On Teaching

Gavin Black is Director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center in Princeton, New Jersey. He can be reached by e-mail at .

Buxtehude BuxWV 141 – Part 2:
Fingering, pedaling, and
practicing, part 1
In this month’s column, we will look at the opening section of the Buxtehude E major Praeludium in great detail as to fingering and pedaling, and outline ways of practicing that section. When we return to this piece, after beginning our look at the Boëllmann Suite Gothique, we will analyze the section that begins in m. 13 with regard to practicing and learning that section. These two sections offer several different textures and types of writing; each suggests a different approach to the very practical act of learning the notes. These textures include the one-voice opening, the multi-voiced but not strictly contrapuntal measures that immediately follow, and the rigorously contrapuntal—fugal—section that begins in the soprano voice in m. 13. Each of these textures recurs in this piece, and of course throughout the repertoire as well.
This and the next few Buxtehude columns will focus on the steps necessary to learn the right notes securely and efficiently. I will try my best to do this in a way that leaves open as many different interpretive possibilities as possible. In particular, I do not mean to take sides in any debate about how much to incorporate “authentic” fingerings and pedalings, or about what those are or might be in any particular case. That does not mean that I will not mention them or include them among the possibilities. As I hinted but did not quite state last month, I will not discuss any work on memorization. (I have, like many performers and teachers, somewhat mixed and complicated feelings about memorization, but I do not consider it to be a necessary or integral part of learning a piece well and performing it in a way that is both solid and artistically worthwhile. I will discuss memorization as an issue unto itself in a later column.)

Fingering
Since the opening of our Praeludium (see Example 1) is a monophonic statement of three rather long measures—49 notes—the first question that arises is which hand or hands should play it. (This foreshadows the most important practical question about any passage of keyboard music; namely, which notes should go in which hand. This question must precede detailed questions about fingering, and it is often overlooked or shortchanged by students. More about this later.) Since the passage is basically high—in the right hand region of the keyboard—and is probably not going to be played in a way that is prohibitively fast for one hand, it makes sense to start out by assuming that it is a right-hand passage.
However, it also makes sense to look for places where taking some of the notes in the left hand would make things easier. Each student can look the passage over and make this judgment for him- or herself. It might, for example, make sense to take the four sixteenth notes of the third beat of m. 3 in the left hand. These notes are lower than the rest and using the left hand to play them would put that hand in a good position to participate in playing the chord on the first beat of m. 4.
It is also possible to share the notes more or less equally between the hands, though I myself have not been in the habit of doing so in this passage. An advantage of sharing the notes between the two hands is that it is just easier to execute. This becomes more important the faster a player wants the passage to go. A disadvantage to dividing the passage up between the hands is that it gives more to think about in the learning process and to remember in playing, and probably takes longer to learn.
On a more positive note, an advantage to keeping the passage in one hand is that it is probably easier or more natural to project the overall rhetorical shape of the line when the shape and spacing of the notes is felt in the most direct physical way by the player. None of these considerations is absolute, and a teacher and student can think about them and work them out.
Just for the record, the fingering that I myself would use to play this passage is shown in Example 2. This is largely a common-sense and hand-position-based fingering. For example, the choice of 1-3 to begin the passage is entirely based on the way that my own fingers happen to fall over those notes, given my posture and my arm angle. (The arm angle stems from my preference for letting my elbows float out from my sides, which in turn is—for me—part of a relaxed posture.) The first four notes could just as well be played 1-2-3-4 or 2-3-4-5. The choice of 3 rather than 4 for the D-natural 32nd note late in m. 1 is designed to make it easier to reach the coming G# with 4 (rather than 5). The point of playing that G# with 4, in turn, is twofold: first, to place the (long) third finger on the F# and the (shorter) second finger on the E; second, to make it easier then to reach the high B on the final half-beat of the measure with finger 5. (It would also be fine to play those notes—G#-F#-E—with 3-2-1.) For me, keeping the thumb off of raised keys is a guiding principle.
A reason for not playing the third beat of m. 1 with 2-1-2-5, etc. (but rather with 4-3-2-5, etc.) is that the gesture of turning the second finger over the thumb to play the G# moves the hand away from the upcoming (high) E, and therefore makes the playing of that note awkward—at least, that is how it works with my hand. In m. 3, the non-adjacent fingerings of each of the beat groupings are all designed to move the hand in the correct direction for whatever is coming up next.
This fingering is not intended to be a recommendation or even a suggestion: it is just how I would probably do it. There are many other ways. (Some of these might be more historically minded—with more disjunct or pair-wise fingerings—or less so—with substitution or more use of the thumb, even occasionally on a black note.) The important thing is that teacher and student work out a fingering that is appropriate for that student. Sometimes that process involves a lot of specific input from the teacher, sometimes little or none. A teacher should always look for ways to let the student assume increasingly more responsibility for working out fingerings. I tend to give very few specific fingering suggestions, but keep an eye out for spots where a student may not have succeeded in finding something that works well. In those cases, I will invite the student to analyze the spot again, perhaps with more input from me.
So in this case, once a fingering has been worked out, the most effective approach to practicing the passage is clear. That is, since it is only one line and one hand—at least, certainly one hand at a time—there is no concern about how to combine parts, and in what order. The plan is just to practice it. First, choose a very slow tempo: slow enough that playing the right notes with the planned fingering is actually easy. This might, for one player, be sixteenth note equals 60, for another 80, for another 45. For an advanced player or a good reader it might be faster, and it might be all right to think about a pulse for the eighth note even from the beginning. Anything is all right, as long as the student does not start with too fast a tempo. Then, having played the passage several times at this starting tempo, the student should play it several times a little bit faster, then a little bit faster still. At some point, the beat in the student’s head will naturally shift from the sixteenth note to the eighth note, then to the quarter note. The crucial thing is not to get ahead of a tempo that honestly feels easy. This, if practiced rigorously, will lead to unshakeable security.
Meanwhile, the rest of the opening section is multi-voiced, a mix of not very strict counterpoint and homophonic writing. In this passage, the main practical question is which hand should play some of the inner-voice notes. As I mentioned above, this is extraordinarily important. I have seen students waste a lot of time or even make an easy passage almost unplayable by assigning notes to hands in an awkward way. This is usually caused by assuming too readily that the notes printed in the upper staff should be played by the right hand and those printed in the lower staff should be played by the left hand. In fact, there should never be such an assumption unless the two hands are meant to be on different keyboards, providing different sounds for different parts of the texture. In general, the two manual staves between them present a note picture, and we have ten fingers with which to play that note picture in the most reliable way possible.
In each of the measures in Example 3, there are notes in what is more or less the alto voice that are printed in the upper staff; some of these might be best played in the left hand. The notes that I have highlighted are those that I would choose to play in the left hand. Again, this is not by any means the only way to do it. The first criterion that I use in working this out is that “extra” notes should be placed in the hand that otherwise has less to do. That is at work very strikingly in mm. 7-8, and the beginning of m. 9, but also elsewhere. Sometimes hand choices are made based on the need to prepare what comes next. That applies here in m. 11, where I am not taking several notes in the left hand that could, or in a sense should, be in the left hand, so as to make it possible for the left hand to play the (tenor) E in the chord in m. 12. (There would be other ways to deal with this, involving substitution.)
Sometimes the notes of a passage in a middle voice can be divided between the hands just to make that passage easier—less inclined to get tangled. This is the case here in m. 5 and to some extent in m. 10. An overriding consideration is hand position: how can notes be divided between the hands in a way that best allows each hand to remain in a natural, comfortable position?
After the hand assignments have been worked out, the next step is to work out fingering. (In the process, some hand choices may be changed.) As always, fingering will depend in part on factors that differ from one player to another, including the size and shape of the hands, existing habits or “comfort zones,” and artistic goals concerning articulation, tempo, and other matters. Example 4 shows a possible sample fingering for one of the more convoluted of these measures. As always, there is a lot here that could be done differently. For example, it could make sense to play the E that is the first note in the top voice of the first full measure with 5, or the D#/B right-hand chord later in that measure with 2/1. It would also be possible to take the A#-B in the first full measure with the left hand, probably with 2-1. The above is just one way of doing it.

Practicing
Once the fingering has been worked out, the next step is practicing. The principles of practicing are always the same, and they are both so important and so difficult psychologically (for most of us, certainly including me) that they can’t be repeated too often: break the music down into manageable units—short passages, separate hands and feet; practice slowly enough; speed up gradually and only when the unit being practiced is really ready for it. In the case of the passage under discussion, one sensible way to divide things up might be as follows:
1) the right hand from the last few notes of m. 3 through the downbeat of m. 9
2) the left hand from the downbeat of m. 4 through the second beat of m. 9
3) the right hand from the first high B in m. 8 through m. 12
4) the left hand from the half note D# in m. 8 through m. 12, and
5) the pedal part, which I will discuss in its own right just below.
(Notice that the sections are designed to dovetail, not to bump into one another. This guarantees that practicing in sections will not cause fissures or awkward transitions to develop. This is quite important. It also applies to practicing across page turns.)
Each of these units should be played many times at, initially, a very slow tempo: as always, slow enough that it feels easy. For most students it would probably make sense, given the somewhat complex texture of this passage, to start with a beat—in the student’s head or from a metronome—that will represent the 32nd note, so that each of the sixteenth notes will receive two of those beats. This 32nd-note beat might initially be at 100, or 80, or 120: whatever feels comfortable. Then each unit should be sped up gradually.
(Some musicians express concern that starting the practicing procedure with beats that represent very short notes—many levels down from the “beat” suggested by the time signature—will result in playing that lacks a sense of underlying pulse, that is too divided into small fragments. However, it is insecurity as to the notes, fingerings, and pedalings that is by far the greatest cause of rhythmically unconvincing playing. At the early to middle stages of learning a passage, the best thing that we can do to predispose that passage towards convincing rhythm is whatever will get the notes learned the most securely. The use of very small note values early in practicing is so removed from later performance, in time and in feel, that I have never known it to come back and haunt or influence the quality of a that performance.)
Some variation is possible in the mode of reconnecting the separate hands. In general, the slower you are willing to keep things, the more promptly you can let yourself put components of the whole texture together. There is some speed at which any given student could indeed skip the step of separating hands. For most of us, in moderately or very difficult passages, this tempo is very slow indeed, and in general it is not a good idea to aim to do this. (Not a good idea partly because it taxes our boredom threshold and partly because separate-hand practicing also allows us to hear things clearly.) In general, if each hand feels really solid at a certain tempo—ready in theory to be performed by itself at that tempo—then it is possible to put those hands together at a somewhat slower tempo. How much slower varies from one situation to another. The overriding principle is a familiar one: when you put the hands together, the tempo should be such that the results are accurate and the experience feels easy—no scrambling, no emergencies, no near misses.

Pedaling
The pedal part in mm. 4–12 of this piece is simple though non-trivial. I would play the fifteen pedal notes with the following feet, all toes:
l-r-r-r-l-r-l-r-l-r-l-l-r-r-l
Other possibilities involve, for example, playing the first note of m. 5 with left toe (crossing over) or playing the second note of that measure with right heel; or playing some of the two-note groupings that span bar lines (between mm. 6–7, 7–8, 8–9) with one foot, either all toes or toe and heel. Once a student has decided on a pedaling, he or she should play through the pedal part slowly, not looking at the feet, until it is second nature. Since the note values are all long, getting the pedal part up to tempo will not take as long or go through as many stages as it would with some other passages. However, it is extremely important not to shortchange the practicing of even this fairly simple pedal line. This is all the more true because in general lower notes and slower notes play the greatest part in shaping the underlying pulse and rhythm in organ music. This pedal line is both.
When the pedal part seems very solid, then it is time to begin practicing it with the left hand. It is often true—for most players—that “left hand and pedal” is the combination of parts that requires the most work. Therefore it should be started as soon as each of those parts is ready. It is also often true that once left hand and pedal is very secure, and the right hand part is well learned, and the two hands together are secure, then the whole texture will fit together without too much trouble. However, it certainly never hurts to practice right hand and pedal as well. In the case of this section, there are a couple of places where the strongest rhetorical and rhythmic interaction is between the something that is being played by the right hand and the bass line in the pedal. This is the case, for example, with the transition from m. 3 to m. 4, and also the middle of m. 10. Practicing the right hand and pedal together will draw the attention of the ears to these spots.
Next month we will start looking at the Boëllmann, concentrating on understanding the overall shape of the piece and looking for connections and contrasts.

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

Rhythm and counting

The music that we as keyboard players work with on a daily basis involves time as well as pitch, timbre, and other qualities of sound. We are so used to this that it seems like something that does not need to be said. It is very close to the core of the way that we think about music. In fact, I have sometimes heard people define music as something like “sound with defined pitch organized according to regular time intervals” or words to that effect. This is, if not necessarily a valid definition of anything that could possibly be considered music, certainly a good start at defining one of the important components of the type of music that we typically hear and play. Of course, due to the nature of time and perception, whenever a sound succeeds some other sound, it has to do so on some kind of schedule, and indeed once in a while that schedule is irregular or subject to the whim (or judgment) of a player. But most of the time sounds in pieces of music follow one another at regular intervals. This phenomenon of pulse or rhythm or beat is as important as the notes (pitches) themselves, or close to it, in most musical situations.

And of course our system of notation includes indications for rhythm—that is, lengths of notes in relation to one another. It is actually hard to call to mind any standard way of notating pitch in post-medieval music that does not also notate something about rhythm. When a composer wants to suggest that, in some way, notes are not being presented as having a pre-determined set of rhythmic relationships, the composer has to borrow rhythmic notation and then somehow indicate that the usual rhythmic meaning of the notes is suspended. That is the case, for example, with the unmeasured preludes of Louis Couperin and some other seventeenth-century composers, and with passages marked “free” or “unmeasured” or “molto rubato” or something to that effect.

However, organ teachers are rarely in the position of teaching students how to read rhythmic notation from scratch, or how to read notation at all. We usually take on students who have already learned “the basics” by studying piano—this includes notation along with at least some ideas about fingering, and of course a certain amount of actual keyboard dexterity. (Of course, many of us do teach these basics in settings other than organ instruction, and occasionally we are lucky enough to find a student who wants to study organ from the very beginning!)  On the other hand, there are many students whose sense of rhythm—even at the level of their comfort with reading the rhythmic dimension of the notation—is shaky. There are students who feel that they “can’t count” or who are at least not always confident about their reading of note values, and who are often right not to be confident. As with any other problems in studying or in playing, this usually stems from something’s having been taught inadequately or (and this might actually be more common) having been taught in a way that makes the matter seem more complicated than it has to be.

What follow here are ways to help students with some aspects of reading and producing correct rhythms. This is separate from, though in the end of course related to, the business of playing with a convincing sense of rhythm and pulse. Paradoxically or not, the convincing sense of pulse often comes from departing slightly from the scientifically (i.e., metronomically) correct reading of the rhythm. I am not talking about that here—rubato, timing, using accent to create pulse: all very important, but mostly for another time. One important aspect of the relationship is this: that all of the possible subtleties in the realm of rhythm are extremely difficult to execute for anyone whose playing is burdened by a fear that the basic rhythm is shaky—whether it actually is shaky or not. 

1) If it does fall to me to teach the basic meaning of the different “note values”—that is, the way that we indicate rhythm in written music—I try to do so in as simple and colloquial way as I possibly can. None of the jargon or the ways that we habitually put these things to ourselves in our heads once we know them really well is self-evident, and some of it is unnecessary. Take, for example, the phrase “note value” or the concept of the “value” of a note. It becomes second nature that this word refers to the aspect of the note that is the length of time that it occupies, but someone who has actually not studied the notation at all will not know this. I have actually seen someone more or less flummoxed by the statement that a dot “adds half the value of the note to the note.” And why not: unless you almost already know what that statement means, it is not particularly obvious what it means. I would rather say something like: “if you put a dot immediately to the right of a note, it makes that note one-and-a-half times as long as it would otherwise have been.” There are then two ways to concoct examples of this: first, if, say, a quarter-note takes as much time as two eighth-notes, then a quarter-note with a dot next to it takes as much time as three eighth-notes; and second, if a quarter-note is going to last a day, say, then a dotted quarter-note is going to last thirty-six hours.

2) The notation is all about ratios, and my last example above is meant as a reminder that a ratio is a ratio, regardless of the absolute times involved. A student learning the rhythmic notation from scratch needs to embrace the idea that the notation is all about ratios and not about absolute time—or for that matter about beats, pulses, measures, or time signatures. It is about the notion that some notes last twice as long—or three or four times as long—as others. That’s all. A whole-note lasts twice as long as a half-note; a half-note lasts twice as long as a quarter-note, and so on. Thus, if a quarter-note is going to last a second, then a half-note is going to last two seconds, and a whole-note, in turn, four seconds. If a sixteenth-note is going to last four years, then a thirty-second note is going to last two years, plus or minus an adjustment for the stray February 29. Once the student is comfortable with the idea of ratios, then learning which symbol is which note and what the ratios are is rather easy: there aren’t that many of them. Of course, the teacher must include in the discussion not just all of the “regular” notes, but also the concept of dotted notes, the meaning of ties, and the meaning of triplet signs. These are still all about ratios, and still do not amount to very many different things to learn.

3) By the way, as far as rhythm and counting are concerned, it is probably true to say that nothing would change if all of the time signatures and all of the bar lines were magically erased from all of (at least) western classical music. The note lengths and the rhythms that arise from them are fully described by the note-heads, stems and flags. The bar lines do not change anything about that, and a time signature is—for basic rhythms—either redundant or incorrect. Sometimes a time signature suggests something about what pulses or groupings will arise out of the basic rhythm. But even with respect to that, if the groupings or pulses would not be there or would not be convincing without the time signature, then they are probably not really there with it either. I mention this partly to reinforce the idea that no one learning how to read rhythm in our common notation should be thinking about time signatures or bars or measures. This is just a distraction. Also, when a player who is past the stage of learning notation—who is presumably comfortable with the rhythm side of music reading—nonetheless has a problem reading the rhythm of a passage or with feeling secure about that reading, it is almost always a distraction to be thinking about the time signature or the phenomenon of “measures”. I have seen many students effectively prevent themselves from reading a fairly straightforward rhythm because they were not sure right off the bat how to relate that rhythm to something about the time signature or meter or the placement of bars. This leads me to the next point, an especially important one.

4) If the systematic counting of a passage is going to be useful in creating an accurate rhythm, then of course the counting must happen at a steady pace. It does not, however, need to use numbers that relate it to the measures. Often using the ordinary “one and two and three and . . . ” system for counting a passage is enough of a distraction that it hinders rather than helps. Also, sometimes a student puts so much stock in the fact that the numbers are present and in the correct order that he or she forgets to keep them absolutely steady. So we hear something like this: “one and two . . . and three . . .  andfourand.” The student believes that the passage is being practiced correctly because, again, those numbers are there, and they are the right numbers in the right order. So rather than counting a passage as in Example 1, I would suggest something like that shown in Example 2.

This starts with deciding to use the eighth-note as the steady beat. (The correct choice for the steady counting beat at the beginning of the process of drilling a rhythm is the smallest fairly common note value, unless the passage needs to be kept slow enough that that note value is too slow to follow easily: see 7) below.) Then it expresses the length of each note in the number of eighth-notes that that note value actually includes. Of course, it is still necessary to be sure that the numbers come at an even pace. But the second example zeros in on what the player needs to understand and to work on. Of course, as the passage becomes better learned and can go faster, the next step with this type of counting looks like Example 3.

5) The kind of counting described in 4) is also one of the best exercises for teaching the basics of rhythm notation, once the simple rhythmic meaning of the different note shapes has been learned. Taking a large number of fairly straightforward but not trivial rhythms—say of about the level of my example—and counting them out this way serves to drill the meaning of the different note values quite efficiently. For this purpose it is not necessary to play anything, just to count, dropping back to “1” at the beginning of each new note. At the same time, this type of counting really does work well to straighten out a tricky or recalcitrant rhythm. It is not just for beginners: I use it myself when I encounter a rhythm that I want to count out.

6) Sometimes the idea arises of practicing the rhythm of a passage completely separately from the actual notes. This usually takes the form of tapping the rhythm on a table or clapping it. This can be a good idea. It is based on the clearly sound notion that a tricky rhythm should be practiced some—initially or whenever it becomes a problem—without the distraction of worrying about fingering and hand position. It is a form of isolating and simplifying something difficult, philosophically similar to practicing hands or feet separately. I would suggest, as a modification of this, that a student can in effect practice a rhythm in isolation by playing it with random easy notes, perhaps just five adjacent notes played up and down by the five fingers: no choices to make about notes or fingering, but a sonority to hear. This seems to me to be more “true to life” and probably just more interesting for many players. It also gets around a problem that clapping and tapping both have: that they are usually carried out as “repeated note” gestures, and that fast “notes” are therefore harder than they need to be. If a student is in fact going to tap a rhythm on the table, then he or she should use two hands alternating, or two or more fingers alternating in what amounts to keyboard-playing gestures.

7) Another way to practice the rhythm of a passage with difficult notes is to slow the passage down enough that the notes become easy. This is, of course, always the pillar of good practicing, as far as I am concerned, whatever the particular circumstances. Sometimes, however, in order to make the notes of a passage easy enough that the student can afford to think about the rhythm, the tempo has to become so slow that the rhythm begins to seem even more non-intuitive or not really there: almost as if the sixteenth-notes were indeed lasting years. The way to deal with this is not to be afraid of subdivision. If the line that I used for my examples above were hard enough that it had to be practiced at eight quarter-notes per minute, for example, then the correct choice for the counting beat would probably be the thirty-second note, at sixty-four per minute. This would indeed mean that the opening whole-note would be counted (steadily!) from one to thirty-two. This might seem—or indeed be—annoying. However, there is no shortcut to practicing slowly enough, and attempting to time a note that lasts half a minute by counting only “one and two and three and four and” is not going to succeed. The numbers and the “ands” are too far apart to be meaningfully related to one another in counting them out. 

8) There is sometimes a fear of subdivision or of building rhythms up by counting out the smallest components. The fear is, I believe, that too much of this will make a performance seem choppy, make it not convincingly reflect the underlying pulse. My own experience is that this is just not a problem. Having the player’s conception of what the rhythm actually is—what the note lengths and their relationships are—be both correct and really solid is the absolute requirement for achieving a convincing pulse. Counting small beats—subdivided beats—accurately is the most sure-fire way to be certain that the rhythm being drilled is accurate. As a passage becomes solid and as the tempo is able to approach performance tempo, the player’s focus on the smaller beats will naturally melt away. The ease with which both the correct notes and the correct rhythm can be executed will free the player up to listen for the beat groupings and the underlying pulse along with any and all other artistic or rhetorical aspects of the music. Also, any rhythm that needs to be slowed down a lot and treated to a really extreme subdivision will be the exception: an especially hard passage. Every player will have the experience of playing many passages that have been learned from the beginning counting only the time-signature beats. If it is indeed easier to get a convincing overall pulse and shape in these passages—which I rather doubt—then the player can consciously transfer the feeling of playing and hearing those passages to others that have had to be taken apart more finely.

Gavin Black is the Director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center in Princeton, New Jersey. He was organist and Senior Choir Director of the Hillsborough Reformed Church in the Borough of Millstone, New Jersey from 1988 to 1994. His recording of The Art Of The Fugue by J. S. Bach in a version for two harpsichords (with George Hazelrigg) has just been released: <www.theartofthefugue.com&gt;. He can be reached by e-ail at <[email protected]>.

Playing hymns, part 2
Last month I outlined a protocol for practicing and learning hymns. In essence, this simply amounts to remembering to take them seriously and to practice them carefully. However, there are a few special features to the approach I suggested, especially that the player should concentrate most heavily on putting together the left hand and the pedals. That combination is important in practicing any music, but seems to be even more so with hymns. This month I want to talk about some musical/interpretive aspects of hymn playing, and how they tie in with the learning process and the type of technical command that the player develops through careful practicing. In particular, among other things, I want to talk about repeated notes and the role that they play in all of this.
There are several things to say about the musical role of the organist in playing hymns in church. First of all—to express a very positive goal in usefully negative terms—the organist must not upset the singers (the congregation) or make it hard for them to sing. This is not to say that the organist should never challenge preconceptions, or do things in a way that wakes people up and asks them to see (hear) things in a new way. But the organist must not allow shakiness or wrong notes or unconvincing rhythm to make it hard for people to sing. No one wants to make wrong notes in repertoire pieces: however, everyone does so at least once in a while, and as long as those wrong notes are minor, and as long as the player keeps things going, it is never a catastrophe. In accompanying hymns it is important—more so than in playing pieces—not to make wrong notes, especially in the line that carries the hymn tune itself. It is extraordinarily important not to break rhythm or to let an occasional wrong note interfere with everything that is going on around it.
(This of course is a further reason to take the practicing of hymns very seriously: not only are they not as easy as it sometimes seems that they should be, but the stakes in the realm of basic accuracy are higher than with other types of playing.)
The second responsibility of the hymn accompanist is to provide a rhythmic foundation for the singers. In a sense, this part of the role of the organist is a combination of that of a conductor, a continuo-player, and the rhythm section of a rock group. If a room full of people who are not trained musicians are going to sing together with a feeling of confidence and relaxation, it helps for them to hear a strong, convincing pulse in the accompaniment. This serves the basic function of orienting the singers to where they are in the music. It enables them to use the accompaniment rather than their fellow singers as a reference point. It also, apart from the purely practical, gives a sense of liveliness and energy that will keep people awake and make them feel that they want to sing.
In fact, it is usually not the job of the organist to teach the hymn tune or to lead the melody as such. Most of the time, most of the congregation already knows most of the hymns being sung. When this is the case, the role of the organist’s playing of the hymn melody is like the role of the printed music in a piece that a player knows well: it is a touchstone or a reminder, not a practical, note-by-note, source of information. If a hymn is utterly new to the congregation, then the accompanying of that hymn in the service comes essentially too late to teach the tune to the congregation. Some people will pick it up, some people won’t. (In a church in which new hymns are introduced regularly, it might be nice to create an opportunity for interested members of the congregation to learn those new hymns. This could take the form of a once a month hymn-sing during which some old favorites—perhaps ones that don’t make it into the service very often—can be sung for fun, and the new hymns planned for the coming month can be taught. Of course some churches indeed do things of this sort.)
Another responsibility of the organist is to create and sustain the appropriate mood for each hymn. This is accomplished in part by registration (about which more below), in part by tempo, and in part by the same repertoire of interpretive tools that are available in playing any kind of music: timing, phrasing, rubato, articulation, agogic accent, arpeggiation, and so on. Certainly the tools that cause the music to depart from the metronomic accent—rubato, agogic accent, etc.—raise the concern that they will make it hard or impossible for untrained singers, with no rehearsal, to follow. However, it seems to me that, within reason (that is, within what experience shows to work) a convincing rhythm is easier to follow than a merely steady rhythm. Some shaping of beats and phrases using departures from strict metronomic rhythm will draw the singers along and orient them as to where the music is going. Of course this must be approached carefully and within a given student’s overall approach to articulation and rhythm.
(I myself used to play “For All the Saints” in a way that involved a greater or lesser degree of ritard in the couple of measures leading to the “Alleluia” in each of the six verses, culminating in an amount of “extra” time that was nearly a measure’s worth by the last verse. My impression is that no one had trouble following this, and that it intensified the emotional impact of the experience.)
So how do repeated notes fit in to all of this? Of course there is a long tradition in hymn playing of treating repeated notes as an issue unto themselves. Almost every student with whom I have worked—who has previously played or studied hymns—has picked up along the way the idea that repeated notes should be tied under certain defined circumstances: when they are in inner voices, in the pedal, in voices that don’t carry the hymn tune, within a given measure (i.e., not crossing a bar line), or some other rule. Or, on the other hand, that tying repeated notes is “old-fashioned” and that accuracy demands that they all be played as written. Some of these ideas have reflected the views of teachers or writers about organ playing, some have been heard “on the street” among fellow students or colleagues. For some, the overall effect of having heard many different ideas about how to play repeated notes in hymns has been to make the whole subject seem intimidating and confusing: yet another opportunity to get something wrong.
The main problem with repeated notes in hymns is that, if they are actually repeated, they can create a feeling of “choppiness.” This is one of the greatest enemies of singing, and, in organ playing, one of the effects that is least conducive to helping people sing. If a hymn is being played with full-fledged, traditional legato, then a repeated note that is repeated crisply will sound quite different from the notes around it. If there are many repeated notes—as there usually are in the inner voices of hymns for the reasons mentioned last month—then this can certainly lead to an overall effect of choppiness. If the style of playing a particular hymn is non-legato, then repeated notes will stand out less. Still, however, if the repetitions are done too crisply or with any degree of stiffness, they will stand out somewhat, and contribute some of the same kind of choppiness. It is almost certainly this fear of choppiness that has led organists and organ teachers over the years to develop systems for avoiding, to a greater or lesser extent, the actual playing of repeated notes in hymns.
On the other hand, on the organ in particular, with its sustaining power, long held notes have the potential to deaden rhythmic motion and to create heaviness. This is probably why some organists consider it a very bad idea to ever tie over any repeated notes in hymns. (No one ever suggests, as far as I know, tying over any repeated notes in pieces of repertoire!) Also, of course, if members of the congregation happen to be singing voices other than the hymn tune, and it is in those voices that the organist sustains rather than repeats some notes, then those singers will not be getting the rhythmic reinforcement that is the best help that the organist can offer to any singers. They will be getting their pitches, but, some of the time, only their pitches.
I think that it is useful for students to have all of this sketched out for them, not as a situation that is governed by rules, and especially not as a situation in which not knowing or somehow violating the rules will lead to having done something wrong, but rather as a situation in which there are competing musical needs that perhaps can be reconciled, or that at least need to be juggled.
The key to reconciling those needs is—or begins with—playing any repeated notes with as much musical control and as little inherent choppiness as possible. This is best served I believe (see The Diapason January 2009) by changing fingers or feet on repeated notes as much as possible, and also by using as light and smooth a touch as possible. As I mentioned last month, the ideal fingering for a pair or group of repeated notes cannot always be achieved in the right hand part of a hymn when that part includes both of the two upper voices—though it can sometimes or often be achieved, with ingenuity and practice—but the lightness always can be. A note that needs to be repeated should always be released lightly, and released in time that the next note (the repetition) can be played on time. The amount of space between repeated notes can be varied over a very wide spectrum: from as close to legato as is consistent with releasing the first note comfortably to fully staccato, with the first note released as quickly as physically possible. The very act of treating different repeated notes differently in a passage that contains many repeated notes will help prevent them from seeming stiff or choppy, and from deadening the rhythm.
All of this is especially important in hymns because a musically fruitful articulation of repeated notes without abruptness or choppiness but with pulse, accent and rhythm can greatly enhance the overall sense of pulse of the playing. This in turn enhances the usefulness of the playing for those singing. A student should be encouraged to listen for the rhythm of repeated note passages in particular, and to experiment with varying the amount of articulation between repeated notes in a way that gives the right rhythmic shape to the line. The most direct way of practicing this is the best:
1) Select a hymn that has, if possible, an almost exaggerated number of repeated notes, such as the tunes known as Webb, Finlandia, Bishopgarth, or Rest.
2) Choose a voice to work on that has a lot of repeated notes, for example the tenor voice in Webb (“The Morning Light Is Breaking” and other words) or the pedal line of Lancashire (“Lead on, O King Eternal” and others).
3) Play that line by itself, shaping the repeated notes in such a way that the line all by itself has direction and pulse, and is interesting to listen to. This can be done with subtlety, but also can be exaggerated, just for practice. In any case, it should be based on making strong beats longer than weak beats, making sure that upbeats move effectively to their points of arrival, and putting breaths between phrases. Whatever amounts of space are placed between different repeated notes, the physical gestures should be light and smooth.
4) Then add back the rest of the texture, but listen primarily to the repeated-note-heavy line that was just practiced. Try to hear the rhythm of those repeated notes enlivening the pulse from within.
In a hymn whose overall style is upbeat or jaunty, the articulations of repeated notes, shaped in accordance with the dictates of the meter, pulse, and rhythm, should probably be greater (even perhaps actually corresponding to the “exaggerated” practice). In calmer, quieter, more languid hymns, they should be less, more subtle. If the student feels, having gone through a process like this, that some repeated notes still sound out of place, choppy or disruptive, so that the pulse and flow would be better served by tying them, then he or she should probably go ahead and tie them. Since a “hymn”—in the sense in which we are talking about it—is a practical accompaniment, it should not be considered against any sort of law to alter it: the point is to find what really works. I myself have certainly tied repeated notes in hymns, but only occasionally, and only after trying it out “as written.”
Approached this way, I believe that repeated notes in hymns, while they will still present questions about which there might be disagreement, can cease to be a problem or a worry. In fact I think that repeated notes can lead the way in suggesting convincing rhythmic shape in a hymn.
(To some extent, the organist’s awareness of whether or not congregation members are in fact singing inner voices must influence choices about changing the rhythm of those inner voices: if people are singing them, it is a courtesy to those singers to make sure that those voices are clear and as vivid as possible.)
When it comes to registration, the essential problem presented by hymns is that the practical needs of the situation limit choices about volume. A hymn must be loud enough that everyone can hear it easily and be “conducted” by it without having to strain. It should not be so loud that it drowns out the singers, especially in their own ears. This can be a frustrating set of limits, especially if the organ is smallish. It can seem as if there are very few acceptable hymn registrations. This in turn comes into conflict with a desire for the registrations not to seem too much the same. If they are, this can be deadening to the overall mood for singing, or just plain boring. Certainly it seems like a good idea to change sounds from one verse to another as much as possible, and also for all of the hymns sung on a given day not to sound too much the same. The main two points that I think students can bear in mind are the following: it is worth trying out registrations during practice, patiently, more or less in the ways I discussed in The Diapason in April–June 2008, taking the process as seriously as one would with a concert piece; and, it is usually better to make very small changes in registration from one verse to another than to make no change at all: that is, a small or subtle change in sound is usually enough to enliven the listening and singing experience.

Organ Method XI

     I begin this column with the last two paragraphs of the previous, for better continuity and to allow the reader to follow the process I am describing easily without having to refer to last month’s issue. Also, I have again included the Scheidt piece as this discussion continues. My book will contain a repertoire list with annotations at the end of the method, and students will be given guidelines to find further two-voice pieces for practicing, as well as for other purposes.

     Once you have chosen fingering and practiced the same measure (or measure and a half) of each hand—remembering that the left hand will require more attention and repetition, and remembering to practice each hand enough that it is really learned—then you are ready to put the two hands together. You will probably have to reduce the tempo a bit from whatever speed each hand separately had reached while practicing them individually. (It is all right for the two hands to have reached different tempos in separate practicing, as long as you now slow things down to accommodate the extra complexity of putting both hands together.) In any case, since the purpose of this exercise right now is to help you become increasingly comfortable putting the two hands together, there is nothing to be gained by speed. There is a lot to be gained by good focus. 

     In putting the hands together in a passage, make sure that you remind yourself in advance of the note on which each hand will start—especially if the two hands do not come in together. In the beginning of this piece, the right hand comes in well after the left hand, so you should be thinking ahead a little bit to avoid hesitation at that spot. It is not necessary to have the correct finger actually touching the note before playing it, but it is important to be conscious of what the note will be and to keep your hand nearby.

     I will use this section starting at the end of measure three of the piece to discuss some details of the procedure for practicing hands together (Example __). First, there are two assumptions: that you have already worked out fingering, and that you have practiced each hand separately until it is thoroughly learned. (A very suitable fingering pattern for the right hand would be 2-3-2-3-2-3, but, since the notes don’t range very far, almost any fingering that respects the right way of playing the repeated notes will work well. For the left hand one good pattern is 4-3-4-3-4-2-4-5-4-3-2-1-2-1-2-1, and of course there are other possibilities.)

     Even though you have practiced each hand separately well enough to consider it learned, you should begin the process of putting the two hands together by playing through each hand once, starting with whichever hand you think is less difficult. As you do this, you should hear or imagine the other voice, especially its rhythm. With this passage, that is most important while running through the right hand part, since the left hand rhythm is more challenging (Example __). 

     After you have run through the hands separately—more difficult hand last—start playing the two hands together. Again, the tempo for this will have to be slower than the tempo at which you were able to play each hand separately, since the level of complexity has gone up. To find an appropriate beginning practice tempo, try starting with a steady slow beat in your head that represents the shortest (quickest) note value that is found in the passage. In this case, that is the sixteenth note. Get used to this beat before you start playing. (A slowly dripping water faucet is the image that I like to use for this kind of slow, steady beat.)

     You will find yourself counting four of these slow sixteenth notes between the time that you play the first note in the right hand and the moment when you are supposed to play the first left hand note, and then the same again before it is time to play the next note in each hand. Take advantage of this time to look ahead to what the next note(s) is/are: be ready to play it (them) on time. If it is impossible to do so, or if it feels like an emergency or a scramble, the tempo is too fast. If it happens comfortably, the tempo is right. It is important that the slow beat in your head be steady; it is not important for it to have numbers or syllables that relate it to the measures or to the time signature. If you want to do that sort of counting—one-eh-and-eh, or something similar—that is fine. However, it is not necessary or particularly relevant to this sort of practicing, and if it is even a little bit distracting or confusing, then you should certainly not do it. A steady beat just needs to be a steady beat.

     During this systematic early practicing, you should look at your hands as little as possible. In fact you probably don’t need to look at your hands at all. If you think you have to look to find a particular note, you should challenge yourself not to: at least try not looking every other time, or two times out of three. One purpose of not looking at your hands is to look at the music: to be very conscious and purposeful about knowing what notes come next. The cause of most wrong notes in keyboard playing is not knowing what the next note is supposed to be. The other compelling reason for not looking at your hands is that every time you find a note by looking, you pass up a chance to improve your kinesthetic sense of the keyboard and thus the security of your playing.

     The next step in putting the hands together is to increase the tempo gradually. After you have played through the passage several times at your extremely slow and comfortable starting tempo, and only when you feel that that has become really easy, you should increase the tempo a little bit. Let yourself hear your slow beat get a little bit faster in your head, and then start the passage at that new tempo. If you have increased the tempo by a small enough amount, then that new tempo should work: that is, playing the passage at that tempo should be possible with accuracy and without a sense of emergency, though it won’t at first be as easy or as nearly automatic as the slower tempo was. If the passage falls apart, then you hadn’t practiced enough at the slower tempo, or (more likely) you increased the tempo by too large an amount at once. If this happens, play the passage a few more times at your slow starting tempo, then increase that tempo by less than you did on the first attempt.

     After you have become accustomed to your new (second) tempo, you can increase the tempo a little bit more. This is the basic process for practicing anything, and any passage that you can play very slowly you can learn to play at any tempo. For the purpose of becoming comfortable putting two hands together, there is no reason to play this Scheidt piece (or other pieces) very fast. However, it is important to work on the process of speeding up gradually. You should expect to take each measure or measure-and-a-half section of the piece through three or four noticeable (though slight) increases in tempo.

     (It is certainly fine to organize your practice tempos with the help of a metronome: that is, to figure out the metronome marking of the tempo at which you start the practicing process, and then use the metronome to find the next tempo, and each of the subsequent slightly faster tempos. At this stage, however, it is better practice not to play along with the metronome, but rather to call on yourself to keep a steady beat in your head. I will discuss various aspects of metronome use later on.)

     When you have worked carefully on two adjacent short excerpts from this piece, then it is time to put them together: to start at the beginning of the first one and play both without stopping. In this way you will build up the whole piece. Of course, this is very careful and systematic, as practicing should always be. You will not, however, always have to break pieces up into small chunks. That is a good, effective way to begin, and you will always go back to it for pieces that are complex, long, or just plain hard.

     As you work on this Scheidt piece, alternate playing both hands on the same keyboard with playing each hand on a different keyboard, in all of the arrangements that are available on the organ that your are using: adjacent or non-adjacent keyboards, right hand higher, left hand higher. Practice with all sorts of different registrations—just make sure that neither hand drowns the other out. Notice that in the middle of measure 5, the fingering will be in effect a little bit different depending on whether you are playing on one keyboard or on two. That is, on one keyboard you need not play the f’ with both hands: choose one.

     Here is an excerpt from a two-voice piece by Jan Pieterszoon Sweelinck (1562–1621) in which the two hands are in canon with each other, and therefore play parts that are similar in complexity (Example Sweelinck, Allein zu dir). You can work on this in the way that I have described above. A list of further repertoire suggestion for work on putting together two-voice pieces is found in an appendix near the end of the book.

     When you have become comfortable putting the hands together in pieces in which each hand plays one line, there are two next steps that can be worked on at the same time as one another: learning exercises and pieces in which each hand plays more than one note, and beginning to put the hands together with the pedals. Putting hands and feet together is the subject of the next chapter. What follows here is a discussion of playing more than one note in a hand, with some exercises and examples.

(This discussion will be continued in next month’s column).

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

Additional practice techniques

This month and next month I will discuss a number of practice techniques that involve changing something in the music while practicing. This includes practicing in rhythms other than the true rhythm of the passage being practiced, and practicing passages with some of the notes actually omitted. (The former is the subject this month, and the latter next month.) Some of the techniques are generally quite familiar, although I may have my own twist on them. I have at least briefly alluded to some of them elsewhere, but I think that it is useful to bring them together here and to zero in on them in a bit more detail.

Any and all of the techniques that I will describe here are meant only to supplement the basic, solid way of practicing that I try never to miss a chance to describe: slow, careful repetition—with or without separating hands and feet, depending on the exact circumstances—with correct notes and correct rhythms, speeding up only gradually, in a way that is determined by the flow of the practicing itself, rather than by any predetermined schedule. This discussion of, among other things, practicing “wrong” rhythms comes the month after I talked about various ways of thinking about counting and the art of learning correct rhythms. Therefore it is important to remember that practicing in alternate rhythms is a technique that should have a well-focused purpose and that should be kept conceptually separate from playing the piece or passage as such. I will talk some about how to maintain this separation.

Alternate rhythms: dotted values

For me, the purpose of practicing in alternate rhythms is quite specific: it is a halfway point between a slow practice tempo and a faster tempo, which may be the performance tempo or may be even faster than that. When a rhythm is altered, some notes become faster and some slower. The faster notes are being practiced in isolation at a faster tempo than they would have otherwise; the slower notes, because they are slower than they would otherwise be, provide an opportunity to rest and regroup between fast notes. The classic form of this sort of practice is, therefore, to create pairs of practice rhythms, in each of which half the notes are fast and the other half slow, and between which all of the notes get a chance to be the ones that are being played (extra) fast. 

In turn, the classic form of that technique is to take a passage in which the note values are uniform and to make those note values dotted. So a passage that looks like that in Example 1 will be played first like Example 2, and then like Example 3.

The purpose of this, again, is technical. The first rhythm offers a chance to practice half of the movements from one note to the next quickly; the second offers the chance to practice the other half equally quickly. Because this kind of practice allows the player to stop and rest, in effect, after each fast gesture, it is usually possible to include and drill those fast gestures sooner in the process of learning the piece than it would be possible to boost the overall tempo to that same speed.

A modification of this technique that I think makes it even more useful is to replace the dotted rhythms (“regular” and “reverse”) with a kind of unmeasured over-dotting. So, in the above rhythmic templates, the dotted eighth-notes would all be replaced with fermata-ed notes to be held as long as you want, and the sixteenth-notes would be replaced with notes as short, quick, and light as you can make them. This approach creates an even more intense drilling of the quick gestures and an even more effective rest between those gestures. It also, by virtue of its being farther from any sort of regular pulse, has less ability to affect or possibly undermine the regular steady rhythm of the passage when the player returns to regular rhythm.

This sort of practicing can be applied very naturally to a line such as the opening of Bach’s Prelude & Fugue in G Major, BWV 541 (Example 4), which is in one voice only and in all or almost all one note-value. Practicing a line such as this in some version of dotted rhythm is most useful if you analyze what it is that you are gaining in each spot in the line. For example, when it is the on-the-beat sixteenth-notes that are held long, then going from the first beat to the second beat of the second measure (marked x) you will be practicing quickly moving the hand position in such a way as to reach the middle D reliably. 

In a passage such as Example 5—from the Vierne Divertissement (Pièces en Style Libre)—if a dotted rhythm is applied to the sixteenth-note line, the quarter-note chords will come along for the ride, and the practicing of those chords will also be affected. If the on-the-beat sixteenth-notes are being held long, then in spots like those marked with x’s the student must be fully ready to play the next chord, as well as the next sixteenth-note, before playing the (very fast) off-the-beat sixteenth-note. The actual gesture of moving from one chord to another will then be fast: probably faster than it will need to be in the piece. However, the student will have time, waiting on the “and of two,” to prepare that very fast gesture. The other half of the exercise—the reverse dotting—applied to this passage probably has less effect on the feel of the playing of the chords. In that case, moments like those marked with y’s will probably constitute the most intense and useful part of the exercise—playing wide intervals very quickly. 

In writing like Example 6—from the Bach Toccata & Fugue in F Major—these sorts of rhythms can be applied to one hand at a time and then to both hands together. Again, the student should analyze and pay attention to what exactly is being practiced at each moment in the passage. For example, going from the second beat to the third beat of the first measure of this excerpt, the left hand has a “stretch” or shift in hand position while the right hand does not; the opposite is true near the end of the fourth measure, or heading into the last measure. The use of the two complementary dotting patterns will highlight some of these technical details.

(Would it be a good idea to practice this passage or one like it using opposite dotting in the two hands? That is, first place the lengthened notes on the beats in the right hand and off the beats in the left hand, then reverse both of these. I have actually never tried that and I can’t recall a student’s doing it. The purely physical practice would be unchanged from the method described above, but the concentration required would be different—and it would probably be harder.)

Alternate rhythms: 

Groupings of notes

Another format for altering rhythms to create effective targeted practice strategies involves speeding up not one note at a time (every other note, as above) but clusters of notes. The classic way of organizing this is to play first all of the notes after each beat very fast, ending on and then holding the next beat, then to play all of the notes starting on each beat very fast, ending with the last off-the-beat note of each grouping. The template for doing this works as follows. For a set of notes written like Example 7, you would first play as shown in Example 8, with the notes under each slur played as fast as possible, and the notes under the fermatas held as long as necessary to feel ready to play the next cluster of fast notes; then Example 9.

In this case, the notes under the slurs should again be played as fast as possible. Then the last note of each grouping can be held until it feels comfortable to execute the next cluster of fast notes, or the note can be released, and the waiting can take place while not actually holding any notes: in effect a fermata in the gap between groups of notes. In the latter case, of course, it is a good idea not to let the hands or feet move too far above or away from the keys.

(As it happens, I myself have recently used the fast-cluster approach myself on this Buxtehude harpsichord passage, from the La Capricciosa Variations, which I have always found extremely hard—harder than I had originally expected [Example 10]. This measure is full of funny changes of direction and unexpected intervals. I was eventually able to get comfortable with it—and to get it to be reliable—and I believe that the fast-cluster practicing was the most important part of the process.)

How to use alternate rhythms

Practicing in “off” rhythms is, as I said above, a technical practice. The purpose is not to learn something about rhythm or any other artistic or interpretive aspect of the piece. It is to drill isolated gestures at a fast tempo in a focused way that does not demand that the fast tempo be kept up for very long. Therefore, it only makes sense to practice a passage this way (that is, in one of these ways) once the fingering and/or pedaling has been worked out and is indeed fairly well learned. If the fingering or pedaling is uncertain, then the fast moments in the rhythmic patterns are not going to work: they will be hesitant or actually fall apart. It also makes sense to practice this way only with a complete texture or with a part of the texture that involves the same fingering and pedaling as the complete texture. That is, it is fine—very useful in fact—to apply different rhythms to one hand at a time or to the feet alone, but not to separate voices extracted from a contrapuntal piece.

Since the technical purpose of this sort of practice is focused on the fast moments, the slow moments, whether they amount to every other note or to one note in a larger grouping, can be held for as long as the player wants. There does not need to be an overall tempo. Since every gesture—moving from one note to the next—takes its turn at being the fast gesture, everything gets practiced effectively regardless of how long—how slow—the held notes are. The less regular the timing of the held notes—the more the student simply waits on those notes until he or she feels ready to play the next fast gesture—the less this kind of practice will have any tendency to interfere with normal rhythm, because it will not be presenting an effective alternate rhythm.

It is easiest to apply this kind of practicing to passages in which rhythm is more or less even, as in all of the examples so far. In a passage such as Example 11, from Buxtehude’s Praeludium in C Major, BuxWV 136, the rhythm is less regular. There are beats in which the surface rhythm is two eighth-notes, in which it is four sixteenth-notes, and in which it is mixed. In the second beat of each of the first two measures of this excerpt, for example, if all of the notes within that beat are being played fast, then it would be conceivable either to try to maintain the rhythmic relationships within the beat, or just to play all of the notes as fast as possible and, therefore, as fast as one another, whether they are in fact eighth-notes or sixteenths. Either approach could be fine, as far as I can tell, and they would both amount to effective practicing. In fact, students can be encouraged to create their own short clusters of notes for very fast practicing, and to figure out how they would like to deal with rhythms within those clusters. As long as the clusters are not very long, and as long as they overlap by a note or two, the practicing should work well. 

Next month I will talk about a sort of practicing that is, in a sense, the opposite of what I have been discussing here, namely playing some notes of a passage while leaving the other notes out. The reasons for doing this are usually not technical, but rather about developing the ears’ relationship to the music in a way that enhances understanding of structure, rhythm, and pulse.

Gavin Black is director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center in Princeton, New Jersey. He can be reached at .

Practicing II
Last month I wrote that the “concept of ‘slowly enough’ is the key to the whole matter of practicing organ and harpsichord.” This month I want to explore that concept further. I will also discuss a couple of other aspects of the art of practicing.
In urging that students practice their pieces slowly, I want to avoid giving particular, specific practice-tempo suggestions, and I also want to advocate that teachers not expect, by and large, to give their students such specific suggestions. One of the keys to really efficient practicing is to develop a feeling for what the right practice tempo is. That is, literally, a feeling, since the right tempo at which to practice a given passage at a given moment is the tempo at which that passage feels a certain way. The way to guide a student towards being able to practice well—and to know how to go on practicing well for the rest of his or her playing career—is to help the student learn to recognize that feeling.
When a student (or anyone) plays through a passage, whether it is a few notes or an entire long piece, and whether it is the whole texture or separate hands or feet, one of a number of things can happen. If the playing is clearly wrong—wrong notes, missing notes, wrong rhythm—then that is easy to notice and easy to describe. A student who is very inexperienced indeed, or, more commonly, a student who is scared or self-conscious, or who has been trained to leave all matters of judgment to the teacher, might not notice such things at first. But he or she will not have any trouble noticing them if they are pointed out, and can be taught and reminded to notice them directly. They are there for the taking. If a passage being practiced shows such problems, beyond just a few, then it should be practiced more slowly. That is clear.
However, it is extremely common for a student—especially a student with good powers of analysis and of concentration—to be able to play a passage correctly, perhaps even many times in a row, but to have that correctness be a sort of high-wire act: that is, for there to be some or many “near misses” in which the student comes very close to getting a wrong note, but manages to remember and play the right note at the very last second. Playing a passage this way is emphatically not good practicing. (I will discuss this more below.) As I wrote last month, it takes honesty with one’s self to admit that a passage that sounded at least “OK” to the listening world was in fact not OK. We are all motivated not to admit this, first of all because it is always more friendly to our self-esteem to believe that something we just did was done well, not badly, and second because this admission seems to let us in for more work!
In addition to honesty or self-awareness, however, it is necessary for a student to know how to recognize, while playing, specific signs that a passage is in this “high-wire” state. This can be tricky both for beginning students and for anyone else who has never been in the habit of looking out for this problem. Some of the phenomena to watch out for include:
1) Very slight hesitations, especially—but not exclusively—before strong beats. This is an outward, audible sign, but a subtle one that a listener can easily miss. It can be confused with interpretive inflections that might even be musically effective. Only the player can know for sure.
2) Significant departures from worked-out fingering, especially lots of substitution that wasn’t part of the plan.
3) Tension: in the hands for manual parts, probably in the legs and back for pedal parts, but possibly also in the feet.
4) Playing certain notes with more physical force than others: banging. When a particular note takes the player by surprise and is only achieved by dint of great last-minute concentration, then that note will often be banged down hard.
5) Breathing problems or frequent catching of the breath.
(Some of the items on this list are hard for the student to notice unless he or she is otherwise playing in a relaxed manner, both physically and psychologically. This is one of the most compelling practical reasons both for cultivating a relaxed, friendly atmosphere in the teaching studio and for encouraging a light, tension-free physical approach to playing.)
To put the same thing the other way around—accentuating the positive—the playing should seem calm and serene, the hands and feet should be able to move from one spot in the music to the next at a fairly even pace, the player should be able to remain relaxed and keep a light touch. In fact, the whole thing should feel easy. Performing is not easy; having the patience to practice well is not easy; the act of practicing should be easy.
(It is also important to note that an occasional or rare wrong note that happens while practicing a passage is not necessarily a problem or a reason to slow down. A recurring wrong note usually is. Clusters of wrong notes are. But the scrambling, uncomfortable feeling described here is the most compelling reason to try a slower tempo.)
If a teacher guides a student towards recognizing that a passage or piece is being practiced at too fast a tempo—without specifically suggesting a practice tempo, but instead inviting the student to try it more slowly and to be on the lookout for all of the signs described above, negative and positive—then the teacher will be helping that student to develop a lifelong ability to guide his or her own practicing effectively.
It is important for students to know that when you play though a passage in a way that has an element of scrambling to it—the “high-wire” or emergency feeling—you are actually not practicing the passage at all. Practicing a physical gesture, or set of physical gestures, of the sort we are talking about here is a matter of repeating that gesture until it becomes second nature. (I believe—from conversations I’ve had with people who have studied the subject—that this is at least in part a matter of imprinting something on the cerebellum as opposed to the cerebrum. In any case, it is something quite real and specific neurologically.) When you play a passage wrongly you are actually making the wrong gestures second nature: you are imprinting (on your cerebellum?) the acts of scrambling, getting the wrong notes, hesitating, hitting keys too hard, using unnecessarily complicated fingerings, having trouble breathing, etc. In the end you will have learned to do those things.
On the other hand, if you start off at an appropriate tempo, then you can practice, as I put it last month, “a genuine slow-motion version of the final desired result.” Then, following the procedure that I outlined last month, you can work it up to any desired tempo.
There are two other issues about practicing that are important to discuss alongside the basic procedure proposed in these two columns: 1) keeping it going, and 2) (not) looking.
It is always a good idea to keep whatever bit of music you are playing going steadily, in tempo (plus or minus any purposeful interpretive rubato), without letting anything distract you or derail your playing. In the context of practicing a passage, however short or long, it is important to know where you plan to stop—in order to go back and play it again—and both to keep it going until that point and in fact to stop there and go back and repeat the passage as many times as you have planned. If you allow yourself to be distracted by anything—a noise outside, your teacher’s cell phone, a light flickering—then you are in part practicing letting yourself be distracted. This is the last thing that you want to prepare yourself to do in performance. However, if you allow yourself specifically to be distracted by hearing a wrong note, that is even worse. If you are planning to stop, or allow yourself the possibility of stopping, when you hear yourself make a wrong note, then as you play you will inevitably divert some of your concentration onto monitoring each note for “wrongness” and to deciding whether or not something that you have just heard justifies stopping. All of your focus, however—all of it—should be on what comes next. As soon as your fingers or feet are committed to playing a given note, your mind should be on to the next note.
I have known students to stop abruptly upon hearing themselves play a particular right note. Either they had already programmed themselves to stop, assuming that the note would be wrong, or, again expecting a wrong note, they were astonished into stopping by the unexpected sound of the correct note! In any case, it is just a distraction. Also, often a student will hear a wrong note, stop, and play the correct note and go on. This does not even constitute actually practicing that note effectively, since practicing a particular moment in a piece actually consists of practicing getting to that moment from whatever came before it.
If a student has trouble bringing him- or herself to keep playing through wrong notes in lessons, this often comes from a desire to signal to the teacher that he or she knew that the note was wrong. It can feel humiliating to make a wrong note without, in a sense, atoning for it right away. It is worth reminding students that there is plenty of time to discuss what was good or bad about a particular time through a passage when that passage has ended, and that the teacher will think more rather than less of a student for waiting!
It is, I believe, quite important not to look at the hands or feet while practicing, and it is worth trying to learn not to, or trying to get into the habit of not doing so. But it is also important not to become so preoccupied with not looking that that becomes a distraction in itself. It is, in the end, OK to glance down a little bit, while bearing in mind the reasons to try not to do so very much.
The problems with looking at the hands or feet during practicing are several:
1) If you find a note, or several notes, or a chord—or whatever—by looking for that note (those notes) and then putting the fingers or feet in the right place and pushing, you have essentially not practiced the act of finding and playing those notes at all. The physical gesture that you are trying to imprint has not happened, or, at least, your mind has not focused on it and followed it. The brain has used an alternate, visual, route to the ostensibly correct note. Practicing that involves a significant amount of looking is inefficient: it will probably get you there eventually, but it will take longer.
2) Whenever you take your eyes away from the page, you run the risk of not finding your place again.
3) If you are playing a passage and you are (even subconsciously) expecting to find a fair number of the notes by looking, then there will almost certainly be a large amount of hesitation in the playing. Even when your hands or feet have in fact traveled correctly, and on time, to the next note, you may well hesitate to play it until you have checked it out visually. There is often an overall jerkiness and lack of convincing pulse to playing that involves a lot of looking. This will usually go away immediately if the player quits looking so much.
4) The vast majority of wrong notes happen not because the player does not know where the notes are on the keyboard (and thus needs to look for them), but because the player does not honestly know what the next note is supposed to be.
This last point is one of the most important about the act of practicing and about learning to play. The keyboard is basically very simple, and it stays in place. Anyone who has played a little bit has, even if unknowingly, developed a strong instinct for where the keys are. Many players, including most students and almost all beginners, do not believe this. They assume that wrong notes and insecurity come about because they don’t know where the next note is. The wrong note count in a passage, if it is at all high, will almost always go down immediately upon the player’s starting to keep his or her eyes (by and large) on the music. In working on helping a student to practice effectively, this should be taken into account before choices are made about what practice tempos are appropriate.
Specifically, if there is a fairly persistent wrong note in a passage being practiced, but that passage feels generally secure enough that the tempo does not need be slowed down, a student will want to start correcting that wrong note by looking, or will assume that looking is the only technique for getting the note right. Instead of looking, however, the student should try this: first notice in which direction the note is wrong. A wrong note can only come about because of moving a finger, hand, or foot either too far or not far enough. Once it is clear which of these has happened, the student should, on the next time through the passage, simply think “all right, I’ve been moving too far, so I’ll move a little bit less,” or the opposite, as needed. This simple thought—mechanical rather than musical in nature—will almost always work. Coupled with this, the student should keep his or her eyes on the music and not lose the information that is found there.
One final thought. These two columns have been intended to outline a rigorous and efficient approach to practicing. It is certainly a good idea for students to follow this approach, or one that incorporates some of its ideas, a good deal of the time. Practicing every piece this way—in small increments, always starting slowly enough, speeding up only gradually, keeping the eyes on the music—will lead to the most efficient learning of pieces and the quickest and most secure development of a player’s ability. This kind of practicing is satisfying since it gives such prompt and evident results. It should also be just plain fun for people who love the repertoire and the instruments. However, it is important to remember that not every minute at the keyboard has to be spent doing the most disciplined work. It is a very good idea for any player, student or not, to have some out-and-out frivolous fun at the keyboard as well: play pieces you already know too fast and see how well you can keep them going; sight read pieces that are too hard, just slow enough that it’s plausible, and don’t worry too much about wrong notes; play easy pieces on all sorts of different registrations, including outlandish ones.
Every player—and every student, perhaps with input from a teacher—can decide how great a proportion of time spent at the keyboard should be spent on well-designed rigorous practicing and how much on other kinds of playing. An awareness that you are doing enough of the former should permit you to relax and enjoy the latter!