Learn How to Play Piano from Expert

I now come to the loud or sustaining pedal, which Rubinstein aptly called “the soul of the piano.” It certainly is the best friend the pianist has at his disposal for helping him to overcome the material drawbacks of the pianoforte’s constitution, and without it no legato playing or prolongation of tone would be possible at all.

Of course, there are two pedals on the modern pianoforte, even sometimes three, but the soft one is only used, as its name implies, for deadening the sound. The loud pedal, as it is called, is the real important factor, and when I speak of the pedal in future as a general term, it is always to this one that I am referring. The name “loud pedal” is really a misnomer, as its function is rather to sweeten the sound and render it more open, and also to add brilliance to the tone rather than actual loudness. If the pedal is a good friend it can also be the worst possible enemy if badly employed. Nothing is more terrible than the general blur cast over everything by the pedal when it is applied without expert knowledge. A few simple rules about how it should be used are as follows.

I have already mentioned that the pedal must be changed on different harmonies; it should also never be taken directly on the first beat of the bar to obtain the best results, but in syncopation with that beat, as in the example below.

In fact, the keyboard ought never to be struck hard at all in legato passages or in melody of any kind. On the contrary, the keys must be caressed with a sort of almost stroking movement, to obtain the requisite tone-values. And in connection with this there is another thing to which I attach great importance, namely, that the hand in its attitude on the keyboard should reflect in some degree the spirit of the music.

For instance, it would not be natural to hold the hands as formally when playing Chopin as in the performance of sixteenth century music. Again, in a vivacious piece the hands should look sprightly and full of energy, while in slow cantabile movements they should present a soft and sinuous appearance. For even the fact of the hand looking hard and stiff during playing will assuredly affect the sound adversely, and rob it of beauty of quality.

All these things are intimately connected with the preparation of a fine touch upon the piano. The word “touch,” as a musical term, signifies really the mode by which the fingers attack the keyboard. For the great difficulty to be contended with on the piano when it is necessary to produce a singing tone lies in this, that by its mechanical composition, if once a key is struck upon the instrument, no further modification of the sound-quality is possible. No vibrato or mellowing of the tone can be afterwards applied as on stringed instruments; with the piano, all is over when the ringer has once fallen and the hammer has struck the strings.

Therefore anything that can be done to sweeten the tone must be attempted before the striking of the note. By this I mean that an infinitesimal time should elapse between the action of lifting the finger to strike and the definite falling of the finger upon the key. Touch must be thus prepared in the playing of all melody and singing passages with a slow pressing movement of the hand and fingers. This caressing touch could not, of course, be employed in rapid difficult passages, where direct quick blows of the fingers are indispensable in order to save time. In such cases, and in the higher development of technical brilliance, no more lifting of the fingers is necessary than is compatible with distinct articulation.

As far as the general rules of interpretation are concerned, I will give a few which appertain to what might be called the syntax of music. Such are the following. An ascending passage should be played with a crescendo, a descending passage with a diminuendo. The pedal must be changed according to the harmonies, in order to blend the tones, and to enable notes to be held on which the fingers could not manage without its assistance. Rhythm, too, as distinct from time, must be clearly marked, so as to indicate where accents ought to fall, and to create atmosphere. Music played without true rhythm will always sound colourless and insipid. Time should also be well defined, that it may preserve the general form of the composition.

Skilful use of all these means makes up the art of interpreting, and it is for the mentality of the pianist to employ them in their varying degrees, to mould them, combine them, and dispose of them, and thus invest the whole work with the pulsating breath of actuality. No doubt there must exist in the interpreter a natural good taste which will govern his outlook, and this can only spring from a sound musical instinct trained by education, and by hearing great artists perform. For it goes without saying that there are no absolute rules about interpretation. There can but be some broad outlines of style and taste to stimulate the imagination of the student, and help him in his task.

As I have already pointed out, the interpretations of the masterpieces of music by great artists become established as traditions. Still the personal thought of the performer should make its influence felt in the rendering of all music, even of the most classical type, if that rendering is to be of any -real value and interest, only this personality has to conform to the general dicta of the style. Thus it will be found that no two fine artists will interpret a piece in the same way. There may be a thousand differences of expression in their particular performance, and each of them equally correct. This fact only illustrates how imagination and colour may be infused into interpretation in much variety. For great musical compositions may well be compared to beautiful landscapes, which are ever changing in colour and effect through the action of atmospheric conditions. On no two days does the country look alike, yet its composition and outline remain fixed, everlasting.

It is told of Beethoven that he played over one of his own compositions to a talented pupil in order to give him some idea of the interpretative side, and then asked the student to play the same piece again. This was done, and the master complimented him, remarking that although it differed greatly from the original, it was decidedly better.

This reminds me of Tchaikovsky, who was asked, after conducting a composition of his own, why he did not do so in the same way as he had once done before. “My friend,” the master replied, “if you ever see me conduct this again, it will be different still. It is merely a matter of mood.”

Another detail which it is necessary for the student to bear in mind is that technical passages ought never to be played as if they were of purely digital dexterity, as this method makes of such passages only hard, uninteresting interludes of display, wearisome to the listener and of no value musically. All technical passages, even the most difficult ones, should be considered as embroideries of the main harmonies; in fact, they are the rhetoric of the composition.

Melody also should not be knocked out with unbalanced enthusiasm to the entire detriment of the accompaniment, nor should any two notes of a melody be given with exactly the same tone colour, for this will create monotony of sound. Every single tone should be on a general scale of gradation, each having its own place in the scheme of chiaroscuro; because the mechanical tone of the piano itself, with which we are dealing, makes it imperative that every device to conjure up perspective and charm should be brought into service, and above all typewriting effects of precise striking must be strenuously avoided.

And now for a few words about individual chord playing, as it is so important to discover the right way to produce a fine and noble sound when striking these. The first essential here is to find how to obtain strength without hardness of touch. Strength there must be, of course, tempered by judgment, for without it the pianist will be unable to give out enough and graduating increase of tone when necessary. For especially in a dramatic piece where one often meets with an ever-growing crescendo of tone culminating upon a given point, if the performer lacks accumulative force he cannot achieve this effect, and so the piece may end in an anti-climax and the whole artistic meaning of the work be missed.

Now one way to produce strength of tone is to throw the hands down on the chords by lifting them high above the keys before striking. I do not advocate this, as it is so uncertain, and disaster may easily overtake the player at any moment by his falling upon the wrong notes. For it needs great precision of eye to strike many notes together correctly from a height.

How, then, can extra force be applied without sacrificing the accuracy of notes or the tone quality? With abrupt chords I find the following method efficacious, namely a quick contraction of the forearm, accompanied by an action of the fingers, as though they were trying to dig themselves into the keys.

For final chords at the end of a great passage, the same digging of the fingers and contraction of the forearm should be supplemented by a motion of the hand turning round upon the notes with a sort of jerk, as if it was trying to lock or unlock a key in a door. The fingers at the same time having finished their digging action should contract slightly towards the palm of the hand. Passages ending with a single note that has to be struck with great power or vehemence can also be manipulated by this same action of the hand, which I call the “lock-the-door motion.” It is most effective in adding extra strength when necessary, and even in pianissimo chords, where distinctive accent is required, it will be found to apply successfully, though with these, of course, the turning and contraction of the hand will only amount to a slight pressure abruptly administered.

In general, I advise that with all chord playing, whether in abrupt individual cases or in successions of legato chords, the strength and volume of tone should be produced by concentrated pressure from the forearm. For thereby will the pianist draw from his instrument a deep and resonant sound, and avoid hard blows that recall the wood and iron elements of its constitution which it should always be his first aim to make his audience forget.

Scales in Thirds with Fingerings Marked

Chromatic Thirds

It must always be remembered, of course, that the device is only a creation of the imagination and must in no wise be allowed to become evident or interfere with the proper rhythm. But as a mental measurement it will always facilitate the negotiating of rapid jumps correctly and continuously. The last passage in the Concerto in C minor of Saint-Saëns for piano and orchestra, also serves to illustrate the method of reducing the difficulty by this calculation of the mind.

Passage from C minor Concerto of Saint-Saëns to illustrate the mental device of
considering the Octaves in groups of threes, as indicated by the lines below,
though the sound of the rhythm must remain in 3/4 time.

Still more hard than so-called simple octave technique is that where intermediate notes between the octaves have to be struck together with them, as in successive progression of rapid chords, such as are to be found in the opening cadenza of Liszt’s E flat Concerto. (Picture 1) This starts with a tremendous sequence of grand chords in C major, which is extremely difficult to play accurately, and can only be mastered by unceasing practice. In such a passage the wrist should be kept loose and the intermediate notes (in the chord of C major it is the second finger on G) should be struck with rather a stiff finger, so as to form a sort of point of support, the thumb and 5th fingers, however, falling loosely on the two octave notes, C and Octave C. The hand should be arched and form a cup-like position. Thus :

Showing position of hand when playing Octaves
with intermediate notes.

The stiffening of the intermediate finger must be very slight and almost imperceptible; in fact, here again it should be little more than a mental impression. I give the fingering which I use in the afore-mentioned passage in chords out of the Liszt concerto, in the hope that it may help some who may be struggling with that particular cadenza. (Picture 1)

For very rapid octave scales with intermediate notes, it is of assistance, instead of striking the middle note with the finger in its natural position, which interferes here with speed, to strike it upon the key with the first phalange joint of the finger, as in the following passage out of Saint-Saëns C minor Concerto. Thus :

Showing intermediate note taken
with phalange joint to help speed.

Extract from Saint-Saëns C minor Concerto.

The above is a passage where the intermediate notes between the Octaves can be struck with the whole of the first phalange joint of the finger instead of with the tip of the finger simply. This is a device for facilitating speed, and can only be used in the right hand.

But this last is a technical hint for helping rapidity, to be used only by those who have already reached a considerable stage of virtuosity and also possess a wide stretch of the hand, and it should in no case be adopted by the student even of advanced technique! I merely mention it as a curious instance of the little ingenuities that can make the greatest difficulties become possible.

What are termed broken octaves are also continually to be met with, especially in adaptations of pieces from orchestral scores and in the works of Beethoven and Mozart. These have to be played with great skill if they are to sound really well and make a good effect, therefore they must be patiently studied. For practising them I advise using the 1st and 5th fingers with equal strength, the wrist being kept stiff and the hand oscillating to and fro as if it and the fingers were made of one piece with the forearm. There are excellent studies for the development of broken octave technique in Czerny’s “Kunstfertigkeit.”

Picture 1
Extract from Liszt’s Concerto in E flat, showing fingering of opening Cadenza.