Do we play for us or for the others?

by Nikos Kokkinis | May 31, 2019 | 0 comments

Arguably, we, the people who associate ourselves with music and the piano, do play for the others.

Well, we play for the others in concerts, in classes, etc., but first and foremost, we play for ourselves. What do you think?

Since our species is mainly tribal in nature, we exert satisfaction from all kinds of external approval, such as when performing, and thus, performing for the others is considered a main component of our human predispositions. Remember that, in a way, we do constantly perform in our everyday lives; we speak in gatherings, we care of how we look, we carefully utter our thoughts, and so on and so forth. Αll this belongs to the “performing” categorization. Thus, somehow, performing should benefit us, otherwise we wouldn’t do it.

Coming to music and piano, even though you might argue that you play chiefly for your own wellbeing, or “for myself” as we normally say, ultimately, you mainly play for some different sets of ears. At the same time, playing for others makes us happy and content, and since this gives us some sort of gratification that means we also play for ourselves.

Thus, on a most basic level, this is a wonderful musical vicious circle. But, is there a definite answer to the question raised in the title of this article? I think there is. Let’s carry on.

Paraphrasing The Enlighted self-interest philosophy in ethics, one could argue that musicians who perform for the satisfaction of an audience, ultimately perform for the satisfaction of themselves. Thus, this philosophy maintains that offering something of value to the others is only approvable—at least subconsciously—if it benefits oneself. So, coming to music and simplifying the above principle, we play for the audience and benefiting them with our wonderful sound, because it benefits us first in many levels by playing to that audience. Go figure.

And then there’s this other thing; why do we play for the others, even if we know that we walk a tightrope, performing music that can sabotage our musical standing if we didn’t deliver it properly? Why we subject ourselves to the tyranny of stress and tachycardia? Do we really do this for our own benefit? Well, fortunately my incapable mind didn’t have to answer this question; a bigger, more robust mind, luckyly did it for me: The German philosopher Emmanuel Kant.

He asserted that—I’m paraphrasing—we do things not because we care if they are right or wrong, but because they fulfill, in a way, our inner urges. So, in essence, if Kant was lecturing a piano student, he would instruct him to just go for it, without caring about memory lapses, wrong notes, or approval from his peers, and just play, because this way he will satisfy his inner need of performing; and ultimately, he will be first catering to himself.

Schools of thought always maintained that the central reason of our actions is to promote our own wellbeing. And, before I continue oversimplifying the research of the great minds of this world, I would just finish this by expressing to you why I perform.

I perform for myself. At least, this is what I believe I do. I don’t do it for the others. Even if someone asks me to do it in exchange for a fee, it still benefits me in a most basic and Darwinian way, and I cannot alter that. I like what I’m doing and I feel that if my enjoyment is shared by an audience, that’s really fantastic. However, when an audience’s approval coincides with my love of performing, that’s still incidental. But what could be a better “incident” than that?

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Many, many thanks to Manuel Nageli for his wonderful image used in this article. Please click the black button below for more images of the artist.

Manuel Nägeli

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Tenuto, Tenēre, Tenure

by Nikos Kokkinis | Apr 30, 2019 | 0 comments

One of the most misunderstood articulations in the arena of piano techniques, tenuto, traditionally suffers from lack of identity.

“What am I? Who am I? What is my purpose in this life” asks tenuto, and often there are vague answers and contextual definitions that are often conveniently chosen by both teachers and performers—guilty as charged, your honor.

I like to simplify things when tenuto appears in my score. I simplify chiefly because of my vast ignorance when it comes to performance and pianistic articulations, but also for a reason that, despite my musical incapacities, I find noble; I simplify the explanation of tenuto, because my pupils deserve a clear definition of what tenuto represents and how to perform it. At least in their early encounters with this articulation.

Thus, I believe students must have a concrete “first” answer of what something means, before trying to translate it into different musical contexts and even define it themselves eventually.

How to play tenuto

For me tenuto on the piano means to play a note (or chord) with an inner intention to crescendo it—“amplify it”. An impossible task for the piano, crescendoing an already pressed note, shouldn’t stop us, however, from dreaming and imagining that a note has the potential to widen once it has been pressed and that it can be urged to kind of grab the next one.

Tenuto is so different from immediate dynamics that show the intensity of a note’s attack, such as fz, or sffz, and, naturally, different from dynamics such as p or ff. Unlike other piano techniques, tenuto implies that its ultimate effect is to have an inner development.

This for me is in essence when Elaine Gould writes “…holding a note for its full length…” in her monumental masterpiece Behind Bars. She also adds in her brief explanation that tenuto can also be “…a slight separation from surrounding notes…”, but I tend to concentrate on her first definition, that coincides with mine. Since, if a composer had to really persuade the listener that he intents to separate each note, all he had to do is to just write a note au naturel. No need really to add the tenuto line, since the end result, arguably, can be indistinguishable from the non-legato articulation. Except… if you stress the note. Hm…

And this is why in most contexts and composers, I would shamelessly assert to my pupils that there is perhaps only one definition to this tenuto riddle. Then, when students will have grasped my central definition of it, they can then experiment with stresses, durations, eras, schools of pianism, etc., and even later develop their own philosophy behind this dreaded articulation.

Let’s see in context:

Bach

At the ending of Christian Petzold’s Minuet in G Major (anh 114), every so often we see in editions that the last note (G) is to be played tenuto—Bach didn’t add this to the original 1725 manuscript. For most performers tenutoing this last note means that they should carefully place their hand on the key and firmly (quickly) press the note to achieve a deeper, kind of louder effect, and sort of emphasise that last note. See example below:

For me, a use of tenuto in this context implies that this very last note is equally important, and signals a not-so-unnoticed ending to this famous minuet. It demands from the performer to try and crescendo that very last note, as you would on the last chord of the first movement of Beethoven’s 4^thquartet. See below; performers would customarily crescendo that last chord after it has been struck, and let it develop before its rounded-up finish.

Rachmaninov

In Rachmaninov’s prelude No 3, Op.23 in G minor, the use of tenuto (edition Boosey & Hawkes) signals a conscious effort of the first chord to both have a presence (mf), and also to “crescendo” before it grabs the next one in A major. See example below:

This attempt to crescendo that first chord is by no means futile, and tenuto possesses a unique capability, indeed, to describe this dynamical endeavour: You wouldn’t necessarily use a crescendo line here (even a dotted one), because it would have been harder to show that this first chord of the piece has a significant presence, as well— At the same time, the use of a musical directions, such as sfz or >, won’t do here either, because they would subconsciously imply a defuse of that first chord after it was played— The engraver here, clearly wanted the pianist to think that this first chord is “opening-up” its dynamic level.

A contrasting crescendo of an already pressed key, however, can be seen in the next example from Brahm’s third violin and piano sonata op.108 in D minor (third movement, bar 37, Edition Peters).

Here, Brahms wants an inner crescendo on the D of the left hand, but he wants the crescendoing to develop from the ground up in contrast to tenuto; Brahms doesn’t want that D to have a weighty musical posture, because it will arguably steal some presence from the C major chord of the next bar. See example below:

Prokofiev

Here’s another example that shows that notes with tenuto on the piano are asked to do something that is not pragmatically possible. In the following example from Prokofiev’s fourth piano sonata, the composer is adamant that there’s only one way to show that the notes on tenuto are to be held for as much as possible, and even develop after they have been pressed.

Non-legato or any other articulation won’t be enough for the composer to assert that even the notes that belong in the weaker part of the measure, do still have a long journey to travel. See below:

As am I closing this, and before I further talk your heads off, I would like to gently remind you that portato is equally waiting just around the corner to baffle you… Pfff.

But that’s for another episode.

The examples in this article were engraved from their original sources (where mentioned) using the notation software MuseScore version 3.0.5.21343. The quotes used in this article are taken from Elaine Gould’s book on music notation Behind Bars: The Definitive Guide to Music Notation (Faber Edition). This essential book can be acquired from here or from here, amongst others.

What an Audience Wants

by Nikos Kokkinis | Mar 31, 2019 | 0 comments

When audiences come to us — that is to say, attend our performances — they come for a reason. They seek, and they demand. And rightfully so, of course, because let’s not forget that they have already honoured us first and offered us one of their most precious properties; their time. So, we have to honour them back, if I may say, thank them for coming, and offer them our music as a token of our gratitude. In this article, we talk about the things our audience seeks from us, the performers.

Here’s some of them:

Audiences seek their own satisfaction. That goes without saying, of course, and that is the first and foremost thing that an audience (and every human being in this life of ours, to be honest) cares about before they commence doing something. Audiences want to have a meaningful evening that will inspire THEM, will lift THEIR spirits and leave THEM fulfilled and regenerated.
The gestalt of your individual performance; The audience wants the aroma that your concert emanates and its enchanting aftertaste. They want to exit your concert venue thrilled, with their hearts pumping with excitement.
The gestalt of you. Through your music an audience will forge an idea of what you represent in life and what is essentially, well, you; they want to have more of that aura that you, customarily, give in your performances, and that’s why they may keep coming to your performances in the future. At the same time, the things they may not interest them that come from you, such as your political or religious views, will, however, inadvertently shape your sound, and thus, if the audience likes your art through your sound, they will, somehow, like you as an individual as well.
Your own interpretation of a piece they like; Your fans might like how you particularly phrase that nocturne by Chopin or your classical-piano take on Kapustin’s jazzy studies.
To experience new music. Audiences often want to test their ears with new composers and their latest creations.
An audience might be in the process of seeking new and refreshing interpretations on established repertoire. Not wise for a pianist to attempt, but let us be open and accept this as a possibility.
They might just want to re-taste an established interpretation on a piece they like, because you wouldn’t necessarily go to a concert demanding a radical approach to the Waldstein, for example -We tend to leave classic repertoire “as is”. Eccentricity or differentiation in interpretational approach is not always a reasonable goal for a pianist and could not necessarily come in line with what the composer themselves ultimately wanted.
To come closer to understand the meaning of life. Their coming to you is a conscious endeavour to understand the world and relish on its beauties, but not see its ugliness. So, you better play those notes correctly and usher those people further in apprehending a possible “meaning” of life.
Audiences come to you to become better. It’s an innate predisposition of humans to improve and to move forward in a “right” direction through the “right” medium, a medium they have pre-defined. Thus, you owe to be respectful and honoured by your fellow passengers on life’s train.

Before closing this, I would say that if I were you, I would concentrate on the last two things on the above list; because they show that humanity has indeed unique, honourable intentions. Even though I know that all the things we do are to ultimately benefit us and our own wellbeing, I would remain on the more romantic and idealistic side of life and keep believing that we still do things altruistically.

Oh, no. Altruism is still ME, ME, ME.

Many thanks to Jonas Jacobsson for the powerful image used in this article. Please, do visit below for more Wonderfull images.

Jonas Jacobsson

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What Doesn’t Interest An Audience

by Nikos Kokkinis | Mar 1, 2019 | 0 comments

We, the performers, often take for granted that people come to our performances to simply listen to us playing the piano. We might assume that audiences simply come to us, for us. And so, since they come to us, instead of the other way around, they must unconditionally accept the things that we have to offer.

However, we mustn’t forget that audiences have personalities and “egos” as well, and inevitably, they can also be indifferent to some of the things that emanate from us.

In this article we talk things that don’t interest an audience.

An audience is not interested in some of the following:

Your feelings; audiences couldn’t care less if you are kind, serene, a humanitarian, or an art lover, I’m afraid. They didn’t come to your concert to buy a painting you liked in the Met last week.
Your emotions; The audience don’t want anything to do with what triggered your anxiety after calling your bank this morning. They demand to listen to the Moonlight sonata if they may.
What you think of yourself; Maybe you love yourself or maybe you hate yourself, but the audience doesn’t mind at all either way.
Your physical shape at the time of your performance. They’re not in the least interested to know if you’re in pain because you twisted your ankle, or if you have a stiff neck because you didn’t do your weekly class of Pilates.
If you like the music you’re playing; Really, they’re so uninterested in that.
If you like the piano of tonight’s venue; Audiences are completely unmoved by your opinion that the piano you are about to perform on cannot project your “subtle techniques” or “expressive nuances” in Chopin’s fourth Ballade. So, on with performing, please!
Your attire. I mean, don’t really play the Appassionata wearing a wetsuit and you’ll be fine. No need to be wearing colorful jackets, backless dresses or extravagant bow ties, except, of course, if you want to distract your audience from your mediocre pianism; then you must.

Your own understanding of the music you are playing in that concert; zilch caring, too.
Your general music expertise; The audience didn’t pay your ticket because, say, you harmonise correctly a bassline, or you are very good in dectée, or you can write an in depth structural analysis on Schnittke’s second piano sonata.
Your numerous musical and theoretical qualifications, such as degrees, certificates, doctorates, Phd’s, Post Docs and the rest of noise that actually did nothing less than stopped you from practising the piano when it mattered the most.
Your other qualifications, such as your degree in law, or your Bachelors with honours in Agriculture; do I need to elaborate more on this?
If you are rich or poor; not a difference to them at all. They’ve already paid the ticket to your concert and made a reservation at the Italian restaurant later on. You are heading back home on a train, so relax.
What are your future goals; I mean, by all means record Medtner’s complete piano sonatas, or finish up the last act on your Opera, but tonight is neither the time nor the place to discuss it. Just play the piano if you don’t mind.
Your character. When the audience comes to see you play Schubert, they don’t care if you are well-mannered, compassionate, loyal, strict, easily offended, irate, or that you like the cats. They’d rather heard you… um, let me think, oh yes… PLAY THE PIANO.
Your political, or other personal views; I’ve never heard of a member of the audience saying he particularly liked an iteration of the Cadenza in Beethoven’s third piano concerto, but hated the rest because the pianist voted liberal in the previous general election.

So, yes, we are performers! Congratulations! Let’s give ourselves a pat in the back. And if there was a PhD in “audience pleasing” we’ll be sure the first to get it. However, we need to get off our high horse at once, and think about our audiences as well! Let’s stop delusioning. Can it really be that an audience is only interested in us and our “unique” personality traits? How much more self-centered can we be if we believed that?

Do I sound harsh and horrible? Yes, I do sound harsh and horrible and, please, feel free to condemn me and liberally add to my list of horribleness. If anything I should have been harsher though. Because I have a mission with these writings of mine. To help the gullible pianists become realistic and, well, less gullible and face the realities in their art.

So, when you perform, it’s not only about you. It’s also about your audience. On with your practising.

❦

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Many thanks to Radek Grzybowski for his Wonderfull image used in this article. For more images visit the link below.

Radek Grzybowski

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The Rule of Five

by Nikos Kokkinis | Feb 1, 2019 | 0 comments

Terry hung up the phone. He’s had enough. He was disgusted, alienated, but most of all, scared. The events manager at the Palm Springs Hotel and Resort had just, less than a minute ago, urged him to, lo-and-behold, learn the Overture from Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro. Well, as a matter of fact, not only learn, but, to Terry’s monumental surprise, play as well. “He’s a cheeky scoundrel”, Terry thought of the manager. The bride had apparently rethought the whole reception scenario and decided – in, obviously, a moment of extraordinary inspiration – that her husband’s to be photo slides should be accompanied by Mozart’s epic start, of a not so unpopular opera, the famed La Nozze Di Figaro. “Even the break dancers down the Palm Canyon Drive would’ve known that tune. I mean, they probably wouldn’t recognise the actual title of the work or its provenance per se, but, blimey, they must have heard the tune. That goes without saying. Imagine though, the people of my kind, the educated folk. They should know by heart every corner of that tune”. Terry exclaimed in despair. “And why that overture? Because the bride said, ‘it’s the right song to wash his sins away from his Casanova years.’ According to the manager, she gullibly thought that Casanova was an opera hero too, and that the overture was a ‘song’. Go figure.” Terry was one of those types, disadvantageous as he always thought it may be, that didn’t want to disappoint. On this occasion, he thought that refusing to play the Overture, could have jeopardised his musical career down the line – he knew deep inside, of course, that this couldn’t be the case even if a million years have passed – but, somehow, he always found an unpredictable way to succumb to that type of pressure and say “yes” to unnecessary troubles. Also, he had just sensed, by the way the manager uttered his words, that his job was considered to be of trivial nature; meaning to Terry’s mind, that the overture was seen by a third party as a piece-of-cake piece for a pianist of his calibre to learn. And so, following that mounting pressure, Terry thought all the more, that he shouldn’t deny the said endeavour. And to make things psychologically worse, he just remembered that two months earlier he had explicitly asked the manager if he was required to play anything else from Mozart, since he was already accompanying Liona Harris-Jones – the up and coming Californian soprano – on the Der Vieni Non Tardar in the wedding reception, only to be reassured that this notion couldn’t be further from materialising, since playing more Mozart didn’t constitute a fit with the rest of the music program. But, as dubious musician fate always appears uninvited in these occasions, poor Terry had to now learn the notes and make do with the little time left. Three days. He knew, of course, that he could have pulled that piece off in a jiffy had he had to play it in a lesser venue, but this time, given the short notice and the heaviness of the situation, he was practically walking on thin ice. “Anything can go wrong and I don’t want the video to end up on YouTube’s Funniest Weddings’ Videos Viral Collection.Well, if there is such channel available, that is.” Terry softly massaged his forehead with his right palm, in despair.

❦

“Well, I can’t let myself down this time, either. I must find a solution. My wife is going to kill me, of course, but what shall I do? I must barricade myself in the shed, glue my fingers to the piano, and learn that horrid intro. But then, should I simply call the manager and say no? Is it too late now? Maybe not. But is it the right thing to do? Don’t know. I feel tied up somehow and simply cannot pull myself together and call the manager at this juncture. I think I should just honour the nickname I have given to myself; The Doer.” Terry thought sarcastically. “The Doer…. What a ludicrous nickname. What a ludicrous nickname!” He said out loud twice. Terry had secretly given himself that very nickname seven years earlier, when he pulled off one of his most legendary career tricks, and landed himself the job as the weekend pianist at the Palm Springs Hotel and Resort. What had happened was, that the regular pianist, in his effort to avoid a cyclist on his way to the resort, crashed his car on a tree. The crash was so strong that his electric keyboard flew over from the back seat, jammed his right leg, crushing his knee and snapping a ligament, sending him straight to the ER. Jarred – that same manager that we were talking about at the start – called Terry, and with a deliberately velvety voice that made Terry feel like the greatest virtuoso alive, persuaded him to step in at the very last moment to save the day, after promising him that it was indeed a gig so easy that it could have been played by an intermediate level pianist, and naturally offered him twice the standard fee for inconveniencing him. Meanwhile, the official pianist, now in the hospital and traumatized by the crash, to his credit, in a moment of reflection, decided that he should make his career playing for the disadvantaged in hospitals and everywhere else he could, and two months later, after he was discharged from the hospital, he embarked on a cruise with his father to re-evaluate his priorities in life. So basically, Terry kept playing for the resort for the rest of the season, and continued renewing his contract ever since. Anyway. But before I describe to you what the poor old Terry did in order to reach the position to perform the Overture at the wedding, I owe to tell you what happened on the night the regular pianist got hospitalized and why because of this, Terry nicknamed himself “The Doer”. Well, Terry did indeed arrive at the resort that night to find the Gallery’s Steinway & Sons model D waiting for him in the restaurant downstairs. The management had just brought the piano downstairs using the staff elevator, because the hospitalised pianist’s Roland FP-30 together with his mixer and PA system, was now locked in his crashed VW beetle 53 miles away. Terry, was so ecstatic to be playing on a Steinway model D that he gave his all. So, that evening he played from Mozart, to Scarlatti sonatas, to Clyderman, to Chopin and to, believe it or not, Liberace. But the nickname he worthily gave to himself only came after a ninety-four year old lady, bless her, came to him following a standing ovation to the ecstatic finale of Liverace’s Boogie Woogie. She asked a sweating Terry, to sing for her and her husband the popular Strangers In The Night song. The momentum of the evening was traveling at such an exhilarating pace that Terry just went with it and started actually singing and playing that song to make the nonagenarian happy. That was actually his first time singing and playing the piano in front of an audience. But, as it turned out, not the last. I forgot to mention at the beginning that Terry was considering himself a solo pianist. He never played and sang at the same time in his career. He regularly accompanied singers and instrumentalists, but never sung, however. So, if I may say and I hope you would agree with me that he can be deservedly called “The Doer” just by accomplishing this endeavor, well, “live”. After the Strangers In The Night, and until the end of the night, he combined solo pieces together with some popular songs to the delight of his audience. Sorry, but I had to tell this little story before I continued, because it emphasised the strength of character and stamina needed to accomplish the feat you’re about to read in a minute. Friday 06:45. Almost three days to the wedding. Terry, a family man and a gigging musician, knew like no other that every second in a performer’s life was of utmost importance. He prepared a big mug of coffee and went to his shed to strategise about how he was going to learn the Overture. He sat at the piano and looked at the music. Chaos. The notes weren’t a problem, but the speed, was. This type of piece, had a unique problem: Since it was technically easy, ever so popular and the melody was on the front line, so to speak, any possible mishap would have been easily noticed. If Terry was to play a composer, such as Schnittke that uses clusters, I’d doubt that any member of the audience would have stood up pointing out a wrong note or rhythm. And I actually doubt that a similar scenario have ever occurred. — Could you imagine, in a live performance of Schnittke’s second piano sonata a member of the audience stand up and complain that the pianist played a wrong note? I’d doubt that this could happen in a million years — However, when it comes to popular works such as our La Nozze Di Figaro, a wrong note becomes much easier to spot, thus the anxiety not to mishit a key increases tenfold. And that was Terry’s biggest concern; not to miss a “critical” note that will unsettle the wedding-goers and, of course, the bride. “I must secure the notes in this tune and make it sound like it’s no biggie. To do this though, I can’t just practise relentlessly without structural aim. I have to find a way to bend the learning curve, well, downwards, and fast-track the memorisation process. What should I do though?” Terry clasped his hands and held his chin with his thumbs in agony. A few quite moments passed. And then, it hit him.

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“Hang on a second!” He said calmly in a thoughtful voice. “You know what? I think I found the solution to this riddle. I must call Nikos, the legendary publisher of PianoPractising.com. Yes, he will find the solution, for sure, being a great musician himself! Not to mention, that he has a great character with many favourable attributes. For example, he is very brave, extremely mature, and horribly generous. He is also a heroic pianist, and legend has it that he once played Chopin’s 24 preludes backwards. But let’s not forget that he competed in the Fastest Pianist Alive competition and came first in the trills category. What a legend! I really think he is indeed a great man. And as far as I can tell, he is the least pompous person I’ve ever met. He secretly told me once that he managed to save an old woman from the teeth of a white shark just by playing Richard Clyderman’s Mariage d’amour from the upper deck of a cruise-liner, allowing the shark to gently retreat backwards, But, as he is so modest, he simply wanted to conceal that story from the public eye. And many more heroic acts, but that’s not the place nor the time to discuss. Not to mention that he is a great writer. But anyway.” Terry picked up the phone… The phone kept ringing for at least a minute, and just before Terry was about to hung up, a voice at the end of the line said: “PianoPractising.com headquarters! With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with!?” “Hey Nikos, it’s Terry.” “Terry, my old pal, how are you doing!? Me? Very well indeed! Still saving the world from implausible Cadenza interpretations and unnecessary slowing-downs on difficult passages. But enough of me. Please, tell me about you Terry! You know me. If I start talking I could go on and on, and on, but when friends call I’m obliged to keep my words to the minimum, as they say, which means to keep my mouth shut and listen carefully. How’s Gina and the kids? Is she still holding a grudge against me for playing Rach’s first movement Cadenza at three o’clock in the morning when I last stayed with you guys? I hope she does because I deserved it. My behavior was extremely unacceptable, not only because I woke the kids up but also because I should have started from the beginning of the movement rather that diving in straight to the Cadenza without warming up. Who could have believed it! Me, playing without a warm-up. One should know better than that.” “Um, Nikos, sorry to interrupt, but I’m in deep water over here and I could certainly use a bit of help.” “Oh. I thought you just called to ask how’s my new lizard.” “Um. Well, Nikos, no. I called because I need your advice on a pianistic issue that I must resolve by Sunday afternoon.” “Um… advice… free… um… money zilch…. friendship…um… ok. Sure. What’s up?”

❦

And this is how Terry called our friend Nikos asking him to help him save the day. Nikos advised him to use his “Rule Of Five”. The rule of five simply dictated the following: A musician has to play a chosen passage perfectly for five consecutive times, before commencing to learn the next one. Here’s how it’s done with the use of an example: Say, you need to learn a passage that consists of 12 bars. Depending on difficulty and length of bars, you are free to choose the length of the passage that you are plan to repeat. Let’s assume that you chose to start with the first two bars. What you need to do is the following: First you start from the first bar and play though to the end of the second. Now you have to be observant. If you made a mistake, be it rhythmical, melodic or other, you have to redo the first time. If then you play that first time well, you tick it off and continue to the second repeat. The same applies to the second time. So, you keep playing until you played “perfectly” your chosen passage for five times in a row. Then, you can continue to the next passage. It’s that simple. This method, despite sounding gruelling and slow-moving, does in fact manage to ultimately accelerate the learning process of a work of music, especially in time-limited situations. That’s all. As a general advice, choose a passage that has a beginning and an ending type of structure. Terry did indeed perform the Overture at the wedding. His playing was ever so exhilarating and his agile fingers catapulted the audience’s adrenaline to the skies. For all his prior anxieties, no mistakes showed up in his performance and definitely not in critical places; all the melodic lines were clear and crisp and only here and there the left hand would have the odd foggy feel. He was content and happy to finally complete yet another musical challenge acceptably. The bride? She was ecstatic as well, but for other, non music-related reasons. She wouldn’t know any different, anyway.

❦

As for me? I’m Jerry, a carpenter and an amateur pianist that I live next door to Nikos’s. My story on how I experienced the Rule Of Five is much shorter but also very dull — I just couldn’t learn a piece in time for my girlfriend’s birthday, and since I knew Nikos I went over to his place one morning and asked for advice — You see? A boring story. So, that’s why I chose to tell you a more deserving story I heard from Nikos himself. Terry’s story.

Many thanks to GABRIEL for the image used in this article.For more images visit below.

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