Helping Your Congregation to Sing

David Herman, DMA, MusD, is Trustees Distinguished Professor Emeritus of Music and University Organist at the University of Delaware. The author of numerous reviews for The Diapason, David has enjoyed playing hymns in churches of various denominations for more than fifty years. His recent CD includes music by his teacher Jan Bender and by Bender’s teacher, Hugo Distler.

Through the diverse work of nearly every organist runs a common thread: We are called upon to play the organ for religious services. This is the first in a series of articles that will offer ideas for enriching service playing; these articles were originally written for Crescendo, the newsletter of the Philadelphia AGO chapter and are used with their permission. Mention is occasionally made of the “young organist”—this is not a reference to age, but of skills and experience. Many “young” organists of all ages have keyboard skills and have been pressed to move from the piano bench to the organ bench. In this first installment, we will turn our attention to hymn playing.

Hymns must dance, even when they

“slow dance.”—Bruce Neswick

Hymn playing is a large topic—and the most important of them all, as it is the heart of what we do as church organists. A comprehensive treatment of hymn playing would include topics such as touch, breathing/phrasing, repeated notes, pedaling, registration, tempo, and, especially, attention to the text. You have probably recognized these as the same skills necessary in playing organ literature convincingly.

The service player, moreover, must consider many additional aspects. These include the different “personalities” of hymn texts and tunes; musical leadership; variety—in registration, texture, and harmonization; and, most importantly, bringing the words of the hymn to life. “Present the ancient truth as a present truth,” as Erik Routley once wrote, referring to hymns from previous centuries.¹

In short, hymn playing deserves a book and course of its own. What follows here are merely a few thoughts, with the hope they may be of some use and interest.

The organist as leader

First, some technical aspects. It is worth mentioning just what we’re about as organists during congregational singing. We are not the peoples’ accompanist; to accompany is to support, and, ultimately, to follow. That’s what we do, for example, when accompanying a vocal or instrumental soloist. When the people are singing they depend upon the organist for leadership—a significant, if subtle, difference.

The organist has a number of important decisions to make on behalf of the people. These include interpreting the “character” of the hymn, perhaps even determining the key; and setting the tempo. Having established these essential musical ingredients, the organist then invites the people to sing by way of an intonation: an introduction that is both music and signal. As the hymn unfolds, the organist maintains the tempo and sees to other musical ingredients—including phrasing and appropriate changes in texture and registration—with polite, but firm, insistence. Through all this, the organist encourages the faithful (nearly all of whom are musical amateurs) to sing and helps to interpret the texts of the hymns.

How is all this accomplished? What to do, for example, when the tempo (or spirit) sags? The answer: Of most importance in effective musical communication is the organist’s strong sense of rhythm, accomplished through touch. In other words, the same technical skills needed for a compelling performance of a Bach fugue or a French organ symphony are those we draw upon in leading congregational song. The late Robert Glasgow, one of my teachers and a man who didn’t waste words, was once asked at a masterclass to “say a few words about rhythm in organ playing.” “Well,” he replied, a bit bewildered by the question, “I’m very much for it.”

Playing the text

All this reinforces the fact that hymn playing is technically demanding. It requires a strong sense of rhythm, confidence in touch, and at least the beginnings of a dependable pedal technique. Hymn playing is especially challenging for the less-experienced organist, who is understandably concerned about playing notes; but ultimately, this really is about playing words!

Hymns are poetry, as we know; it is the hymn’s tune that we play. It is the wedding of hymn and tune that we sing. Out of respect for the hymn text, many British hymnbooks display it, separated from the music, at the bottom of the page so that the poetry can be seen and appreciated. Young organists (of all ages) often find it necessary to fix their attention on the music of the hymn, and become anxious when told they must also follow the text. If the words of each stanza are not considered, the result is playing the first stanza again four or five times. Indeed, there can be significant changes in mood and even in rhythm from one stanza to the next. (Think of the rhythmic variables among the stanzas of “For All the Saints.”)

Some of us have played hymns for a very long while and, as a result, we need not spend quite so much time working out the notes each week. My pre-Sunday preparation focuses on reviewing the hymns’ words: the phrases and stanzas. Realizing that the congregation will breathe when they need to, I nevertheless mark places in my hymnbook where the choir and I will not breathe, to help make clear the poet’s thoughts.

In earlier times I recommended that the organist sing aloud with the people. I changed my mind, however, when in a workshop some thirty years ago, John Ferguson made a convincing case for the organist’s forming the words mentally but not actually producing a sound. He was right: This allows the organist to be both involved with the text and to monitor the peoples’ singing. I want to be certain that the congregation is “with me,” not only in tempo but in spirit. I also believe that, if I can hear the people singing, the organ is not too loud.

Pedaling

Playing the pedal (bass) part of a hymn can be as difficult as trio playing. Until an organist has developed the requisite pedal technique, it is better to not use pedals on hymns, even though this will likely increase the challenge for the hands. Example 1 shows an in-between solution: to pedal only occasionally—on long notes (pedal points) and at cadences, where the feet can prepare the primary scale degrees (tonic and dominant notes).

Q: How long may you hold on to a pedal point?

A: For as long as it sounds good!

Working out the pedal part is a challenge for all of us who like to write in pedaling marks, as hymnbooks typically have the settings notated in “choral” style, with insufficient room above the bass line for writing in pedaling.

Tempo

Tempo is a tricky and somewhat subjective matter, especially since the same hymn might call for different tempos depending upon such factors as hour of the day, age of the congregation, acoustics of the worship space, and the number of people singing. The organist sets the tempo, of course, which then must be maintained from beginning to end, through clear touch and rhythm.

Hymn introductions

Hymn introductions function as musical signals. They alert the congregation that it is time to sing, and provide essential information about the key, tempo and, perhaps, the nature of the hymn. What an introduction need not have to provide literally is the hymn tune, played all the way through (although this is typically what the British do).

In a hymn introduction, the organist can exercise some creativity in crafting a hymn “intonation,” by improvising or composing one, or using one of the many thousands in print by various composers. (See Example 2.)

Links

No, not golf or computer links. These refer to the precise amount of time inserted by the organist between the intonation and stanza 1, and between subsequent pairs of stanzas. This rhythmic silence is crucial in both giving the people time to breathe as well as signaling when they sing.

The link between stanzas is created by either adding a certain number of beats (if the last note of the tune is short, as in Example 3a), or subtracting beats (when the final note is long, say, a whole note, as in Example 3b). The great majority of people in our congregations are musical amateurs and we want to use all possible means to encourage them to sing energetically and with confidence.

Registration

“Flue” pipes on an organ are the strings, flutes, and principals. The first two are indispensible for accompaniment and in playing many organ pieces. Principals, on the other hand, excel at leading. A solid registration of principals 8′, 4′ and 2′ (crowned, perhaps, with a mixture) provides clear and encouraging leadership to the congregation. Normally, it is preferable to not overload the registration with 8′ stops; better to have stops of higher pitches, which sing out above the register of the congregation. Use manual 16′ stops carefully and sparingly and avoid celestes and the tremulant.

Above all: Listen to the congregation. If you can’t hear them, you may be playing too loudly!

Voice leading and texture

People often ask: “In passages with repeated notes, which do I tie and which should be repeated?” It’s not possible, I think, to declare an “always” rule for this (although some books do). Repeated notes in the melody of any hymn are always repeated—perhaps even overenunciated. Think of the opening notes of Rhosymedre. The best treatment of repeated notes is the use of “half-values” (that is, changing repeated quarter notes to eighth notes and eighth rests), shown in Example 4. As for the other voices, I suggest listening, to both the organ and the response of the congregation, making modifications in touch as needed.

Variety

A hymn may have four or five or— thank you, Martin Luther!—ten to fifteen stanzas. Why should all of them be played the same way? After all, the words change from one stanza to the next. Variety does not mean drastic or melodramatic musical gestures, unnecessary interludes, constant modulations, etc., but variety in response to the hymn text—musical interpretations that inspire the congregation to “sing ancient truths as present truths.” (See Routley’s comments below.) In the meantime, here are some easy ways to introduce variety in your hymn playing:

• Change registration (between stanzas, not within a stanza), reflecting upon aspects of the words.

• Solo the melody by using a trumpet or similar stop. Or better: Do you have young people in your congregation who play instruments? Most of us do. Recruit one or more to play the trumpet or other instrument on the melody of selected stanzas of a hymn. He/she can be thought of as a supplementary organ stop; and the young person will be thrilled to be a part of such an important activity.

• Drop out the pedals for a significant change (lightening) in overall sound.

• Occasionally, drop out the organ completely for a stanza. This requires preparation and the presence of a confident choir, who have been clued in as to what will happen. This can be very effective, even dramatic, on the right stanza and allows the people to find, and “center on,” their voices.

• Use alternation. Lutherans in 16th-century Germany continued the venerable process known as Alternatim Praxis—alternation. Carl Schalk described it this way: “The congregation, singing the unison chorales unaccompanied, alternated with (1) a unison . . . choir (the schola), (2) a choir singing polyphonic settings of the chorale (the choir), or (3) the organ, playing chorale settings.”²

Yes, that’s right: The organ can “play” a stanza of the hymn by itself. Other possibilities for alternation: men and trebles; right and left sides of the naves; choir and congregation. An example: Have the choir sing stanzas 5 and 6 of “For All the Saints” in parts. Perhaps from the aisle, before going on into the choir stalls. Alternation is meant to enhance, of course, not distract or annoy. So, the details of such a plan should be clearly laid out in the Sunday bulletin, especially when doing this for the first time.

• Sing in parts. None of these suggestions require the organist to depart from the harmony in the hymnbook. In many churches, the people wish to sing hymns in parts. This precludes, of course, the possibility of the organist’s occasional playing of alternate harmonizations (something many of us enjoy doing). Blessed is the church, then, that has the tradition of “unison on first and last stanzas, parts on the middle stanzas.” When the choir uses this plan, the people usually follow. This allows for the introduction (carefully) of varied harmonizations to enrich the hymn singing. These can be improvised (if thought out in advance), composed by the organist, or played from any number of fine publications written for this purpose.

Ultimately, hymn playing is about inspiration. For me, few musical experiences can top that of leading and encouraging a large congregation in singing a great hymn. The rewards and satisfaction can be tremendous. We’ve all been inspired by great service players, some of whom have been our own teachers.

Let’s allow Routley to have the last word:

It is your duty, your contribution to the service, to interpret as well as to play.

You are taking those words and notes out of the printed book and presenting them to the congregation as a new, fresh, contemporary thing.

Do nothing mechanically, by habit, or lightly, or casually.

Do all by decision. Do all after thought and prayer.

And may the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us,

and may He prosper our handiwork.³

Additional resources

• The Association of Lutheran Church Musicians offers several hymn-based recordings, including a hymn festival by Paul Manz and Martin Marty. See www.alcm.org/marketplace/.

• David Cherwien provides many useful suggestions in his book on leading congregational song, Let the People Sing! A Keyboardist’s Creative and Practical Guide to Engaging God’s People in Meaningful Song (St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1997).

• John Ferguson and others have created “Mini-Courses on Hymn Playing,” available from the publications section of the AGO website: http://ago.networkats.com/members_online/members/createorder.asp?action….

• Stuart Forster, Hymn Playing: A Modern Colloquium, offers contributions from eleven prominent organists (MorningStar Music Publishers, 2013).

• Gerre Hancock’s book on improvisation, Improvising: How to Master the Art (Oxford University Press, 1994) remains one of the standards in the field. 

• David Heller’s Manual on Hymn Playing: A Handbook for Organists offers techniques at all levels (GIA Publications, Inc., G3642, 2001).

• Noel Jones, A Catholic Organist’s Guide to Playing Hymns. CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2015 (available from Amazon).

Notes

1. Erik Routley, The Organist’s Guide to Congregational Praise (London: Independent Press, 1947), 12, quoted in Austin Lovelace, The Organist and Hymn Playing (rev.) (Carol Stream, Illinois: Agape, 1981), 26.

2. Carl Schalk, ed., Key Words in Church Music, rev. and enlarged (St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 2004), 26–27.

3. Routley, The Organist’s Guide, 12–13, quoted in Lovelace, The Organist and Hymn Playing, 26.

David Herman, DMA, MusD, is Trustees Distinguished Professor Emeritus of Music and University Organist at the University of Delaware. The author of numerous reviews for The Diapason, David has enjoyed playing hymns in churches of various denominations for more than 50 years. His recent CD, Ein neues Lied+A New Song, includes choral and organ music by his teacher Jan Bender and by Bender’s teacher, Hugo Distler. The disc is available from the author ([email protected]).

This is the fourth and final installment in a series of articles that offer ideas for enriching service playing. (The first installment, on hymn playing, appeared in the September 2016 issue of The Diapason; the second installment, on transposition, appeared in the January 2017 issue; the third installment, on sight-reading and learning new music, appeared in the February 2017 issue.) These essays had their genesis in a series of articles written for Crescendo, the newsletter of the Philadelphia chapter of the American Guild of Organists, and are used with permission. This installment concerns accompaniment.

Accompanying choral music and solos

The good accompanist always plays the text.

—Austin Lovelace¹

In hymn playing, the emphasis is on leading; with accompaniment, the organist’s role is different. When accompanying, we are followers, sometimes supporters; and at other times merely in the background; occasionally, equal partners. In any case, as accompanists we make a very important contribution to the music. Just listen to recordings of choral music and note the deft playing that “makes” an anthem, a Howells canticle, or an Anglican psalm. As with hymn playing, on some occasions the accompanist joins with the singers in making magic happen! 

Accompanying is an art, of course, and, as with any aspect of our work, the more we practice it, the better we become. It is a worthy calling and good accompanists are highly to be prized—“More to be desired are they than gold,” to borrow from the Psalmist. Engaging in such collaborative work enhances our overall musicianship and usefulness and makes us better listeners. I regret that some advanced piano students, particularly at universities, ignore or turn away from opportunities to accompany, preferring instead to focus only on learning repertoire. That seems pretty short-sighted to me. Do they really think they are going to have careers only as soloists? Accompanying is not necessarily easier than solo performance; it merely calls upon some different skills. Following are a few thoughts on technical and musical aspects of effective accompanying, particularly as applied to working with choirs. 

Technical matters

Rhythmic playing is especially important in choral accompaniment. With all due respect to conductors, the stability of the choir is often in the hands (literally) of the accompanist, who helps keep the singers on track rhythmically, gives them confidence for their entrances, and generally contributes to the solidity of the ensemble.

We accompanists have an extra challenge. In addition to reading the map (music) and piloting the organ, we also have to keep an eye on the conductor. (Unless the conductor is you!) For those of us in middle age or beyond, the ocular challenges can be significant. We’ll leave that matter to you and your optical professional, but do remember that appropriate eyeglasses are among organists’ essential tools. Reading what’s on the music rack through bifocals is likely to give you a pain in the neck! If you require reading glasses, consider “half glasses,” so that you can look over them at the conductor. In addition to the visual aspects, careful listening to the combined sounds of organ and choir is musically very important. Constant monitoring is needed to ensure good balance between choir and organ. Relying on the Swell division can be useful in allowing immediate modifications in volume. (But see also the final paragraph below.)

Transcription-type 

accompaniment

Some accompaniments are written specifically for the organ, using two or three staves. These should be learned in the same way as organ literature and played as written. Other accompaniments are composed more generically, for “keyboard.” Those are sometimes a challenge to play on the organ. A growing number have tricky pianistic textures with lots of arpeggios and/or “oom-pah” left-hand parts—not natural to the organ. Arpeggios, really “unfolded” harmony, can often be played vertically, as chords. Although such accompaniments often have no pedal parts, using the organ pedals occasionally can make them a bit easier to play, helping out the hands and compensating somewhat for the lack of a damper pedal.

Many accompaniments are transcriptions, having begun their lives as orchestral music. Some are even twice removed from the original: think of Handel’s Messiah, for which we must take music written for orchestra, subsequently arranged for piano, and now play it on the organ—all at no extra pay! In these cases it is important to keep in mind that our job is making organ music, and thus we must often make some adjustments in the music’s texture in order not only to make it playable on our instrument but also to make it sound effective and convincing as organ music. This is an important concept, running as a common thread through both hymn and anthem playing: organists often are called upon to play something that did not originate as organ music. The late Erik Routley wrote convincingly of this in his book, Church Music and the Christian Faith: 

Service playing demands a great deal of imagination on the player’s part, and has very little to do with the fundamentalist obedience to a score that recital playing . . . requires. An organist must constantly edit a score. When accompanying anthems and service settings the organist gets no instructions about registration, and sometimes indeed has to play from a piano reduction of what was originally an orchestral score. The point here is that the organist must translate the . . . score into organ language [my emphasis] as he or she plays. This will be not a distraction but a reassurance for the congregation, especially if the organist’s chief attention is to rhythm and touch [again, those two magic words].²

Here are some specific suggestions for playing transcriptions:

• I often find it easier to first work out a transcription at the piano and then move to the organ. This helps in developing an initial understanding of the musical texture and expression, which then transfers to the organ.

• As with hymns, here the novice organist faces the question of “to pedal or not to pedal.” Try taking busy eighth-note bass lines with your left hand (instead of the pedals), or leave them out entirely. Consider the possibility of “pedal points”—the concept originates in organ music. Replacing a busy bass line with a long-held note often results in more convincing organ music. 

• Pedal long notes, not fast ones, and add pedal at major cadences (musical punctuations—see example above).

• Simplify the texture when possible. Thinner is usually better than thicker. Remember that, especially in seventeenth- or eighteenth-century music, the outer voices of the texture usually tell all. Playing only these is very often enough; the organ’s registration fills in with other pitches and doublings.

• Consider using only a manual-to-pedal coupler instead of heavy pedal stops. This helps to keep rhythm and tempo from bogging down, and taking the occasional left-hand note with a foot helps with page turning.

These suggestions also apply when playing solo organ works that are transcriptions.

Registration

• Avoid string and flute celestes in most instances unless specifically called for in the music. Although they can make an ethereal “wash” of sound, their pitch is vague by design, and their articulation is too imprecise for detail work. Keep in mind that the articulation in organ playing is equivalent to consonants in speech—enunciation. The goal is the same: clarity, so as to make the music understandable.

• Light and clear registrations (8′ and 2′ flutes, for example) enhance early (pre-nineteenth-century) music, when accompaniments are often instrumental in origin. Rhythmic energy and pulse are essential ingredients in early music; a light registration makes this easier to provide. Save colorful registrations for nineteenth- and twentieth-century music, where they’re often called for.

• Use the swell box judiciously. In anthem accompanying, especially of early music, try setting the swell box and leaving it alone. This will simplify things and be more faithful to the music’s intentions. Although it is sometimes appropriate to close the box partially in order to achieve a good balance between organ and singers, it is generally better to leave the box open to allow easy egress of the sound. In pre-nineteenth-century music, one or two clear stops on the Great or Positiv are better than three or more on the Swell with the box shut.

Accompanying Psalmody

All Christian churches are impoverished if the psalms are withdrawn from their worship.

—Erik Routley³

The Book of Psalms is a sweet and delightful song because it sings of and proclaims the Messiah.

—Martin Luther⁴

The skills necessary in accompanying psalms effectively are essentially those needed for leading hymn singing (see September 2016 issue) or accompanying in general. Nonetheless, it may be helpful to offer suggestions specific to psalmody.

There are various methods of singing the psalms, of course: psalm tones; harmonized (Anglican) chant; metrical paraphrases (which would be played as a hymn); and “newer” methods, such as formulary tones and Gelineau psalmody. A keyword in hymn playing is “leading.” Its correspondent in playing psalms is “support,” and, for the most part, is in the background. A partial exception: there are responsorial psalm settings in which the choir or soloists sing the verses while the congregation responds with a refrain or antiphon. In this instance the organist is alternately leader and accompanist. It is helpful in such cases if the organist can give a clear signal to the people each time they sing, with an increased registration; by playing the antiphon’s melody as a solo voice; or by providing a firm “downbeat” in the pedal to serve as a springboard to the congregation’s response.

However, in most psalm settings of the “formula” type—various types of psalm tones, for example—the goal is to be quietly supportive but not “in the way” of the voice part, whose text-inspired rhythm must float in a free and flexible way. Harmonized (Anglican) chant, normally played as written, must be similarly supple in rhythm. In addition, organists who are experienced and comfortable with this medium have opportunities for discrete “colorings” by way of appropriate registration changes and/or melodic descants (but without changes in harmony).

In all chant-based accompanying, the organist must play the music from memory in order to follow and play the words of each psalm verse. In playing the psalmody of Joseph Gelineau, which employs a temporal system quite different from that in psalm tones, the organist again provides quiet support to the sung text, but within the framework of its regularly recurring rhythm. 

Following are some specific suggestions for accompanying psalm tones, Gregorian psalmody, or other “monodic” chant:

• Keep in mind that, in fact, no accompaniment may be needed at all. Historically these chants would have been sung without accompaniment. Or, instead of the organ try a few handbells, used to punctuate the phrases.

• Use a discrete, quiet registration, preferably in a swell box to allow for subtle and immediate gradations in dynamics.

• Don’t pedal, or use a light pedal registration.

• It is not necessary to double the melody; providing slow-moving and somewhat thin accompaniment (alternately, a “wash” of sound, hardly moving at all) helps to encourage the requisite flexibility in singing.

• In generating your accompaniment, think modally, not harmonically. No V7 chords or other traditional harmonic motion.

A final thought

The initial learning process of accompanying different types of psalm tones is not unlike mastering a spoken language; playing fluidly and supportively requires having the authentic “accent” in the ears. As with mastering a language, accomplishing the appropriate “sound” of, say, Anglican chant is enhanced by listening to examples. There are fine recordings available (on such labels as EMI, Hyperion, and Priory, among others), especially from English college chapels and cathedrals. Some British recording companies have committed to issuing the entire Psalter in Anglican chant, such as the recordings by the choir of St. Paul’s London, when it was under the direction of the late John Scott. ν

Notes

1. Austin Lovelace, The Organist and Hymn Playing (rev.) (Carol Stream, Illinois: Agape, 1981), 26.

2. Erik Routley, Church Music and the Christian Faith (Carol Stream, Illinois: Agape, 1978), 102 and 105–6.

3. Routley, p. 117.

4. Luther’s Works, Vol. 15; ed. Jaroslav Jan Pelikan (Concordia Pub. House, 1971), p. 273.

Gavin Black is the director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center in Princeton, New Jersey. His website is www.gavinblack-baroque.com and he can be reached by e-mail at [email protected].

Velocity III

As a brief addendum to the latter part of last month’s column, I must mention that among famous organ pieces, the Widor Toccata is almost preternaturally well designed for the kind of practicing in altered rhythms that I mentioned in that column. Playing those sixteenth-note mordent-and-arpeggio figures first in fast groups of eight notes starting on the beat, then in fast groups of eight notes starting just after each beat, is remarkably effective for learning the piece itself and is also a good test case for my method. It is also undeniably fun to try to get at least a stretch of that piece as fast as you possibly can—and again a good test case for this approach. As with the Bach Toccata, Adagio, and Fugue in C, BWV 564, which we examined last month, it is not by any means necessary or even good to play the piece as fast as you possibly can. And with the Widor, there is an interesting history about tempo, since the composer changed the metronome markings through different editions, and he recorded it at a slightly different speed—slower than his slower metronome suggestion. 

This piece—or specifically the passages that are in the shape of the opening in the right hand—is also a good one for practicing stringing together smaller very fast gestures: seeing how long you can keep it going at a tempo defined not by what the music requires, but by simply trying to transfer the “fast, light drumming on a table” feeling to patterns on the keyboard. Once you have practiced two or three adjacent half-notes worth of the sixteenth-note pattern, try going through all of that material, again sometimes playing sixteen or twenty-four notes with the beat, sometimes playing the opening note and holding it for an unmeasured time, and then playing the following two or three groups in one gesture as fast as you can, ending on, and holding, the next downbeat. 

Utter predictability

Of course, this is all based on having achieved the utter predictability that is the foundation of being able to play fast. For one-note-at-a-time lines, that comes from a combination of sensible fingering and enough slow practice to get the elemental learning of the patterns to be way beyond just solid. The reason for considering building a potentially fast passage up out of smaller components (specifically as part of the process of getting it fast, or of testing and figuring out how fast it can be) is that the smaller the bit of music, the more promptly utter predictability can be achieved. In practicing a passage for really learning it—rather than as an exercise in moving around notes as quickly as possible—a player can decide to learn a longer stretch of music and move it up to tempo gradually (this is probably the most common method) or to learn very small bits, and get them up to (or beyond tempo) more quickly, and then work on putting them together. 

Achieving lightness

This feeling that we get from the drumming-fingers exercise of being able to move the fingers even more quickly than playing pieces will actually require is based quite crucially on keeping things light. It is easy to experience what happens if this lightness is compromised. Go back to simple drumming, then selectively tighten up various component parts of the physical mechanism that delivers your fingers to the table or chair-arm: shoulders, biceps, wrist, the fingers themselves. Each of these tightenings will have some effect on the ease, speed, and fluency of the drumming. The tightening of the fingers will be the worst, and will probably bring the drumming down below the velocity that you would like to be able to achieve. It will also most likely hurt. (Don’t do too much of it.) 

Playing lightly is always a good idea, always important. However, in trying to play anything that is fast enough that its speed is an issue, lightness is beyond just a good idea: it is a necessity. (Light, for this purpose, means with not too much more force than you need to make the keys go down, and with no tension whatsoever. It is the absence of tension that is the most important. The actual force of the downstroke of each finger is not as significant, as long as it is reasonably light, and as long as nothing in that downstroke predisposes the finger to have trouble coming back up, which is an impediment to velocity. Holding on to the keys after you have played them is to be avoided altogether. Experimenting with using so little force that you are almost not quite depressing the keys is a good idea, just to get the feel of it.)  

My so-called trill exercise (about which I wrote most recently in the December 2013 issue) is really about incorporating lightness and absolute lack of tension into fast playing. The trill in that case stands in for any fast playing, and, of course, as with the patterns that we have been dealing with here, it is fully predictable. (That exercise can also be found online here: http://gavinblack-baroque.com/trills.pdf). It works well to do a session of this exercise, then do something else for a while (practice something else, or get away from the keyboard altogether) and then play short excerpts from whatever passage you are working on playing at a challenging fast tempo, trying to remember and recapture the feeling of the trill exercise.

Tension and playing fast

Here are a couple of useful points to remember about the interaction between tension and fast playing. Physical tension, which physically inhibits speed, can have mental tension as one of its causes. And in turn, of course, nervousness about the ability to play a passage fast enough or to play it well at the appropriate tempo can be a cause of mental tension. This creates a sort of downward spiral or pernicious feedback loop. Part of the point of using the “drumming on a table” model to convince players that absolute velocity is not often the problem is to break this feedback loop. Also, there is a statement that goes like this: “If we want to accomplish something more, we have to exert ourselves more; playing faster is a form of accomplishing more, therefore to play faster we have to exert ourselves more; and exerting ourselves more means pushing harder.” Of course no one is going to spell this out: when you do it is obvious that it doesn’t add up. But it is a surprisingly pervasive underlying assumption, and we can help our students to let go of it by pointing it out.

(Playing very fast can seem like a tightrope act. The most instinctive way to avoid falling when we are afraid of falling is to hang on tight. This hanging on tight physically is, as I said above, fatal to velocity and to ease of playing in general. But hanging on tight while playing must be mental only: focus, concentration, paying attention to the music or to memory, and so on.) 

Transition points

Transition moments, where the hand has to move in some way, rather than just present fingers to the keyboard in one place, are a big part of the challenge when it comes to velocity. If there were no such moments, we could pretty much just transfer the drumming on a table feeling directly to at least any one-line passages. (But music would be much less interesting!) In real music these transition moments happen sometimes because we effectively just run out of fingers in one position: that is, they happen of necessity. Sometimes they happen because although we could encompass a certain set of successive notes in one position, that is not the most comfortable way to do so. But sometimes also they happen because the change in hand position creates an interpretive effect that we want. This latter situation is found in abundance in “early” fingering, that is, certain fingering patterns that were common and characteristic during and before the early eighteenth century. (Any identification of fingering approaches with any time period is really about tendencies, not absolutes.) These patterns involve using smaller chains of fingers to play small groups of notes, and then turning or moving the hand to present the next small group of fingers to the next set of notes. This was probably done to create articulation or to keep the hands in positions that enabled them to control the sensitive action of the prevailing kinds of instruments as minutely as possible, or some combination of these things. In any case, these fingerings routinely deprive the hand of the ability to sit over a group of notes and just drum those notes out. How does this relate to velocity?

Examples 1 and 2

Considering Examples 1 and 2, do these two fingerings for a basic scale fragment have significantly different ceilings to the tempo at which they can be played? Based on experience with the “drumming on a table” model, I would say that most players could execute the first fingering in not much more than half or two-thirds of a second. (That’s a “tempo” of quarter-note equals 700 or more.) The second fingering? I can’t picture anyone playing it that fast. Someone could surprise me, but certainly for most of us it can’t go at that speed. It is not the “drumming on a table” situation, because the transition points are too many and too frequent: every other note. 

Examples 3 and 4

Now considering Example 3, I feel pretty sure that most people could execute this one, including the transition moment going across the bar line, almost as fast as they could execute example 1: not quite, but almost. So in part it seems to be recovering from the transition, or executing multiple transitions in a row that lowers the ceiling on velocity. 

Practicing this sort of early fingering with a view to getting it fast can involve breaking things up into small units, and applying some of the principles of both my trill exercise and the sort of altered-rhythm practicing that we have been looking at. I have given two fingerings (for the right hand) for this pattern in Example 4. The upper one, with the hand remaining in one position, is for comparison. 

Using the lower fingering, try playing only the first note, then, in an untimed manner, only when you feel relaxed and ready, play the next two notes quickly. Prior to actually playing, map out the feeling of the fingering in your mind. There should be a small articulation between the second note and the third note. (There also can be one between the first note and the second note.) It doesn’t matter exactly how large or small these articulations are as long as the feeling is comfortable. The second finger should be released lightly before moving 3 over it. Don’t hold 2 to the point where the whole hand begins to turn upside down. Try doing the same thing starting on the third note and going to the first note of the second measure. Then try adding notes: start on the first note, wait until you feel relaxed and ready, and play four successive notes. 

Try various small units like this. (You can always try the same groups of notes using the upper fingering, to be reminded of the differences in the feeling.) After you have gone over all sorts of smaller groupings like this, try playing the passage itself as lightly and quickly as you can. (It can repeat indefinitely. Just do it several times, and don’t keep going if it feels stiff.)

Another aspect of the relationship between this sort of fingering and velocity turns things around. If you want an articulation at a certain point, then if you program that articulation into the fingering—using fingers that create a transition moment that makes a space or breath—then that articulation will automatically be there at any tempo. In Example 3 with the given fingering, you will create a small articulation at the bar line. That articulation is not dependent on anything that you do other than executing the fingering. It will be there, proportionate to the tempo, at any tempo. If you change the fingering to 5-4-3-2-1, and still want that articulation (between 2 and 1) then you have to remember to do it on purpose, consciously lifting 2 early by just the right amount. Above a certain speed it becomes very hard; above another, higher tempo, it actually becomes quite impossible. 

In the course of working out these last couple of columns, I have realized that it would be a mistake to try to include a discussion of velocity in more complicated textures here. That would constitute giving it short shrift. Therefore, I will devote a fourth column to that, next month. In addition to talking about two-voice and multiple-voice textures and chords, and a bit about getting comfortable playing fast in both hands together, I will return to some of the questions from the beginning of the first column in this series and talk a bit about the connections between gaining greater ability to play with great velocity and aspects of interpretation and effective performance.

David Herman, DMA, MusD, is Trustees Distinguished Professor Emeritus of Music and University Organist at the University of Delaware. The author of numerous reviews for The Diapason, he has enjoyed playing hymns in churches of various denominations for more than fifty years. His recent CD includes music by his teacher Jan Bender and by Bender’s teacher, Hugo Distler.

This is the third installment in a series of articles that will offer ideas for enriching service playing. (The first installment, on hymn playing, appeared in the September 2016 issue of The Diapason; the second installment, on transposition, appeared in the January 2017 issue.) These essays had their genesis in a series of articles written for Crescendo, the newsletter of the Philadelphia chapter of the American Guild of Organists, and are used with permission. This installment tackles the challenge of encountering and learning new music.

I. Sight-reading

The old joke: A visitor to Manhattan asks a policeman, “How do you get to Carnegie Hall?” The cop: “Practice, practice, practice!”

Sight-reading is a skill highly to be prized, but alas—there seems to be no shortcut in acquiring it. Nor is there much devoted to sight-reading skills in the standard organ methods or other books. The solution seems to be the same as that offered by the New York cop! Here are some suggestions and words of encouragement. 

Being a good sight-reader offers many advantages. It is an attribute that helps one secure and retain professional positions. Word gets around—“She can sight-read anything!” It is also helpful in playing through and learning new music. (There can be a downside: good sight-readers sometimes have a challenge in the business of working out details, especially fingering.) Sometimes we develop sight-reading skills in a non-voluntary way. I learned to sight-read some 55 years ago. At the church where I played during my high school years there was a Sunday evening service, the highlight of which (for them, not me) was a lengthy segment when members of the congregation called out hymn numbers to sing. I was expected to play each hymn at sight. Many of us have had such experiences, and we look back on them with belated appreciation, realizing that in such situations our skills at sight-reading were being developed and honed. Here are some suggestions for practicing.

• An opening thought: Practicing sight-reading, at least of music for manuals, does not necessarily require a trip to the church; a piano does just fine. Or, how about on the kitchen table, for developing concentration? (See below.)

• Select music that is not overly difficult to play; let the challenge be in the reading, not in the complexity of the music. Choose music to sight-read that is less difficult than what you would normally select to learn. 

• If sight-reading hymns is too difficult, practice sight-reading just the melody, then the melody with bass. Indeed, because traditional harmony is clearly defined by these outer voices, it is often possible to use only them in congregational singing; the organ registration helps fill in the middle.

• Bach chorale settings are like multivitamins; they provide many benefits. 

• Other possibilities include Bach’s Notebook for Anna Magdalena Bach and manual pieces such as those found in eighteenth-century English voluntaries, Franck’s L’Organiste, and many others.

• More vitamins: Warm up each day with scales on the piano. This benefits playing technique in general and, as a preparation for sight-reading, helps you think and play “in the key.” (Vitamins such as scales also help increase the blood flow in the hands for us older organists.)

• Keep a strict tempo—do not permit hesitations as you move your fingers from note to note. Instead, play slower, using a metronome, if necessary, to ensure steadiness.

• Keep going. Don’t stop to correct wrong notes—that’s not sight-reading, it’s practicing the piece!

• The experienced sight-reader looks slightly ahead, anticipating what is coming while also playing the notes of
the moment.

• Keep the fingers in touch with the keyboard, anticipating the next notes and moving each smoothly but quickly. 

• As with transposition and improvisation, “think in the key”—have the accidentals of the key in mind and anticipate upcoming modulations.

• Finally, as with practice of all kinds, play musically when sight-reading. Don’t settle for just playing notes—think about lines, shape, phrasing, and touch. 

Sight-reading resources 

Anne Marsden Thomas’s The Organist’s Hymnbook (Boosey & Hawkes, £21.95, www.boosey.com) provides a wealth of hymns for sight-reading, arranged in graded difficulty, beginning with two-part manual settings. (Because these settings maintain traditional hymnbook harmony, they can also be used in congregational accompaniment.) Early sections of most organ method books also contain pieces suitable for sight-reading.

Hymnbooks, of course, provide many appropriate examples. Select hymn tunes with simple harmonies and textures, however—not ones that are rhythmically or chromatically complex or have busy, contrapuntal textures.

Other resources include:

Hall, Jonathan B. “Ten Tips on Sight Reading.” The American Organist,  March 2009, 84–85.

Harris, Paul. Improve your sight-reading (in six volumes). Alfred Music, 1998.

Stewart, Stephie. Ten Tips for Improving Sight Reading. Blog from Sheet Music Plus: https://blog.sheetmusicplus.com/2013/01/16/10-tips-for-improving-sight-….

Nance,  Daryel. How to Practice Sight-Reading at the Keyboard. http://
danwebs.com/chorg/sightread.html.

I offer a suggestion, useful in all aspects of music learning, including sight-reading, improvisation, and new music: use a metronome in your practicing. The primary reason is that music unfolds through time; a metronome helps maintain a steady tempo and prevents you from playing faster than you’re able.

There is an old story about André Previn arranging an audition with the great conductor George Szell. Previn, hoping to be invited to play a piano concerto with the Cleveland Orchestra, went to Szell’s hotel room as instructed. He looked around. “Where is the piano, maestro?” “Ah, we don’t need a piano. You can play it on that,” he said, pointing to a table. Somewhat unnerved, Previn sat down and began to play the piano part of the concerto. And Szell immediately began to criticize Previn’s playing. “Too loud; too soft; not legato enough; the chords are not well voiced.” Finally, Szell stopped him, saying “It’s no use; it is unfortunately clear that you can’t play this piece.” And Previn said, “I don’t understand, maestro; it went fine on my kitchen table this morning.”

II. Learning new music

To play the organ properly, one should have a vision of Eternity.

—Charles-Marie Widor

Music, being identical with heaven, isn’t a thing of momentary thrills, or even hourly ones. It’s a condition of eternity.

—Gustav Holst

Our profession offers a marvelous variety of activities. Most of us hold positions in churches and synagogues; some of us teach or play recitals. Through all these, I hope we continue to be students—studying new music, expanding our techniques, even learning from our students. Some of us study new music with the assistance of a teacher, while others learn on our own. A third possibility might be informal playing for a colleague: receiving encouragement and constructive feedback from a friend. 

This might sound strange, but when I do this I prefer playing for musicians who are not organists. Other instrumentalists will provide useful comments about lines, the need to breathe (Hurford: “Music must breathe if it is to live.”) and, especially, rhythm. They usually don’t sugarcoat their reactions. I remember, many years ago, trying out my first attempt at early French rhythms on a colleague, who was a clarinetist. “(Expletive deleted!),” he hollered; “Can’t you count?” I must have been going a little too far with my “inequalities.” Instrumentalists, unencumbered by what we organists know about styles, performance practice, and the idiosyncrasies of our instrument, will let you know some essential truths about your playing—especially rhythm and tempo!

Here are some suggestions for learning music. First, whether working alone or with a teacher, those starting out should have access to one or more organ method books (organ “tutors,” as our British colleagues say). Even advanced players return to these for their musical “vitamins”—pedal exercises, manual studies, scales, and more.

There are many excellent method books currently available, and I will mention but a few here (see details in the list of references, below). The Gleason book (Harold Gleason, Method of Organ Playing, eighth edition, 1996) continues to be a standard. I return to it when my feet are not behaving. I appreciate The Organist’s Manual by Roger Davis (1985) and very much admire the book by George Ritchie and George Stauffer, Organ Technique Modern and Early (2000), with its reference to techniques both old and new. A Practical Guide to Playing the Organ by Anne Marsden Thomas (1997), an experienced British pedagogue, is thorough and innovative. Her book even includes useful tips for practicing in a cold church: “Strap one or two hot water bottles to your body with a long scarf.” 

As you work on new music, some of the following may be helpful or thought provoking, as they have been for me. Anne Marsden Thomas writes:

• Concerning exercises: Play them as beautifully as you can. 

• Do not confuse touch with phrasing. (Touch is for clarity; phrasing is
for breaths.)

• Accent is an illusion on the organ. (An accent cannot be accomplished by merely pressing harder on the key.)

• Fingering is the means to an end. (Pedaling, too.)

Touch is perhaps the most critical of all the organist’s tools, for it is with touch that we communicate the essentials of music: rhythm, pulse, accents, breath. Touch should not be artificial or draw attention to itself. Rather, it is for the organist what diction is for the singer: in communicating to our listeners, we rely on touch to make the music clear. Peter Hurford offered an imaginative suggestion (recalled from a masterclass many years ago): Communication is accomplished by consonants—touch, articulation, and the space between notes. Emotion is expressed through aspects of legato touch—the vowels. I heartily commend Hurford’s slim but profound volume, Making Music on the Organ—a wonderful title!—published by Oxford University Press (revised edition, 1990, $51.00; https://global.oup.com). 

Additional suggestions

In choosing pieces to learn, first, it is important to like the music you are playing, so select works that you have heard and enjoy, or those written by a composer whose music you like. Second, choose music appropriate to your technical skills. It is more important to play well, of course, than to play an overly difficult piece. For example, many settings in Bach’s Orgelbüchlein are more challenging to play than the eight (“little”) preludes and fugues. (I once knew a teacher of a beginning student who said: “You’re just starting off, so let’s do something in the key of C—it’s the easiest.” So the student was assigned Bach’s Prelude in C Major, but not from the “eight little;” no, he was told to began with BWV 547—the “9/8!”)

Regarding ornaments, do not get bogged down in reading about how to play them. Seldom is there only one “correct” way of playing an embellishment. Ornaments should occur naturally. Work out your interpretation of the ornamented passages, massaging them into place. (Hurford: “Ornaments should marry with the music which they embellish.”) Then try them out on your teacher or a colleague who has a good understanding of the style. An oft-quoted line of Ralph Vaughan Williams, about studying: “I have learnt almost entirely what I have learnt by trying it out on the dog.”

With aspects of interpretation and performance practice, it is here that a teacher can be especially valuable. And, in a variation of this, what about two or more colleagues playing for one another? A group of learners, perhaps facilitated by an American Guild of Organists chapter, could meet together regularly: sharing ideas, techniques, and solutions while cheering each other on. Or, try it on the dog. In any case, play for as many people as possible. Each time we do this, we become more confident and less apprehensive about performance. 

The metronome can be very helpful in increasing the efficiency and effectiveness of a practice session. When working out a new piece of music (after writing in solutions to any fingering or pedaling challenges), set the metronome to a comfortably slow tempo, one distinctly slower than the tempo at which you are able to play the notes with accurate pitches and rhythm. You may wish to begin with right hand and pedal, left hand and pedal combinations. While repeating one page or section, gradually increase the tempo one click at a time. This ensures an overall increase in tempo, but accomplished gradually so that comfort and accuracy do not suffer. As time goes by we seem to have less and less time for practicing; fortunately, at the same time we get smarter! This method can go a long way in helping you achieve the best results in the shortest time. 

Finally, quoting Anne Marsden Thomas once more: “Always play the right note.” Now, that might seem too obvious to mention. But the fact is, in playing a note incorrectly more than one time, we are in fact practicing that mistake. In a short time, we’re able to play the wrong note perfectly! It can be very difficult to erase that mistake from our motor memories.

Happy practicing! And play the right notes.

References

Davis, Roger E. The Organist’s Manual. New York: W. W. Norton, 1985.

Gleason, Harold, ed., and Catharine Crozier Gleason. Method of Organ Playing, eighth edition; Upper Saddle River, New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 1996.

Hurford, Peter. Making Music on the Organ. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988; revised edition, 1990.

Ritchie, George H. and George B. Stauffer. Organ Technique Modern and Early. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000.

Thomas, Anne Mardsen. A Practical Guide to Playing the Organ. London: Cramer Music, Ltd., 1997. Accompanying volumes contain graded literature.

Gavin Black is director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center in Princeton, New Jersey. He can be reached by e-mail at [email protected].

Disjunct Motion III

For reasons that were random and fleeting, I did not write columns for November 2016 or January 2017. Thus these three columns on disjunct motion have themselves been presented in a disjunct manner . . . .

As I have mentioned a couple of times in passing, disjunct motion can be created by an interval’s being too wide for the player to get to the new note(s) before releasing the old. This is common. It is usually (always?) about an interval in one hand (or in one foot, but see below for a few thoughts about how all of this applies to the pedals), and it is easy to encapsulate in Example 1 for almost everyone and in Example 2 and Example 3 for everyone.

One interesting thing often occurs in these situations. Having purposely not decided, for any interpretive reason, to make the interval detached and therefore not “owning” the feeling that it should be non-legato, a student will do something physical that represents a doomed effort to make it legato. For example, in Example 1 (assuming right hand), someone might play the middle C with finger 1, and then stretch the hand out as much as possible, maybe getting the fifth finger as far as the air space over the E before having to release the C in order to play the G.

In the third example, someone might finger the first chord with 1-2-4 or 1-2-3, and try to stretch upward, with the fifth finger or with the fourth and fifth, while holding the chord, in an (again utterly doomed) effort to find a way to start the second chord sounding before the first chord is gone. These sorts of efforts twist the hand into uncomfortable positions for no actual gain or purpose.

Effect of articulation

For me, the first principle of comfortable execution of wide intervals is a fish-or-cut-bait attitude about articulation. If an interval is, though a real skip, one that you can physically play legato, and if you in fact want it to sound legato, then by all means it is important to choreograph that legato gesture in a way that works, even if it is difficult or (fleetingly) awkward. If legato is impossible, as in the case of the intervals discussed here, then a half-way attempt to connect the notes will create considerable awkwardness and tension. This is likely to lead to a more disjunct-sounding, more abrupt result. Embrace the non-legato happily!

So, in the examples above, the first question is what fingerings make the most sense. If we abandon the effort to stretch fingers 1 to 5 to make the leap (I’ll come back to that word below) from C to G, then very likely any fingering that creates a comfortable hand position for each note is acceptable. It could be 1-5, of course. But maybe 2-5 or 2-4 would be more comfortable—might, in particular, allow for a more natural and relaxed hand position. This will differ from one player to another. The student should try all of these, especially any that initially seem counterintuitive specifically because they are farther from the unsuccessful legato attempt. The overriding point is this: where distance makes joining two successive events impossible, the fingering that is on paper closest to one that would have joined them is no more likely to give a musically successful result than a fingering that is maximally disjunct.

If this interval is in some context like Example 4 or Example 5 then that context might suggest something about fingering. And it is important that that fingering choice not be distorted by the false pull of legato. In the first instance, 2-1-2-5 or perhaps 3-2-3-5 might make sense. In the second case, perhaps 2-1-2-3-4-5 or 1-2-1-3-4-5 or even 3-2-3-3-4-5. The fixed points in the process of choosing fingerings are the notes before and after the “leap,” not that interval itself. 

In the chord example, the “obvious” fingering of 1/3/5—1/3/5 would probably work well. There are not as many other possibilities here as there can be with a one-note-at-a-time passage. For some players, 2/3/5­—1/2/4 would work; it happens to feel especially comfortable to me. There are a couple of other possibilities, all of them entirely disjunct, as they must be for this note pattern.

Once a student has accepted the notion of not trying for doomed legato fingerings when legato is physically impossible, the next step is to work on executing these fingerings in ways that takes full advantage of their potential to be comfortable. A starting point in thinking about this is the following empirical observation: if you start out practicing a disjunct interval with the break between the two events as big as is needed to feel comfortable, then it will (always) be possible to close that break up substantially as you practice it and get used to it. And, related to that, if, even with a comfortable fingering, you try as hard as you can to make a physically necessary break as small as possible too early in the practicing process, it will sound abrupt and disruptive from the beginning, and it may be hard to move it towards sounding smooth and natural. 

So in the chord example above, the starting point is to allow it to come out, at first, something like Example 6, even if you want it in the end to sound like Example 7.

These notations are approximate. In particular the point of the first one is not for the chord to be a measured sixteenth-note, but for the player/student to allow it to be as short as necessary for the gesture to be comfortable. Again, practicing like this at first is the way to end up with the most convincing and non-disruptive breaks between distant notes or chords. 

Leap or jump or . . . ?

The words “leap” or “jump” for certain intervals have always bothered me. They refer to intervals above a certain size (not well defined) that is probably pretty similar to the size at which an interval becomes necessarily non-legato. The problem is that these words suggest extra energy and an approach in which the crucial or active moment is the leaving of the first note or chord of the interval. After all, a leap or jump happens when you push off from the ground or trampoline or diving board or whatever. The rest—the landing—happens of its own accord. For playing a large and disjunct interval on a keyboard instrument this imagery is wrong. The more the gesture that constitutes negotiating the interval can feel normal—no extra energy, no pushing off, no landing (in other words, no leaping, no jumping)—the more chance there is that the execution of the interval will be accurate and that the shaping of the articulation and timing will be under the player’s control.

The key to this is the realization that, exactly opposed to the imagery of a leap or a jump, in playing a necessarily disjunct interval you actually don’t have to do anything to release the first note or chord. It will be released whether it wants to or not: that is what it means for it to be a disjunct interval. The less you do to make that release happen, the better a chance it has of sounding natural, of avoiding sounding cut off or choked off, or of creating a feeling of brokenness in the line. 

Practicing releases

There are two good and complementary ways to practice the feeling of releasing a note without a leaping or jumping gesture when that note will be followed, after the silence that defines disjunct motion, by a note that is far away. The first practice technique is to omit that first note, but start with the hand hovering over where that note would have been. So, based on the first exercise above, we would let the (right) hand hover over the middle C area of the keyboard, and count 1-2-3-4-1, and then on the next “2” just play the high G. This should be one smooth simple gesture. This can (should) start out slowly and then speed up. A variant of this is to play the first note or a cluster of notes in that region of the keyboard, early and unmeasured. Then do the same counting and playing of (in this case) that high G, starting with the hand not hovering above the keyboard, but, in effect, hovering on the keyboard, as in Example 8.

Try not to be aware that your fingers are playing any notes. It helps for the sound to be a quiet one, or perhaps for there to be no stops on at all.

The second approach is to play the first note or chord without any planning when you will release it. Hold the note(s) until you have felt yourself relax, perhaps after a comfortable breath or two. When you are completely relaxed, release the note(s) by letting your arm float upwards off the keyboard, drawing (inevitably) your fingers with it. Again, there is no need for a separate felt release of a note if you are moving to a region on the keyboard that is far away. Let your arm float in the direction of the note that is to be played next, but don’t actually play it.

Example 9 presents a special case of disjunct motion created by a wide interval. At least there is a particular way of thinking about it that is fruitful. The wide interval that we seem to see is the low D to the middle B: an interval of an octave and a sixth. It is entirely likely, absent any other context, that the low note would be played with finger 5 and the high note with 1, though 2 could also make sense for the B. If these notes are to be played at anything other than a very slow tempo, it will be a challenge to get from the lowest to the highest note in a natural and smooth way. In part this is because the hand has just been moving downward, away from the direction of the “leap” that it must take. This observation, however, is the key to making the gesture work. If we don’t let the hand really move or turn down, and in particular if we play the low note lightly, essentially just brush it, then the whole thing becomes easier. It should feel as if the wide interval being negotiated is actually from the G to the B, and the low D is sort of an afterthought, just hooked on lightly as the hand goes by. 

We can practice this by leaving the low D out a few times, as demonstrated in Example 10. The fingering is determined by our awareness that we are going to add the low D back, but in every other respect we should forget about that for now. Keep the hand position comfortable, and remember everything that we have been saying about executing disjunct motion without tension. After you have played this a few times, add the low D back—lightly, and almost without noticing that it is there.

Pedal disjunct motion

In principle, the goal in executing disjunct motion in the pedals is the same as the goal when executing it in the hands. The awareness that we are releasing a note into silence should not be allowed to create tension or to manifest itself in a release that doesn’t sound the way that we want it to sound. But the physical situation is different, for all of the usual reasons that pedal playing is different: we are using a whole foot at a time, not the toes (which would be the analogy to fingers, but which could never work!) and therefore are using bigger muscles; the keys are bigger, and we are traveling longer distances; the sounds are (usually) deeper, and their relationship to the acoustics of the room accordingly different. Also, pedal lines are shared between the two feet a much greater proportion of the time than lines are shared between the two hands in manual playing. So quite often if we want to release a note early in a pedal line (that is, introduce an interpretive articulation) the foot releasing the note will remain, in effect, in silence for longer than that articulation, while the other foot plays the next note. The timing and feel of what that foot does often cannot be shaped as directly by the placement of the next note in the musical line.  

The meaning of large, disjunct intervals in pedal playing is also different. In a passage that looks like Example 11, nothing about the articulation of the wide intervals is determined by the physical side of pedal playing and, conversely, nothing about the physical side of pedal playing either helps or hinders us in making articulation choices. Only for the last motion, middle D to middle C, are there interesting choices to be made about pedaling, and possible implications of those choices for articulation. If this were a passage to be played in one hand, this situation would be exactly reversed.

An exercise such as Example 12 can be used in the manner of some of the manual exercises from the last couple of columns. First play it a few times as is—all the notes, alternating toes. Then leave out first the right-foot notes, then the left-foot notes. The purpose here is to try to let the releases of the notes feel the same whether the other notes are there or not. Try the same exercise, through the same stages, but playing all the notes with the heel, then alternating toe and heel in each foot’s line. Is the comfortable control of releases easier with one part of the foot than with another? Do the two feel similar or different? Is it easier to keep the feeling of the releases the same when playing in only one foot with heel or with toe? Or is it the same?

It is important to be sitting at the right height to enable pedal note releases to be tension-free. In general, if a player is sitting too low, the act of releasing a note involves too much work on the part of the upper leg, and can become tense, even to the point of being painful. This is true for releases that are not disjunct. But with releases into silence it is more exposed and easier to notice. If you are sitting too low, you may notice yourself releasing by pushing off rather than by floating up. 

Sitting too high tends to be less common. It creates problems playing notes in the first place, which are easy to notice. But it also creates problems for releasing notes. If you are sitting too high, then a release may seem to lead inevitably to toppling over towards the keyboards. The effort to avoid this can cause tension in pretty much every muscle of the body. This is a problem whether the release is to silence or to a next note. It is circular but still true that the correct height can be recognized by the absence of the problems created by sitting either too high or too low. Releasing notes into silence is the most focused way to observe these issues.

Helping Students Choose Fingerings VII 

I start this month’s column by following up on my closing comment from last month, that I would write about how to recognize, in these particular circumstances, when a fingering issue is really a hand distribution issue. I have written at length about hand distribution (as the principal subject of three columns, July, August, and September 2014, and in passing elsewhere). Since fingering choices can’t be made prior to hand distribution choices, it is a necessary part of the student’s autonomous thinking about fingering that they think about hand distribution. I enumerated this among the guidelines with which I would send a student off to work out fingerings. At this current stage, when you as the teacher are watching and evaluating a student’s fingering choices, you need to evaluate whether there is any awkwardness created by playing some notes in the hand that is less easily suited to reach them. 

It occurs to me that this is usually closely bound up with the use of the inner part of the hand. When notes are positioned such that either hand might reasonably play them, then it is (usually? always?) the thumbs and second fingers of the two hands that are in competition for those notes. It is also true that awkward hand position often (though not always) results from choices about the use of the thumb. Also, the decision to use the thumb or second finger to play a particular note will often change what the rest of the hand has to do with the other notes—the notes that “officially” are in that hand, and have to remain so. Therefore, as you watch, listen, and check for matters of concern in a student’s fingering choices, your alertness for hand position problems and your checking for hand distribution issues can largely converge. 

Hand distribution

A hand distribution decision that is an actual issue or question can only arise when there are more than two simultaneous or overlapping notes. Otherwise either one note per hand makes sense, or it is trivially easy to play both notes together in one of the hands, when the outer notes are close enough that either hand can reach the inner notes. If those conditions are met, and there is anything awkward-looking occurring, as I sketched out last month (twisting of the hands, hunched shoulders, grimacing or other uncomfortable expressions, tight-looking tendons or muscles), then asking the student to review hand distribution choices is a good idea. This will not always be the answer and will not always solve the problem to switch notes into the other hand. But perhaps it will, and it is logically the first easy thing to check. 

There are only two hand possibilities for any note, as well as limited fingering choices for notes that are within the reach of either hand. A significant proportion of what look like tricky fingering spots can be solved by correction. Again, it is a good idea to prepare students in advance to think about this, but equally important to keep an eye on it along the way.

Speaking of the thumbs, I am aware of the pitfalls of using thumbs on black notes, as you also know if you have read this column often. I mentioned that as something to send students off thinking about as they work on fingering. And clearly if you see a student using a thumb on a black note and it looks awkward, that is a spot that you and the student should scrutinize. However, the opposite problem can also occur. From time to time I see a student conscientiously avoiding playing a sharp or flat with the thumb when doing so would be best, maybe actually fine, maybe a bit awkward but the best available choice. Beyond just adjusting the fingering, this can be an opportunity to remind the student that guidelines are just guidelines, and that it is the maximum hand-comfort itself that counts. Guidelines are really guesses about what is likely comfortable most of the time.

Fingering forward and backward

One of the concepts with which I suggested sending a student off to work on fingering was that fingering should be accomplished forward and backward: that we shouldn’t always start somewhere and finger ahead in the music from that point. Rather, we should sometimes consider where we want the hand or a finger to be at a certain point and reason backwards from there. This is especially important when there are crucial spots that are difficult to finger. We must give those spots what they need, and work outward in both directions to incorporate them into the overall flow of the fingering. One way to notice when a student has given in to the common tendency to start at the beginning and go forward with fingering is to notice when a fingering crashes (or even crashes and burns!). That is, when everything looks smooth, makes sense, sounds continuous and accurate as to rhythm, and then suddenly falls apart: the hand looks bent out of shape, hesitations or wrong notes occur, and so on. A subset of this is the appearance of sudden, not musically sensible substitutions. An instance of this is demonstrated in Example 1.

I would not expect a student to attempt literally this fingering, though someone, perhaps a real beginner, might. It would probably be an executed but not written-in fingering, since the very act of writing this shows that it is too elaborate. But it encapsulates the principle of starting somewhere, running out of fingers, and not having a good way to recover. If the passage went like that exhibited in Example 2, then the impetus to use the fingering in Example 1 would be more understandable. If the passage went like that in Example 3, then the fingering in Example 1 would be in the conversation as a possible solution. This assumes a desired legato. As always, with non-legato technique, fingering possibilities are expanded.

There is an interesting fork in the road with substitutions in general. They can be either a sensible solution to a tricky fingering moment, preserving the desired articulation and using the hand efficiently, or a desperate attempt to rescue a fingering disaster. We must know how to tell these apart, and in evaluating a fingering that a student has brought back to us we can use a discussion of this distinction to help the student become aware of the best ways to use substitution. If we see substitution, especially if it is executed but not written in, then we should invite the student to talk about the reasons behind it.

Example 4 demonstrates another sample of a fingering’s crashing because of lack of planning. This is one that I have indeed seen frequently in real life. In this case, if a significant overall non-legato is what is desired, then there might be nothing particularly bad about this fingering. It might or not be comfortable or be best overall. But it is the kind of pattern that often or habitually arises not out of a purposeful decision about articulation, but rather from starting somewhere and not planning. If you observe a fingering like this and hear awkward irregularities in articulation, then it is something that should be questioned. 

Substitutions are one way under some conditions of achieving legato. In general, as you watch your student’s new fingering, bear in mind that there are many ways of making successive notes legato, and when they are intentional for the purpose they are important and good. But they are also at risk for not being the simplest way to execute the successive notes. If you see a student using a legato fingering, it looks awkward, and they are not actually executing the legato (that is, having planned out a somewhat complicated fingering for which the only rationale would be to connect notes, and they are in fact optionally releasing fingers and not connecting the notes), then this is a time to query. Sometimes an impulse to use a legato fingering at all costs comes about because that fingering feels like holding on to the notes for dear life and creates a sense of note security. That sense is a false one if the fingering is awkward or if it causes the hand to be rooted in one place when it should be free to move to another. 

One point to notice in watching student’s fingerings is whether there are spots where a finger seems to be falling naturally over a note, but the student plays the note with a different finger. There can be many reasons for this to happen. One of those is that the student is in fact planning just as I have been writing above. In that case, the benefit of starting a discussion about that spot is that it can allow the teacher to ratify the student’s sense that what is being done makes sense. However, it is also possible that the finger that seems to be falling naturally over the next note would have been the right one to use, and that the student hasn’t seen this. This is often because it is just a less-favored finger than the one that the student is using—finger 4 being often less favored than 3, or 5 being usually less favored than anything else, for example. But it can be for essentially no reason. Sometimes if I say, “Finger 4 is almost touching that note. Why not play it with 4?” the answer may just be, “Oh, yeah. That looks good,” or even, “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.” Not thinking of options is universal, and is part of the reason that we study and teach. Sometimes there is an impulse to look for the more complicated when the simpler would have been just as good and actually better because it is simpler. Moments when a finger that seems to be easily aiming at the next note is not used are sometimes instances of this. This kind of thing happens with everyone, not just students and certainly not just beginners.

Fingering patterns

I wrote earlier about note patterns and how and when they can or cannot be a scaffolding on which to build fingering patterns. This is a key thing to look for when a student brings a fingering back to you. There is the two-headed basic manifestation: is the student missing any opportunity to achieve simplicity by applying good, repeated patterned fingering where it would work, and is the student imposing a patterned fingering where it is actually made awkward by something specific in the notes? There are also a couple of special cases. Is the student using the same fingering when there is an exact repeat of a passage? This can be literally a repeat sign applying to some sort of section or, for that matter, successive verses of a hymn, assuming that they are played the same way as to such things as “soloing out,” etc., or it can be a more limited return of the exact same notes. It can be in one hand or through the whole texture. It can be a full-fledged da capo as in the big E-minor Fugue of Bach among innumerable examples. 

Is there ever a legitimate reason to use a different fingering for two instances of exactly the same notes within the same piece? I am not sure that I have ever decided to do so. Maybe so with hymn verses, even apart from the obvious reasons derived from desired changes in texture, since the player might want to project a significantly different feeling with various verses, and that might make fingering and interpretive decisions result differently. In principle, a desire to project a different feeling when the same notes come back within a repertoire piece is a real possibility. In fact, it should always be considered. After all, a passage is different when it is being heard as a repetition or a hearkening back to something heard earlier. I do not recall that I have ever wanted to manifest this through different fingering: perhaps I have thought of these differences as being more modest or subtle. If a student plays the same thing with different fingering when it occurs at different places in a piece, that is likely to be because of insufficient planning or mistaken execution. But pointing it out could still spark an interesting discussion of the matter! 

Wrong notes and rhythms

What about wrong notes, wrong rhythms, out-and-out unsuccessful playing? The relationship between these sorts of problems and fingering planning is a complicated one. One point of good fingering is to make it as easy as possible to execute the notes. In fact that is what we have essentially been looking at as “good” fingering in these columns, since this discussion has by and large not been about fingering as an interpretive tool or as a tool of historical accuracy. However, it is always true that enough really well carried-out practicing can make almost any fingering work. So in a sense “good” fingering has as its purpose reducing the amount of practicing that will be necessary. And you could say that practicing has the purpose or effect of making it unnecessary to have planned good fingerings, although there is probably never a good reason to use it for that purpose. I have occasionally, just as an exercise, tried practicing a purposely awkward fingering, one that stops well short of being “dangerous” in the sense in which I have discussed that earlier, and trying to get it to work well. This has had mixed results. It has been successful enough to convince me that if I had had any reason to stick to it I could probably make it work, but not successful enough to make me think that that would ever be a good idea.

If a passage that a student reports having fingered carefully and practiced well doesn’t seem solid, it is reasonably likely that the fault lies with the practicing more than with the fingering planning, or that the passage is simply not ready to go at the tempo that the student is trying. Ragged, hesitant, or otherwise unsuccessful playing is not one of the most reliable indicators of non-optimal fingering. But note that this is really about the percentages: sometimes bad fingering is what is going on in these situations. It is quite common for a student to say, “I can’t get this bit right. There must be a better fingering I could use,” when in fact it really is all about the practicing.

I am going to leave it there for the time being. In so doing I am aware that, as I suggested at the beginning of last month’s column, I have by no means exhausted this subject. I have not, for example, talked very directly about how to make a more interventionist approach work. For me, the gist of that is to wear that approach lightly: to let students know that even though you are making the initial fingering choices, you want them to think those fingerings out and ask you questions about them. I may return to this specifically another time. I also could at this point write a whole column just about how my own approach to all of this has evolved during the time when I have been writing these columns! I may indeed return to that at some point, partly for the content of it, partly because it is a bit of a case study in self-teaching. 

Next month, I will be on to other things.