Fingering
Fingering is a vital aspect of piano technique. Choreograph how your fingers will dance. Make an informed choice about how you’ll play and stick with it. This is an essential early step in learning a difficult passage.
I prefer Debussy’s philosophy that all hands are different and that as a result different pianists will use different fingerings. There are some practical commonalities, however, so it is good to listen to your teacher and at least be familiar with what is usually done. When you are getting started with a piece it is best to follow the written fingerings before making changes.
Develop good fingering habits. I was self-taught for most of my middle school years but it was during that time that I developed most of my finger technique. The teachers I had before my self-taught years didn’t let bad fingering or unhealthy technique happen, so even though I was on my own for a while I continued to develop good technical habits thanks to my teacher’s advice remaining with me and my being accustomed with always following printed editorial fingerings. I remember fingerings by Rafael Joseffy being particularly helpful. By the time I was fourteen—a homeschooled middle schooler with too much free time—I could play many programs worth of concert repertoire including some of the most difficult music for piano.
My first piano professor Jeffrey Gilliam exposed me to Taubman ideas and provided abundant and wonderfully specific, customized fingering advice. He was the teacher who prepared me for Eastman. My lessons were in the evening—I remember parking on the street below and “walking the plank” (a phrase used by Western students to describe climbing an interactive sculpture on a hillside) up to his studio below the Performing Arts Center at Western Washington University, where I would play for him late into the night, long past the time he reserved for me. He encouraged me to expand my musical boundaries—I’ve played Ligeti and Art Tatum thanks to his influence. His ingenious fingering ideas certainly helped me manage some tricky Rachmaninoff and Prokofiev.
Practice habits
I am thankful my teachers helped me develop good technical habits and showed me how to practice slowly to prevent injury. Avoid practicing too quickly too soon so that you don’t damage your body with the tension that comes from trying too hard. Our bodies can handle a lot of stress but repeated unhealthy movements over the years can lead to injury. Moreover, unhealthy tension in your body brings unhealthy tension to your sound.
At Eastman my teacher Rebecca Penneys helped me practice with far less tension. While her greatest contributions were in the realm of musical interpretation, impossible to describe here, she also showed me wonderful technical possibilities, making many difficult things much easier. In lessons she would toss off perfectly executed and poetic demonstrations of Beethoven and Chopin, looking completely at ease in her Birkenstocks and cozy clothing. This isn’t to say that lessons with her were easy, but her intelligent approach to technique, not all balls-to-the-wall, showed me what was possible with the efficient use of physical resources.
Posture: fingers, wrist, elbows, shoulders, and torso
Fingers
Curving your fingers can be healthy but try to use as much of the padded part of your fingertips as you can. One of my childhood teachers was obsessed with using finger pads and I’m quite grateful for it. I like to think I prefer a slightly lower bench to help facilitate curving fingers and using finger pads at the same time. At Eastman Ms. Penneys advised a lower bench, too. Perhaps my French Canadian last name, a gift from my father passed down from ancestors from Quebec and Toronto, has subtly influenced me to imitate the Canadian Glenn Gould who always performed on a low chair. But there’s nothing wrong with sitting higher if it works for you.
Wrist and Elbow
To make a singing tone with the piano your wrists should be flexible yet strong. Your wrist is part conductor, part diaphragm. It leads the way in lateral motion, supported by the elbow.
Shoulders
Relaxed yet engaged shoulders will help you produce a forte that isn’t too harsh. Some shoulder movement is inevitable but if you keep them tensely elevated you will interrupt the flow of energy that should start in your core and move out to your fingertips.
Torso
Franz Liszt, the legendary Hungarian pianist, used the image of a tree to suggest how your body moves at the piano. Think of a tree in the wind. The fluttering leaves are your fingers, moving the most; the smaller twigs are your hand and wrist; your arms are the branches, also moving but a bit less; your torso is the trunk of the tree, moving the least but still engaged with the music.
Interpretation: play like you’re improvising
I don’t feel like I know a piece until I feel like I am improvising it. If you are acquainted with improvisation and composition it becomes much easier to understand what makes a piece of music tick. I mentioned fingering and other physical aspects but another part of music technique is knowing harmony and the reason for its particular existence in a piece: why it is happening and wanting to make it happen, on an intellectual level but also on an artistic, emotional level.
Starting in the late autumn after I turned fifteen I focused mostly on composition. My physical technical ability to play piano had developed to an advanced level but I wanted to explore writing music, too. During the next three and a half years I spent most of my efforts composing clunky sonatas, which, though unremarkable, helped me see music from a composer’s perspective—why certain notes follow other notes. I continued learning repertoire, performing concertos and solo programs, but my teacher didn’t offer specific fingering advice or give demonstrations at the piano. He seemed to enjoy talking about music for hours without asking me to play. I didn’t particularly prefer or want to imitate his style but these composition lessons helped me read between the lines of a score.
There is so much more to playing music than reading notes, though the written music is the vital cell from which springs your interpretation. Actors have nothing but a script to work with and must fill in quite a bit to create a convincing character. Imagine Shakespeare, in addition to writing the spoken words of his plays, had included detailed instructions for the actors such as “quiver thy lip here,” “fix thy gaze upon the back row,” or “stab Mercutio forthwith at a 48.2 degree angle.” This is, of course, ridiculous. Somehow with just the script the actors know what to do. In music, we must fill in many gaps to “act a role” in performance. It would be rather arrogant to think you are Beethoven resurrected when playing his music, but performing with a level of assurance and understanding that makes it feel as if you are improvising goes a long way toward making a good performance.
Reading music
I once heard a blind pianist play beautifully some of the most technically and musically demanding repertoire—not everyone can read music. But you should if you can. My earliest teachers, while Suzuki supporters, taught me to read music and wholeheartedly encouraged sight reading. There is a misconception that Suzuki instructors teach only by rote. One of my Suzuki teachers told me she enjoyed sight reading Beethoven sonatas and open scores and wanted me to be able to do the same thing. While rote elements make up a part of beginning music lessons, as with spoken language it is important to know the meaning of the sounds being made. Knowing music theory and being able to read music help that happen. I am thankful to have had a solid foundation in these skills from my earliest teachers. Sight reading and theory proficiency cannot show you what music means, but they can help organize how you think about it.
Lessons and input from other musicians
Whether it comes from a teacher or a colleague, this is the most important way to improve your technique. I am thankful to have had many inspiring experiences working with teachers and other musicians; even the less inspiring experiences taught me something. If you don’t agree with feedback someone gives you, more often than not you can be sure that music matters just as much to them as it does you do so it doesn’t hurt to at least listen. In moments of insecurity we all can cherry pick and take pot shots at each other; some who show little of their own craft are sometimes the most eager to criticize the output of others. But overall this is just the occasional side effect that comes with hanging out with other musicians. You’ll be thankful for how their company helps you grow.
Chamber music helps you play better
Playing with other instruments and instrumentalists adds to the palette of color and variety you draw from when making solo music at the piano. The piano imitates and suggests something more interesting than its hammers and strings if the imagination of the one playing is informed by other instruments. And as an instrument which can convey contrapuntal complexity, the piano responds well to a musician who tries to convey a dialogue of voices. As a graduate student I found my chamber music side quests to be more inspiring than lessons with my piano professor. I learned from my colleagues while watching their bows, anticipating their breathing, listening to the dialogue between all the players. This contrapuntal conversation is present throughout music and is artistically rewarding when sought out.