords. Here,too, very close listening is crucial.


Fig. 1.1 Naturally curved position

of the hand

(sans lourdeur) Cédez

Ex. 1.8 Debussy, “La fille aux cheveux de lin,” from Preludes, book 1


21/29

Control over dynamics is an important manifestation of cultivated touch.

Heightened awareness of di¤ erentiation of dynamics can be traced to the

piano literature of the early twentieth century. Baroque music used just two

indications, forte and piano, almost exclusively (only occasionally can we

find examples of pianissimo in J.S. Bach’s music). In keyboard music, these

dynamic markings served merely as an indication for a louder or softer key-

board on harpsichord or organ. Classical period composers used a greater

number of dynamic markings; Romantic composers used still more. Even

so, these indications were not meant to be interpreted literally. In fact, very

often we would play an expressive passage in Romantic music in the mezzo-forte dynamic range, though the composer’s indication may be piano.

It was Claude Debussy who revolutionized our perception of the scale of

dynamics. In the development of piano playing his importance may be com-

pared only to that of Liszt. Whereas Liszt reached new horizons in matters

of velocity, Debussy raised the level of awareness of touch control to an un-

precedented height. His indications require precise changes of minute dy-

namic gradations. See, for example, the end of “Pagodes” from Estampes, inwhich the dynamic indications are ff, dim, p, dim, pp, più pp, encore plus pp,

and aussi pp que possible. Even more demanding are the occurrences when

he uses several layers of texture within the same dynamic level, each requir-

ing a touch and articulation of its own (Ex. 1.9). Touch control was carried

further in serial music, which assigns every note its own indication of

dynamics and articulation, as in the groundbreaking Modes de valeurs et

d’intensités by Messiaen (Ex. 1.10).I am convinced that a contemporary pianist simply cannot function with-

out acquiring the precision of control over the scale of dynamics. We all

know that every pianist’s dynamic scale is di¤ erent. Besides, when a pianist

switches from one instrument to another, from one hall to another, he ad-

justs the dynamics accordingly. And yet, within the conditions of a specific

performance, one is frequently required to establish a more or less absolute

dynamic scale. To clarify this concept, I often ask students to play a shortmelodic phrase repeatedly, changing the dynamics on my request. Starting

with mf, for example, we proceed to pp, to f, to mp, to p, and then back to mf .

Sound and Touch 15


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When the student returns to mf , I insist that it sound neither louder nor

softer than it did before. The objective of this exercise is to establish a scale

of dynamics to teach the pianist, for example, that mf is not merely some-

what louder than p, but exactly two steps above it.*


33

3 3

33

33

doucement sonore

m.g.

Lent

un peu en dehors

33

33

33

33

Ex. 1.9 Debussy, “Les cloches à travers les feuilles,” from Images, book 2

8

Modéré

Ex. 1.10 Messiaen, Modes de valeurs et d’intensités

*Establishing the dynamic scale does not absolve the pianist from masteringdi¤erences of sound within each category. Forte pesante should sound di¤erent from

forte leggiero; piano espressivo from piano misterioso.


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Playing two or more notes simultaneously, we must prioritize, or voice,

the dynamics between them, even when the composer is not making

specific demands. The more notes that are struck simultaneously, the more

important the issue of voicing becomes, particularly in loud playing. Noth-

ing on the piano sounds more vulgar than a loud chord in which all notes

shout indiscriminately. Each chord must have a certain leading note, while

the other tones in the chord should be voiced down. To accomplish this, the

pianist needs to decide which sound in the chord (or which line in the

chordal progression) to highlight. Then he must have enough control over

his fingers and enough finger independence to execute it. The exercise inEx. 1.11 helps the fingers to develop these qualities. The white notes of the

chords shown in the example are to be played forte, the rest of the notes pi-

ano. Practice with both hands playing separately as well as together. Later

choose di¤ erent, less convenient chords.

Sound and Touch 17

Ex. 1.11

3

Ex. 1.12 Beethoven, 15 Variations with a Fugue (“Eroica”), op. 35, finale

In the past several hundred years the leading melodic line was entrusted

with increasing frequency to the top voice. As a result, our ear habitually

craves the clarity of the top line. In chordal textures, the highest note of the

chord is almost always the melodic one and needs to be highlighted.

Insuªcient voicing of the top notes of chords (or of octaves) makes them

sound “blind,” lacking profile and clarity. Sometimes we voice to reveal ahidden melody, like the bass line of a passage from Beethoven’s “Eroica”

Variations (Ex. 1.12). On other occasions the pianist achieves di¤ erent

shades of color by choosing to highlight certain notes within the chord, or a


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has a resonant, airy quality and the stuªng is played very lightly and sensi-

tively.* Balance among these components will determine the way one uses

the pedal (see the chapter “Pedaling”). The separation of sonorities among

these strata will help the performer to reveal the inner life of each of these

layers and enhance the clarity of the voice leading.

In accompaniment presented in the form of rolled arpeggios (Ex. 1.15),

one should not play each note of an arpeggio with the same degree of loud-

Sound and Touch 19

Ex. 1.14 Chopin, Nocturne in F Minor, op. 55, no. 1

3

3

Andante

Ex. 1.15 Chopin, Nocturne in E Minor, op. 72, no. 1

*In such instances, the bass is usually played “out” from a deep layer of the key-

board. A comparison with the resonant pizzicato of the double bass may be helpful.Clearly, the loudness as well as the speed of the stroke change depending on the

circumstances.


26/29

ness. Usually, after the full and resonant low bass the few notes that follow it

are played softer, gradually emerging with a slight dynamic increase.

I have paid so much attention to the issue of producing the sound, of the

beginning of the tone, that it threatens to overshadow the even more impor-

tant factor, that of the follow-up, of “listening through” the note. Phrases

cannot sing without the pianist listening between the notes. Heinrich

Neuhaus suggests a very good exercise to become aware of this concept (Ex.

1.16a).9 It can be made more complicated by including additional dynamic

gradations (Ex. 1.16b). It is essential to match the dynamic level of the newsound to that of the preceding note, not at the point of the attack but at the

very end of it.* If a pianist is using the “in” touch while listening between the

notes, the pressure his finger exerts on the key will keep diminishing as

the ear follows the decay of the sound, so that it is ready to match the touch

required to produce the dynamics of the ensuing note.


a)

b)

Ex. 1.16

*Neuhaus also o¤ers the very good suggestion of practicing a melodic passage

much slower than it is going to be played, as if in slow motion.

Yet a pianist cannot be too dependent on the natural decay of the piano

sound, otherwise all phrases will have to be played diminuendo. If his inten-

tion is to make a crescendo, he does not follow what he hears but, rather,

what he imagines. (In the “in” sound the weight of the finger staying on the

key will grow accordingly.) This technique may help to make credible

crescendi on a sustained note or chord, both of which are found in


27/29

Beethoven’s works and which, strictly speaking, are not performable on the

piano.

At any point in this chapter someone could ask, “Are all these minute de-

tails really noticeable to most listeners?” My answer would have to be, “Prob-

ably not.” The ear of somebody who works constantly with the nuances of

the sound of his instrument becomes much more discerning than that of an

outsider, even when the outsider is himself a musician. I remember being

present at a lesson where a very good percussion player demonstrated to a

student di¤ erences in sound produced by di¤ erent strokes on the triangle.To my great embarrassment, I could not tell much of a di¤ erence, but both

the teacher and the student clearly recognized it. When working with string

players, I often witness their deliberations (and arguments) over whether to

play a certain note on the A string or the D string. To me, the di¤ erence does

not seem significant.

Are musicians splitting hairs to worry about such matters? For me, the

importance of this work lies as much in the practical result it achieves as inthe dedication to the music it manifests. Together with Arnold Schoenberg,

I marvel: “How high the development of spirit that could find pleasure in

such subtle things!”10 I am also reminded of the story about Michelangelo,

working with great care on the back of one of his sculptures that was to be

placed in a corner of a church. He was asked why he spent so much e¤ ort on

the part that no one would see. His reply was, “God will see it.”

From time to time, a composer reveals that he was thinking in orchestral

terms: such indications as “quasi tromboni” or “quasi corni” appear in the

score. Even without such an explicit suggestion, the pianist often feels that

a certain phrase would sound wonderful being played, for example, by the

oboe or the cello. He then may wish to try to create the sound evocative of

that particular instrument. Performing transcriptions of orchestral works,

the pianist often finds that creating the illusion of a specific instrument’ssonority is indispensable. In the last four bars of “The Young Juliet,”

Prokofiev’s own transcription from his ballet Romeo and Juliet (Ex. 1.17), a

Sound and Touch 21


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The flute . . . whenever possible, I play every note with the help of a sep-

arate arm movement. . . .

The bassoon . . . the touch is finger-staccato. . . .

The noble, full, somewhat veiled, ‘romantic’ sound of the horn de-

mands a loose arm and a flexible wrist. Although its dynamics extend

from pp to f, the sordino pedal should always be used. . . .

Do not forget that the harp is a plucked instrument! The pianist should

play harp notes with round, tensed fingers—sempre poco staccato—

within the sustained pedal. In rapid, sharply ripped-o¤ arpeggios, the

finger-play is assisted by movements of the wrist.

I suggest that every pianist try to apply Brendel’s recommendations,

though I predict that the rate of success will not be very high. This does not

mean that the suggestions of this wonderful and experienced pianist are

wrong or imprecise. Rather, this advice may not work as successfully for

anyone else because the delicate area of piano coloring depends so much on

individual physique or on each pianist’s innate approach to playing.

Still, it is extremely important for the teacher to be able to suggest to the

student what to do physically if he wants to imitate a bassoon, harp, or other

instrument. Even more important is to encourage students to seek their

own approach, to find what would work best for each person. I see it as

building one’s vocabulary of physical motions, a personal pianistic “tool-

box.” The larger the vocabulary, the more eloquent our musical speech

becomes; the better equipped the toolbox, the more e¤ ective and eªcient

the pianist’s work will be. And the better the pianist controls sound, the

more e¤ ectively he is able to communicate musical expression to an audi-

ence.

Sound and Touch 23

boris berman book

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