Fermata • The Pianodao Blog
Short Reflections by Andrew Eales
It’s shocking, really, this thought that the way we play a piece of music can be regarded as either ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. Because while basic accuracy, precision and technical control have always mattered, they’ve never been the fundamental beating heart of music.
Where did we get the idea that talking about piano playing in so binary a way is appropriate? When did elitist judgment overtake the purity of musical enjoyment? Certainly, the overstated opinions of teachers have played their part, and the more senior the expert, the more authoritatively correct their views are supposed to be.
Exams, competitions, and ‘masterclasses’ further instil a sense that music has to be played in a certain way, with marks and prizes typically awarded according to how successfully a performance meets a set of prescribed criteria, how well it conforms to received wisdom, or how closely it resembles the judge’s or examiner’s own interpretation.
Curiosity, the playful spark of original thinking and creative exploration, is easy enough to appreciate, but perhaps harder to codify and quantify in an agreed mark scheme.
A corrosive legacy
And yet there’s surely something a bit sterile and corrosive about judging our own and other people’s piano playing in such a rigid, dogmatic way.
I’m not saying we should stop caring about accuracy, or quit trying to reproduce a great composer’s written intentions. Rather, that alongside these we should foster personal engagement in our playing, value creative experimentation more highly than we do (and without fear), and take a more rounded approach to the development of artistry.
‘Right’ and ‘wrong’ too often become the enemy of curiosity and creativity, a ball-and-chain used to thwart individuality, and promote conformity over freedom of expression. But the greatest composers have never allowed their artistry to be undermined or dismissed by small-minded pedantry.
I believe we could move a little closer to their creative greatness. Clinging to the exactitude of composers’ scores or interpretations gleaned from another pianist’s recordings is undoubtedly instructive, but there’s a fertile freedom beyond that, waiting to be rediscovered.
We teachers may not have been encouraged to develop our individuality. Our own sense of musical worth might be bound to the values and strictures others imposed on us, their narrow interpretations repurposed to become our ‘expertise’. We may feel it’s risky to venture beyond this legacy, but perhaps we can reach for and encourage even greater heights.
Open-minded teaching
What happens if a note printed in the score we are using turns out to be a misprint? Does the error somehow invalidate our performance? Of course not! In fact those who treat the score as sacrosanct, infallible, or even our best guide are perhaps themselves misinformed about historical performance practice.
There’s no denying that some aspects of any new piece need to be treated as givens. We should approach all music with respect, or not at all. But when a pianist plays a ‘wrong’ note, it is more likely that they simply misread it, misunderstood the notation, suffered a memory lapse or technical slip, and not that they are being deliberately rebellious.
Rather than simply ‘correcting’ the note, as though it was a stupid or naughty thing to do, let’s dig for clues about what went ‘wrong’ in the learning process. Let’s diagnose and replace misunderstanding with clarity, and fix ineffective practice habits.
Beyond accurately understanding and conveying the notes and timing, any written (or heard) dynamics, articulation, and other details should also of course be considered, investigated, played around with. But notation rarely conveys the full essence of a composer’s expressive intention, and we must always reflect on the context and performance practices in which a piece is rooted.
Becoming a three-dimensional pianist involves understanding the context, notation, and intentions of the musicians whose music we are engaging with. It involves developing the technique that allows us to realise our own performance goals with ease. And it involves communicating expression and joyous creativity.
Creativity is not a compartmentalised activity to be tacked onto lessons as an optional extra if time permits; rather it should be built into all that we do, and especially when exploring the music of others, and personalising it within our own repertoire.
Switching lanes
Perhaps ‘getting it right’ equates to ‘staying in your lane’. A good driver soon learns to do this (and those who can’t really shouldn’t be on the road!). But they remain alert to the existence of parallel lanes and alternative routes. They are taught to confidently change lanes, and often need to do so in order to arrive at their destination safely and on time.
We are neither meant to ‘stay in our lane’, nor insist that others play our way. A teacher’s interpretation of a piece is never the only one, or even the ‘right’ one. In fact, there isn’t a ‘right’ one. If there were, all professional recordings and performances would sound alike, and classical music would be fundamentally redundant as an art form.
Listening to some, one might be forgiven for missing the point that music is a creative superhighway with multiple lanes, countless destinations and exciting routes to explore.
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