Rethinking Piano Performance A Mind/Body Approach
Cristine MacKie
Copyright © Cristine MacKie 2015 This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher. The moral right of Cristine MacKie has been asserted.
Dedicated to my husband Ivan Baker Baker for never appearing appearing to weary of this long venture. venture.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Too many to thank, I will single out the British Library, Senate House, Laurin MacKie for his painstaking editing, Adam MacKie for technical advice, family, friends and colleagues who gave their time to discuss writing style among other issues; Iqbal Hussein (a member of the Osteopathy Council) who gave his time to discuss structural anatomy and function; the Design Studio at Royal Holloway for reproducing some of my drawings; and last, but not least, my thanks to John Rink who introduced me to another way of thinking about music.
Jonathon Dunsby writes: ‘We are still too bound to romantic ideology; performing should not be viewed as a strictly intuitive, ineffable process. It takes hard thinking…’ Performing Music: Shared Concerns (1995).
Charles Rosen writes: ‘The musician who has surrendered his will to tradition has abandoned the possibility of keeping the tradition alive.’ Piano Notes (2002).
Richard Dawkins writes: ‘It is the essence of science to know what we do not know.’ Unweaving the Rainbow (1998) - similarly, the essence of skilled piano performance is to know that which we do not know. C. MacKie (2014)
Contents Forenotes Preface Introduction PART I: An Historical Literature Survey of the Role of Movement or Function of the Body in Piano Performance 1650-1965 Chapter 1: A Brief Historical Literature Survey of the Role of Movement or Function of the Body in Piano Performance: 1650-1965 Chapter 2: Four Pioneers: Mason, Whiteside, Fielden and Levinskaya William Mason Abbey Whiteside Thomas Fielden Maria Levinskaya
PART II: The Body and its Role in Piano Performance Introduction Chapter 3: Anatomical Structure, Function and the Systems in the Brain Which Control Movements and Memorising Structure Function or Movement The Systems in the Brain Which Control Movement and Memorising
PART III: The Role of the Mind Introduction Chapter 4: Rethinking the Role of Musical Analysis in Piano Performance 1st Analysis: Tempo: A Means to Shaping La Cathédrale Engloutie 2nd Analysis: Motion and its Demarcation Rubato: A Means to Shaping Ondine 3rd Analysis: Shaping the Melodic Curves in Bruyères: A Rollercoaster Solution?
PART IV: The Convergence: Five Theoretical Studies Concerned with Unifying Piano Performance Introduction 1st Study: The Caressing or Carezzando Touch 2nd Study: The Role of the Torso in Shaping the Temporal Flow of the Music 3rd Study: Synchronising the Movements of the Body to Shape the Music 4th Study: Enhancing the Memory in Piano Performance: A Mind/Body Approach 5th Study: Widening the Approach: Imitation and Emulation in Piano Performance
Footnotes Postnotes
Selected Bibliography Praise for the Author’s Work
Forenotes ‘With the great black piano appassionato’ - Piano, by D.H. Lawrence (1918) I was quite unaware of the ambivalence towards the role of the body in piano performance, especially movement, which was and still is widely prevalent amongst pianists and piano pedagogues even today, when in late adolescence I fell deeply and wholly in love ‘with the great black piano appassionato’ during a performance of all twenty-four preludes by Chopin, given by the pianist Mindru Katz at the Royal Festival Hall. During his rendition of the fourth prelude in E minor, I was seduced and thought to myself: ‘I can do that.’ What was the reason for this thunderbolt from the blue? The prelude with, as Samson writes in Chopin (1996), its ‘powerfully expressive and affective quality’ created an absolutely satisfying synthesis of body and soul - but there were other components too. The need to do it myself was born at that moment from a longing for physical contact with the keys and a desire to sit at the instrument and survey its depths under the raised, gleaming black lid - to set the strings in motion along its great length, and to produce for myself the welling and dying of the sounds which seemed to match my own alternating sense of ecstasy and sadness. I was wholly ignorant of the difficulties ahead. It didn’t matter, I would find a way. However, I quickly discovered that I was not a natural pianist. There were many false starts, and after some years of studying with a variety of teachers, each of whom enforced their different methods which were steeped in the Western mind/body dualism, I was brought to my senses after it was recommended that I should practice the Chopin Ballade in G minor, using the ‘weight transference’ method. This entailed throwing the full weight of the arm onto an unsupported finger, and maintaining the pressure on the key bed until the next note was sounded in the same way. I practised like this diligently for six hours every day for a month. Inevitably, excruciating tendonitis developed and I finally learned, as Rosen (2002) advises in Piano Notes, to be continually ‘suspicious of those performers and pedagogues who claim to have invented the only successful method in bringing the best out in young performers’. I then spent several years rebuilding my technique so that my hand could function in the way that it is designed to, i.e., I developed the ability to caress or grasp the keys. Vital as
this development was, I continued to practice this technique without engaging the hinterland, or placing it within a musical context. This is because I had no understanding of the structure and function of the shoulder complex and the torso, let alone that there could be a synthesis between my musical mind and my body. This was not altogether surprising, since at that time the idea of forging a link between the role of analysis - in the traditional sense - and the role of the body in performance was almost unthinkable. However, change was afoot, for in 1989 Wallace Berry wrote Musical Structure and Performance,1 in which he questions how a ‘structural relation exposed in analysis can be illuminated in the inflections of edifying performance’ (p. 1). Since then, much criticism has been levelled at Berry for his seemingly rigid application of analysis to performance. Nevertheless, this work is of immense importance for performers, as is the scholarly writing about musical performance in general which has burgeoned since then, bringing together ideas and research from a wide range of scientific and musical fields. That said, and in spite of my intention to unravel many of the unsolved mysteries of piano performance by exploring the interface between science and the art of piano performance, this ambition should form only a part of the wider commitment to art itself, and I will never forget the feelings which were aroused when I first encountered ‘the great black piano appassionato’, and which still remain so powerful and affecting.
Preface ‘It seems that so long as we are alive, we shall continue closest to knowledge if we avoid as much as we can all contact and association with the body, except when they are absolutely necessary…’ - Socrates c. 469-399 BC
Since the ideas controlling piano pedagogy and performance have been largely allied to the structure of Western thought, which nurtures a mind/body dualism, I will begin by giving a brief account of some of the reasons for this, and of some contributions by anthropologists, phenomenologists and philosophers, which may help to support the view that piano performance is a matter of engaging the mind as well as the body. The short references to the works of Casy, Descartes, Mauss, Merlieu-Ponty, Shusterman, Yates, Clarke and Davidson, amongst a few others, whose views support, in part this standpoint, are intended first, to provide a general background only, and second, a guide for the reader who wishes to pursue these issues more deeply.
Background The Mind/Body Dualism
Casy (2000) suggests that two developments in Western culture occur which contribute towards this ‘trajectory of disembodiment’ (p. 108). The first is that on the whole, Western culture grows to value the subjugation of the flesh for religious goals. In Christianity, for example, celibacy is indicative of spiritual purity - that is to say, ‘a renunciation of the world and the flesh in favour of the spirit and the light of God’ (p. 108). This mode of thought is, in part, in keeping with the Greek tradition,and inevitably creates ambivalence towards the body. 2 As Casy eloquently puts it, the ‘human person mirrored with terrible precision, the confusion that lay at the root of the physical universe’ (p. 108). However, it is Descartes (1596-1650) who is held largely responsible for the mind/body dualism, 3 arguing that there are ‘two classes of substance which make up the human organism; they are first, the palpable body; second, the intangible mind’. He develops this philosophy within the framework of Christian theology, believing that God and humanity
are central to the universe. And, since God made man in his own likeness, ‘God must have a body [which means that] He must have the means of keeping His essence pure from any bodily corruption’ (p. 42). To resolve this dichotomy, Descartes focuses on the soul/body opposition - making the soul distinct from the body while relating the soul to God. Purity, then, is obtainable through celibacy, and the erotic desire of the body is seen as an aberration. According to Casy, the second development which contributes to the hardening of the mind/body dualism in Western culture is the Enlightenment.4 During this period it is thought that the mind is completely enclosed and isolated from the body, 5 and that the only certain knowledge is the collection of ideas which belong to it. This view, which assumes that the body is a solid object, while ‘the mind is an ethereal subject mysteriously infused into the body object’ (p. 4) remains central to European thought until recently. Today, in piano performance, Clarke observes that the body continues to be viewed as an ‘impediment to the all-powerful and self-sufficient mind’ (p. 67) despite overwhelming evidence provided by neuroscientists Damasio (2000) and Edelman (2007) that the mind is the site of mental phenomena and is fully embodied. By the mid-nineteenth century however, a transition may be perceived in which the mind/body dualism begins to soften, i.e. the phenomena that biological ideas are neither wholly mental nor wholly mechanical begins to take root. And, by the late nineteenth century, with the emergence of the science of ergonomics 6 the worker’s capabilities and limitations are beginning to be taken into account to ensure that tasks, equipment, information and the environment suit each worker. Despite this development, the workers are still treated as extensions of their tools and machines or, in other words, the body of the worker continues to be perceived as a machine-like extension of the tools and machines which he/she is supposed to operate. As Gritten (2009) points out, the focus of ergonomics is on systems rather than humans, and therefore it can play only a partial role in the approach to the performance of music. By the mid-twentieth century however, writers in fields other than piano performance begin to recognize in a general way, the importance of the role of the body. For example, the work of the anthropologist Marcel Mauss (1950), phenomenologist Merleau-Ponty (1962), and philosopher Richard Shusterman (2008), amongst others, all help to point out some of the views which have influenced, in part, the development of this book. For example, in Techniques of the Body, a work which is particularly resonant for performers, Mauss writes that for several years he made a fundamental mistake in believing that there
is ‘technique’ only ‘when there is an instrument’. 7 It is only by referring back to the work of Plato, who ‘spoke on a technique of music’, that Mauss begins to understand that ‘technique’ could be an action of a physical nature. As a result, he says that it is essential to understand that man’s [and woman’s] ‘first and most technical object, and at the same time technical means is his [her] body’ (p.104). More importantly, Mauss suggests that, since the ‘body is man’s [woman’s too] first and most natural instrument’ (p. 104), learned forms of bodily action may become strongly imprinted and operate at a subconscious level. Shusterman
(2008)
suggests
that,
in
the
field
of
Western
philosophy,
the
phenomenologist Merleau-Ponty (1962) is ‘something like the patron saint of the body’, arguing that the body is ‘the crucial source of all perception’, and ‘that in the intersubjective and temporal world, the body should become “mindful”, and the mind should become embodied’ (p. 66). Merleau-Ponty writes in Signs (1964): ‘As the artist makes his style radiate into the very fibres of the material he is working on, I move my body without even knowing which muscles and nerve paths should intervene, nor where I must look for the instruments of that action. I want to go there, and I am here, without ever having entered into the inhuman secret of the bodily mechanism or having adjusted that mechanism to the givens of the problem…I look at the goal, I am drawn by it, and the bodily apparatus does what it must in order for me to be there…just a glance towards the goal already has its own miracles’ (p. 66). At the time that this passage is written, it is an enormous step forwards toward recognizing the vital importance of the body as the source of both perception and action, although, as Shusterman points out, it would seem that Merleau-Ponty is suggesting that there ‘is no need to think of what I am doing or where I am in space, I just move my body “directly” and spontaneously and achieve the results, even without consciously representing my intentions’ (1972, p. 59). The anthropologist John Baily (1977) also argues that the movements of the body are an integral part of performing. Although he focuses on the musical instrument known as the dutar,8 there is, nevertheless, a useful comparison with piano performance, because he suggests that ‘music can be viewed as a product of body movement transduced into sound’ (p. 274). Today, there is a very real potential for an interaction between the mind and the body in piano performance, since two key issues have emerged: first, the relationship between
analysis and performance which engages the performer’s mind and second, research by neuroscientists into the human brain. In the first case, the inquiry into the relationship between analysis and performance enables a more informal approach to the analysis of music, one which engages the mind of the performer in trying to ‘understand more fully the ways in which music might be organised’ (Rink, 2002). This approach, he continues, can prove ‘liberating to musicians striving for more informed intuition [and] more profound conscious thought’ (p. 41). In the second case, advances in the development of technological tools enabled neuroscientists - Damasio (2000) and Edelman (2007), amongst others, to produce evidence which uproots those ‘conceptual dualities [showing that] the mind as the site of mental phenomena is fully embodied’ (Dack, 2014). The result of this research reveals the inadequacy of those dualistic conceptions which until recently have separated the ‘mind from the body, thought from feeling, and the self from the rest of the world in mainstream philosophical and psychological thought for the greater part of the 20 century’ (Dack, 2014, p. 1). In spite of this progress however, like Clarke (2002) I believe that piano performance continues to suffer in a profound way as a result of the mind/body dualism, despite the collapse of the Cartesian philosophy of mind in Western thought.
Memorizing the Music
Memorizing music for public performance, which is in part a role of the body, is the second theme of this book. Yet, while the art of memorizing music for performance is of central importance in the Western concert tradition, how performers memorise has received scant attention until recently. This may be because performing music from memory in public is not established until the pianist Clara Schumann sets the precedent in 1828 (Williamon, 2004, p. 113). Since then, it has been generally left to performers to find their own individual system of memorizing. The following reasoning by Yates, in her book The Art of Memory (1966), may cast more light on why methods have not been developed for performers to enhance their means of memorizing music. 10 The book ends with discussions of the work of Gottfried Leibniz and of the early emergence of the scientific method in the 17th century] She
suggests that, while the art of memorizing undergoes many transformations since the time of Simonides.11 Descartes (amongst others) brings about a transformation, which is to ensure its ‘survival as a factor in the growth of scientific method’ (Yates, p. 355). Below is a description which Yates provides of Descartes’ view of the memory process in the brain: ‘the pores or gaps lying between the tiny fibers of the substance of the brain may become wider as a result of the flow of animal spirits through them. This changes the pattern in which the spirits will later flow through the brain, and in this way figures may be preserved in such a way that the ideas which were previously on the gland can be formed again long afterwards without requiring the presence of the objects to which they correspond .’
With the development of this idea, memorizing is turned, according to Yates, ‘from a method of memorizing the encyclopaedia of knowledge, of reflecting the world in memory, to an aid for investing the encyclopaedia and the world with the object of discovering new knowledge’. 12 Yates claims that no other modern book on the subject of memorizing is available at the time she writes hers; this makes it less surprising that there is no systematic approach to the art of memorizing music for performers, although, according to Williamon (2002), both Edwin Hughes (1915) and Tobias Matthay (1926) try to account for how performers memorise. Since then, little attention has been given to the subject, although this situation is now beginning to change. Finally, in the last ten years a welcome development has taken place, in which conferences are held globally with the aim of forging an interaction between performers and researchers. Ideas and research from a wide range of scientific and musical fields are now enabling a more unified approach to musical performance - a major change which allows for the development of my own argument throughout this book, which is that the full potential for performance enhancement lies in examining how the pianist’s intellectual and bodily abilities - that is to say, how the role of the function, or movement of the body and the role of the mind may be unified with aim of ‘shaping’ and memorizing musical works for performance.
Introduction Pianists routinely encounter a great variety of bodily and intellectual demands in preparing piano works for performance, but until recently, the emphasis has been on the intellectual aspect of performance, or ‘radical mentalism’.
However, since piano
performance requires an indissoluble union of mind and body, this book will present the argument that the movement or function of the body may have a role to play in ‘shaping’ and memorizing musical works for performance. While this is a view which is now beginning to be supported in musical academic circles who wish to promote a more interdisciplinary approach to performance, it is as yet an unexplored area of piano performance. The approach will include an examination of both historical and empirical studies, and reflect some of the most important trends in the study of musical performance, such as the relationship between performance and analysis on the one hand, and anthropology, and the human movement sciences on the other. The book is structured in four parts. The Preface will give a brief overview of why mind/body dualisms have been central to the structure of Western musical thought—i.e., why one is privileged over the other, and a brief account of some more recent views by anthropologists, phenomenologists and philosophers, which may point up a way forward. Chapter 1 surveys the great historical treatises written by pedagogues and performers between the mid-sixteenth century and the middle of the twentieth century. The aim is to establish where the gaps lie in our knowledge about the role of movement and memorizing (which is in part a role of the body) in piano performance. Chapter 2 discusses the work of four pioneers, namely Mason, Whiteside, Fielden and Levinskaya who, through more systematic approaches each contributed to a deeper understanding of the role of movement in piano performance, although their conclusions are somewhat fragmented. It should be noted here that because the focus of this section of the book is on the role of movement of the body, it does not provide a comprehensive history of all the great figures in performance and pedagogy. Part 2 will investigate recent research by anthropologists and the human movement sciences into the structure and function or movement [13] of the body and the brain control systems, which enable movement, and memorizing in piano performance. This will establish the basis for the work in the final part of the book. Before this work can be undertaken the role of the mind in musical performance also
needs investigation. Part 3 will examine the ‘rethink’ which has taken place in recent years in musical academic circles about the relationship between performance and analysis, and whether or not these changes are relevant to the performer. As I will show, a more ‘performative’ view is beginning to emerge, and vital issues, which until now have been largely neglected such as ‘shape’ as opposed to structure will be explored here. Three informal analyses are presented which examine musical components such as time, motion, retards and acceleration—the aim being to show ways of exposing the ‘shape’ of three Debussy Preludes for piano from Books 1 & 2. The models of analyses will underpin, in part, the approach to the five theoretical studies which follow in the final part of the book. These studies will attempt to establish a convergence between the role of the mind and the role of the body in piano performance, and are intended also to open the way for further interdisciplinary research and applications which may contribute significantly to the understanding of piano performance for future generations. The book is aimed at two audiences; first to pedagogues and performers at the conservatoires and music departments of universities, the private piano teaching fraternity, enquiring piano students and passionate amateurs; second to clinicians and health practitioners, although a wider audience would be able to gain much from it.
PART I: An Historical Literature Survey of the Role of Movement or Function of the Body in Piano Performance 1650-1965
Chapter 1: A Brief Historical Literature Survey of the Role of Movement or Function of the Body in Piano Performance: 1650-1965
In this Chapter I will discuss the role of movement or function of the performer’s body in piano playing as it is perceived by pedagogues and performers from the midseventeenth to the mid-twentieth century. This discussion will entail drawing upon written accounts of keyboard playing in the great historical treatises by some of the foremost exponents of this art. The role of memorizing which is, in part, a role of the body will be noted here also. From the fourteenth to the eighteenth century the clavichord is the instrument most favoured by composers and performers for teaching, playing and accompanying. 14 Rosen (2002) writes that this ‘early instrument called for very little corporal force, and does not engage the muscles - the body - of the performer’ (p. 19). The clavichord therefore needs to be handled with care and the historical treatises of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries show that pedagogues and performers alike are well aware of the delicate nature of the instrument, and the need for a small movement of the finger described below. To perform, the player places their hand gently on the keys, and the fingers lightly depress it with a perpendicular movement from the knuckle toward the key bed. This light movement of the fingers sets the slip of metal at the other end of the key lever against the string and produces the sound. This slip of metal is known as the tangent, and as it strikes the string, it remains in contact for as long as the key is depressed. Because the action of the clavichord requires a small movement of the finger in performance, it is understandable that in general all gestures or movements of the body are discouraged. However, physical difficulties for performers are a common problem. C.P.E. Bach categorizes them thus: flat, extended fingers, stiffness of the hand, and ‘snorting, grimacing and uncommon awkwardness’ (1974, p. 43). He finds fault also with those teachers who, although they recognize that their students suffer from stiff hands, encourage them to practise with the right hand only, thus partially avoiding the problem. Despite these common physical problems, C.P.E. Bach does not suggest that they may be alleviated by allowing the torso or the upper arm, or both, to move freely. Instead, he pursues the notion that facility of performance may be obtained by adopting the correct fingering. He does not mean fingers trained in independence and strength, rather that the incorrect choice of one finger following another would lead to the ‘impossibility of
performing the notes’ (p. 41). C.P.E. Bach is not alone in holding this view; it would seem, from the other pedagogical treatises published at this time, that the positioning of each finger to express a musical passage is a wide spread practice. This view still prevails today in the conservatoires and music departments of universities. Reasons for this are discussed by Cook (1999). He suggests that teachers and musicians who place emphasis on how a piece of music should be fingered, do so not because of ‘pragmatic considerations of performance’ (p. 82), but rather because it is the ‘means by which abstract interpretations of musical structure can be evaluated, remembered, and communicated in terms of a concrete musical context’ (p. 82). With the development of the pianoforte, numerous treatises are written on how to develop the art of playing the new instrument by pedagogues and performers such as Muzio Clementi (1752-1832), Johann Cramer (1771-1858), Johann Hummel (1778-1813), Ignaz Moscheles (1794-1870), and Carl Czerny (1791-1857). However, it is Clementi who is generally considered to be responsible for establishing the ‘early beginnings of a true piano technique’ (Gerig 1976, p.59), although Fielden (1932-3) refutes this, saying that Clementi continues to promote the tradition that ‘all unnecessary motion must be avoided’ (p. 15). Leopold Mozart (1719-1787) shows his obvious disapproval of a young player who is unable to conform to the correct style of motionless playing. He writes sardonically: ‘when a passage is being played, the arm must be raised as high as possible and according as the notes in the passage are stressed, the arm, not the finger, must do this’ (Sadie, 1980, p. 712). In 1839, Czerny continues to uphold the view that ‘movements of the body have…a detrimental effect on Piano-Forte playing [and] that a good and graceful position must be the first thing’ (pp. 1-2). He elaborates further, writing ‘every obliquity of position, every grimace, and every useless gesture, has a disadvantageous influence on the hands and fingers’ (pp. 1-2). An exception can be made only ‘when both hands have to play in the highest octave on the right hand side of the keyboard, or the lowest octave on the left. Then, a ‘gentle side-motion’ maybe permitted, but ‘without moving on the seat’ (pp. 1-2). This last remark by Czerny shows that he does recognize the necessity for lateral movements of the torso, even if in a limited way only (see the discussions in Chapters 3 and 10 on the function of the torso). As we have seen so far, with the exception of J.S. Bach, who flexes his fingers against
the keys in a caressing movement (this is discussed, as are a few other exponents of this technique, in the first study in Part 4), the focus by other performers and pedagogues centres almost entirely upon training the fingers to depress the keys with a perpendicular movement of the finger while the body remains motionless. However, with the ever-increasing quest for a greater volume of sound, heavier hammers are a natural corollary to the heavier strings which the new iron frame in the piano now support. This development means that greater physical effort is needed by the performer to depress the keys. And, as Rosen rightly points out the increase in volume means that the sound would be ‘felt by the whole body of the pianist, bringing into play [the] back and shoulder muscles’ (p. 19). However, pedagogues continue to disregard this effect on the performer’s body, encouraging it all the while to remain motionless, while the fingers are now trained to be raised as high as possible at the knuckle before striking them down perpendicularly onto the keys with as much force as possible. 15 Charles Haake (1921) describes this technique as the ’hinge method’ (p. 74), and records also that it becomes an established teaching method in the new conservatoires. According to Ritterman (2002) during this period, social, economic and cultural changes sweeping Europe led to an increase in the demand by the middle classes for piano teaching. To satisfy this demand, the first conservatoires emerge in Paris, and soon afterwards others are established in Prague, Vienna, Milan, Brussels and London and Germany as well as in Russia, Britain and America (p. 78). Leading ‘performers of the day, whose reputations were known throughout Western Europe as a result of touring as concert artists’ (p. 78) begin to teach in the new conservatoires; and, in general, perpetuate the method of forcing the fingers to move vigorously upward from the knuckle before striking the keys in a downward movement, while the rest of the body is held motionless.
Some Mechanistic Methods
In 1816, Logier invents a mechanistic device which he names the Royal Chiroplast (see Figure 1.1, below). His objective is to train the fingers to increase their strength by moving them at the knuckle in isolation from the rest of the body. To achieve this end, he advises that the performer must keep the shoulders down and hold the body erect, with a ‘gentle inclination towards the keyboard, and the arms, from the elbow upwards, a little advanced, and nearly close to the body’ (Logier, 1816, p. 5). Figure 1.2, below, provides a
closer view of the mechanism of The Royal Chiroplast, and we can see that it comprises a gamut board, position frame, and two finger-guides. The gamut board has two staves of five lines drawn upon it - one for the notes in the treble and the other for the notes in the bass. The notes of all the keys are written in, from bottom A in the bass to top C in the treble. The position frame is made up of two rails which are placed over the keyboard and attached by screws which hold it firmly in place. The finger guides are two moveable brass plates with five divisions for each finger. The divisions correspond perpendicularly with the keys of the instrument, and may be moved by means of a brass rod upon which they are made to slide. To practise, each finger of the performer is attached to a brass wire with its own regulator. This is the wrist guide and is intended to position the wrist correctly. The hands of the pianist are then put between the rails until they are placed on the keys as far as the ‘root of the thumb nail’ (1816, p. 5).
Figure 1.1. The Royal Chiroplast.
Figure 1.2. An enlarged view of the mechanism of The Royal Chiroplast.
Kalkbrenner (1745-1849) too, believes that to practise finger exercises using machines is the way forward, after noting that when he uses the arm of his chair to sustain his forearm, his fingertips are able to ‘move without the slightest contraction’ (1830, p. 3). Furthermore, he observes that he obtains ‘cetté tranquillity de mains et de corp’ (1830, p. 3), or greater ‘tranquility of ease in the hand and the body’, as a result. After this discovery, he designs the guide-main, which he says will make it ‘impossible to contract bad habits’ in piano playing (p. 4). A guide bar is placed along the length of the keyboard and held level by screws which are driven into each end of the keyboard. It is intended to support the weight of the forearm as the pianist adopts a slightly forward position of the torso in piano playing. Kalkbrenner particularly recommends this method of practice for the ‘more delicate persons so that they will find that, as their arms are sustained and their fingers alone in action, it will be possible for them to study longer without fear of injury to the chest’ (p. 4). Kalkbrenner does not modify the traditional finger-exercises, 16 recommending that they should be practised while resting the arm on the bar. He notes too that practising in this way particularly enhances the performance of wrist octaves in performance.17
Extending the Boundaries
Despite the continuation of the traditional approach to training the fingers, and the use of the restrictive mechanistic methods described above, evidence of change is beginning to emerge. Pedagogues and performers such as Czerny, who believe, as we have seen, that all movements of the body have a ‘detrimental effect on Piano-Forte playing’ (1839, pp. 1-2), now begin to object to the use of the mechanistic devices, writing that ‘they fetter by far too much, all freedom of movement’ (p. 129). More interestingly, J.S. Bach’s method of using the hand to caress the keys emerges in the teaching of a few such as Kontski, Chopin, Marx and Deppe (see the first study in Part 4). At this time also, advances are being made in understanding the role of the forearm. For example, Kontski recognizes that the forearm may assist the caressing movement of the hand by drawing backwards. However, he contradicts this view later by saying that ‘le bras doit rester étranger à tous les mouvements’, 18 i.e., the arm should be inactive. Presumably, when he refers to the ‘arm’, he means the upper arm, because he goes on to say that the forearm which is ‘tout different’ 19 i.e., completely different, and is responsible for moving the hand from one place on the keyboard to another, and may be employed when ‘l’attaque vigoureuse des Accords’ 20 i.e., ‘attacking the chords in a vigorous manner’. Kontski does not recognize that the upper arm, which is part of the shoulder complex, cannot be disengaged from the activity just described, because it supports the forearm at the shoulder blade (see the section on structure in Chapter 3), and is responsible for drawing the forearm away from, or towards the keyboard. Furthermore, the forearm cannot move the hand from one position to another at the keyboard, as he suggests, because it is the function of the upper arm to ‘reach’, thus position the forearm/hand at the keyboard (see discussion on the ‘reaching’ role of the upper arm in Chapter 3). Neither can the forearm produce ‘l’attaque vigoureuse des Accords’ 21, or vigorous attack as Kontski describes it, since it is the upper arm, in part, which provides the force for ‘attacking’ the chords in this way. Deppe’s (1828-1890) work is outstanding, because he breaks with the tradition which advocates the stiffly held hand and wrist and strongly articulated movements of the fingers, becoming possibly the first to recognize the potential for linking the movements of the upper arm, the forearm and the hand by expounding the principle of ‘muscular synergy’. By this he means that there should be a coordinated action in which the weight
of the arm is supported by the shoulder, so that the hand may be as ‘light as a feather’ (Caland, 1903, p. 22), and the fingers are then free to caress, or extend. 22 Erroneously, Deppe believes too that the weight of the hand may be supported by the wrist, the wrist by the forearm, and the forearm by the upper arm. However, the forearm is not supported by the upper arm as Deppe suggests, but by its attachment to the shoulder in conjunction with the other bones of the shoulder complex (see discussion on the anatomical structure of the shoulder complex in the first section in Chapter 3). Other developments are also beginning to be reported about the way in which performers are adapting the movement of their bodies in piano performance. For example, Kalkbrenner now suggests that a wider range of movements of the body should be used, such as ‘ précipitant sur elle comme lion que se saisit de sa proie’, 23 or hurling oneself onto the keyboard like a lion seizing its prey. Schumann (1810-1856) too describes the pianist Franz Liszt ‘expressing a variety of movements… in his playing’ ([1854] 1956, p. 155). Evidence of this is borne out in the illustrations by János Jankó (see Figure 1.3, below). These drawings depict Liszt performing with a great deal of exaggerated body movement. And, although the illustrations are clearly caricatures, they do provide evidence that Liszt is using a much wider range of body movements, which appear to depart from the traditional method of piano performance.
Figure 1.3. Two caricatures by János Jankó, a Hungarian artist depicting Liszt performing at the piano with a variety of exaggerated movements of the body.
A division of Views
By the mid-nineteenth century, two other directions are being pursued which would
outweigh Deppe’s achievements and influence. One direction is taken by Tobias Matthay (1858-1945) in England, and the other by Leopold Breithaupt (1873-1945) in Germany. Both men are concerned with finding alternative techniques to the excessive movements of the fingers demanded by the ‘German school of finger technique’, and develop methods to encourage the practice of relaxation and arm weight. This is in complete contrast to the approach advocated by Deppe, which is vigorously repudiated by Matthay, who in 1903 wrote The Act of Touch, his most important and influential work. Matthay’s writing is difficult to absorb; however, the essence of his thoughts are summed up here very briefly. As we shall see, like Breithaupt (to be discussed below), Matthay lays great stress on the use of weight and muscular relaxation of the arms, while at the same he recognizes that complete relaxation of arm weight on to the keys could result in risk to ‘limb and Piano…cramping (or Neuritis)’ (1932, p. 34). He stresses: ‘we must rest continuously on the keyboard with sufficient weight to compel the implicated fingers to retain their keys depressed…this weight is obtained by relaxing the whole arm from the shoulder, but no more, than will over-balance the key into descent’ (1903, p. 40). In 1905, Breithaupt writes the Natural Piano Technic, The School of Weight-Touch in which he is equally concerned to find alternatives to the inadequate methods of the German school of finger technique. The following description by him presents some of the basic principles which he teaches. At first sight it would appear from his opening statement to be a somewhat more flexible approach, for he writes that ‘there is no hard and fast rule to determine one special way in which the arms, hands and fingers suit all cases and answer all purposes’ (1909, p. 8). However, he negates this in his next statement, writing that all normal positions are to be rejected. One thing - he continues - is required for weight-technic, i.e., for the transmission, support and balance of the weight of the arm and that is ‘a firm steady bridge, on which the arm rests like the superstructure of a bridge on its arches and pillars’ (p. 8). The contradictions in Breithaupt’s approach lie, first, in the fact that he calls for a passive hand, and, second, that he demands that the hand should be strong enough to support the whole weight of the arm (see discussion on supporting the hand on the transverse arch, in the first study in Part 4). The following text, written in 1921 by Wesley Weyman (1877-1931), is a useful distillation of the generally accepted meaning of relaxation and arm weight, as expounded by Breithaupt and Matthay.24T he author begins by asking the question:
‘What other force than pressure is at our command. The creation of the force of weight in the arm is due to a relaxing or letting-go of the supporting muscles the more we let go, the greater the force we have. There can be no fatigue, and we can in consequence look forward to our forte passages rather as a period of recuperation than exhausting musclestraining ordeal. Furthermore, this weight force, powerful as it is when it is unrestrained, is easily the most controllable of the forces at our command. It may be released in every degree from the softest pianissimo to the mightiest forte of which the instrument is capable…most important of all is the fact that the weight can be used with much greater deliberation than muscular force, through a yielding of the knuckles and joints’ (Weyman, 1968, p. 131-132).
More Scientific Approaches
Until the First World War, pedagogues and students from America were drawn like a magnet to Europe. Thereafter, many of Europe’s most eminent pianists and teachers migrated to America, where new ideas began to flourish and where musical magazines and journals such as The Etude, The Musician, The Music Quarterly and The Résumé are founded. In 1925, Otto Ortmann establishes the first laboratory at the Peabody Conservatory. His objective, which is a radical departure from all the methods and treatises which precede it, is to analyse and record measurements ‘of the effect by which this artistic control reacts on the piano [and] eliminate the vagaries of the personal equation’ (1929, p. xv). In doing so, he does not dismiss, as does the ‘weight school’ expounded by Breithaupt and Matthay, the advantages of some of the traditional aspects of piano pedagogy, but continues to advise that the finger drill, or traditional finger exercises should be practised with the shoulder playing its part in supporting the weight of the arm above the keys. Four years later in 1929, Ortmann writes The Physiological Mechanics of Piano Technique, 25 in which he comments that ‘the general attitude of pianists toward a scientific investigation of their art is most regrettable—the “whys” and the “wherefores” do not concern them’ (p. xiii). Today, as we shall see, Ortmann would find that there has been little change in general. A brief survey amongst performers and pedagogues at the music conservatoires reveals that the role of movement of the body in performance is still largely ignored and the traditional approach to piano teaching with its emphasis on correct
finger usage is still preferred. However, it is his exploration of the shoulder complex (see section on structure in Chapter 3), which of interest here, since, as we have seen so far in this survey, there has been almost no recognition of the importance of its role or function in piano performance. In the discussion of the shoulder complex, which he refers to as the shoulder girdle, he identifies the muscles which move the scapula, but states that its function is ‘stability’, not ‘mobility’ (1929, p. 25) (see section on function of the shoulder complex in Chapter 3). Furthermore, but in direct contradiction to this statement, he says that all ‘movements demanding the passages of the arm in front of the body, illustrated in the passages which demand a crossing over of the hands, or applying of the right hand in the bass and the left hand in the treble region, and, of course, the reverse movements, are primarily movements of the shoulder-girdle, demanding a “stooped” shoulder position’ are often ‘erroneously assigned to the shoulder joint entirely’ (p. 35). This passage makes it clear that he does not recognize that there is an anatomical structural relationship between the shoulder complex and the upper arm, since the movements of the upper arm that he describes can be achieved only if the shoulder blade and the collarbone respond in a cooperative way which allows for full mobility (see section on function of the shoulder complex, in Chapter 3). József Gát (1913-1967) not only recognizes that the ‘additional, complementary movements of the clavicle and the scapula are indispensable in assuring the complete freedom of the upper arm’ (1965, p. 11), but also introduces the notion that the torso is capable of performing a swaying movement, although he says that this movement is permitted only ‘in so far as it brings the arms into play at the keyboard [or when attempting] peculiar (grotesque, crude) tone effects’. However, with great insightfulness Gat recognizes also that the spine is a source of elastic support, which if hindered will spoil the ‘expressiveness of the playing’ (p. 118). To avoid this problem, he suggests that the player should flex the spine at the lower vertebrae and avoid using ‘active swing strokes of the arms’ (p. 118). Holding the view, however, that the lower vertebrae of the spine should be held firm by contracting the lower abdominal muscles in the pelvis, is prescient, since it is the fundamental approach of present-day physiotherapists (for further reading, see the work of Carlsoo (1972, pp. 8193), and the Pilates method). To summarize, accounts in the historical treatises show that, initially, pedagogues and performers insist that the performer must maintain a motionless stance of the body during
performance, and that the fingers of the hand should move from the first joint (or knuckle) in a perpendicular or downward action to depress the key. However, after the introduction of the pianoforte, questions began to arise about how performers should overcome the problem of a heavier action. As we have seen, extreme solutions were sought; some pedagogues and performers advocate an increase in the movement of the finger, while others felt that this did not increase their strength enough, and devised mechanistic devices such as the Royal Chiroplast and the Guide-main to overcome the problem. Stiffness and fatigue were a common outcome. Although at this juncture the anatomical structure of the forearm/hand is not yet fully understood, a broader view of the role of movement of the body in piano performance begin to develop as a reaction against the excessive use of finger movement. Among those who advocate change, are Deppe, Breithaupt and Matthay. Others, like Ortmann and Gát, conduct more scientific investigations, but, as we have seen, there are contradictions to be found in their conclusions on the function of the shoulder complex in performance. It will be noted that so far there is no reference to the role of memorizing in piano performance, despite the expectation that performers should play from memory, and that it is one of ‘two skills of central concern in the Western concert tradition’ (Clarke, 2002, p. 61). This aspect will be addressed in Chapter 3, and in the fourth study in Part 4, entitled: ‘Enhancing the Memory in Piano Performance: A mind body approach’. The following Chapter will focus upon the research of four extraordinary pioneers whose work is now largely forgotten. Their common aim is to gain a deeper understanding of the structure and function of the body and its role in piano performance. Between them, their research spans the fifty years from the end of the nineteenth century to the middle of the twentieth century.
Chapter 2: Four Pioneers: Mason, Whiteside, Fielden and Levinskaya
In this chapter, my aim is to show that important new directions are being taken, albeit in a somewhat fragmented way, which are concerned with finding out how the structure and function of the performer’s body, in particular the shoulder complex, the forearm/hand and the torso functions in piano performance. The four outstanding pioneers whose work focuses on improving the understanding of the role of movement of the body in piano performance are first, the Americans William Mason (1897) and Abby Whiteside (1929, 1955), whose work is largely empirical; and, second, Thomas Fielden (1927) and Maria Levinskaya (1930), who are both published in England, and who both claim their work to be scientifically based on the anatomical research in progress at that time.26 All four surveys are critiqued as they progress; however, this is a difficult process because there are often inherent difficulties in their use of language, which call for an interpretation that relies closely upon the work of, amongst others, kinesiologists such as Tyldersley & Grieve (1996) anthropologists Marzke (1994), Weir (1994) Schwarzt (1994), and Jeannerod (1994), and the anatomical drawings of Andras Szunyoghy (1994). Descriptions and Illustrations of the anatomical structure or function of the body mentioned in this chapter may be found in Chapter 3.
William Mason
In the year before William Mason departs for Europe in 1849 to study the piano, the playing of the pianist Leopold de Meyer 27 (1816-1883), a pupil of Czerny, has a profound influence on him. Meyer is touring America, and Mason, never missing an opportunity to hear him play, studies his technique closely. By watching the movements of Meyer’s hand, arm and shoulder, Mason acquires the habit of playing the piano with, as he describes it, ‘fully devitalised upper-arm muscles’ (1901, pp. 19-21). During his stay in Europe, however, he notes that ‘there seems to be very little known there of the important influence of the movement of the upper-arm muscles, and their very efficient agency, when employed in the production of tone-quality and volume by means of increased relaxation, elasticity and springiness in their movements’ (pp. 68-70). Mason
continues, that on no occasion during his entire stay in Europe does he find any evidence that the methods of the teachers with whom he studies, or their students with whom he is intimately connected, explore anything more than the development of the hand below the wrist (pp. 68-70). Upon his return to America, Mason publishes a number of analytical writings (1887, 1889, 1901). Although much of his work is original in thought, it is now largely forgotten; so, for the purpose of this survey, I have chosen to look at Volume 1 of Touch and Technic: rtistic Piano Playing (1901),28 in which he expounds his novel ideas on the use of the upper arm and the hand, and provides several illustrations. To make his points more easily understood, Mason separates the movements of the pianist’s arm into three categories: the upper arm, the wrist, and the hand. Each category is then divided into three different movements: the down-movement, the up-movement, and the devitalized arm.
The Down-arm Movement of the Upper Arm
Mason writes: ‘the highest service which the proper use of the triceps [the extensor muscles at the back of the upper arm] renders, is in the capacity of a guide, for its influence quickly ‘leavens the whole lump of the muscular system: it penetrates, pervades, and vitalizes the entire action, and accomplishes more in bulk and in detail in the development of a temperamental touch than is possible in any other way’ (1901, pp. 1415). Mason’s use of the word ‘leaven’ may be understood perhaps as a pervasive or transforming influence. He goes on to suggest, rightly, that the tricep is active in the downward thrust of the arm towards the keyboard. To develop the ‘down-arm’ movement of the upper arm the performer is advised to rest his or her arm on the knee, and with an impulse from the upper arm the hand should respond by being thrown upwards to a height of approximately ten inches before falling back under its own weight onto the knee. To clarify this further, Mason draws an analogy with a ball which is thrown into the air. Once the pupil understands this process he/she is then permitted to practise the movement at the keyboard.
Figure 2.1. The arm at rest after falling freely of its own weight onto the third finger.
In Figure 2.1, above, we can see that the hand, shown by the dotted lines, is held above the keyboard (Mason recommends a height of three inches), and then by an act of will, or ‘let go’, the arm is allowed to fall ‘freely of its own weight [onto the third finger, which should break] the force of the fall’ (1929, p. 5). The wrist should relax completely as the hand comes to rest on the third finger on the key bed There is an inconsistency of approach to be found between the preparatory exercise described above and the practical exercises for the down-arm movement to be performed at the piano. For, as we have seen in the preparatory exercise, Mason demands that the impulse should be made by the upper arm, after which the arm falls as a result of that forward impulse. However, in the practical exercise at the keyboard, he omits to say that the relaxed fall of the whole arm onto the keys must be preceded by the forward movement of the upper arm. Once these exercises have been mastered, Mason advises the student to play five ascending consecutive notes; first, from middle C to G, placing the right hand thumb on the C; second, placing the thumb on the left hand on the G below middle C, and descending to the 5th finger on the C below. Mason’s aim is that each finger should be able to take ‘the weight of the arm upon occasion and deliver as powerful a touch as may be desired’ (p. 5). Mason considers that applying this form of touch will eventually produce a proper development of finger power and strengthen each individual finger in turn. The risk of severe muscular strain, or tendonitis,29 from practising in this way is considerable, and Mason must surely have experienced the response of many students who would have shown some reluctance to release the arm weight when the muscles of the
hand and forearm are poorly developed, and unable to support the fingers against the force, or weight, of the arm (see Chapters 4 and 9 for a discussion on supporting the hand).
The Up-arm Movement
Mason says that the ‘up-arm’ movement is thus named, because the upper arm seems to ‘spring boundingly into the air away from the keyboard [without a] sense of having delivered a downward blow to the keys’ (p. 6). Throughout this exercise, Mason advises that the hand and wrist should be kept entirely relaxed (see discussion on the relaxation fallacy, in the section on Fielden). The instructions which follow this advice seem to be somewhat contradictory, for either there is an ‘alternation of the up and down position’ (p. 6) of the wrist - which suggests a continuous movement at the wrist joint - or the hand maintains an ‘entirely relaxed’ condition (p. 6), i.e., without any movement at the wrist. The two conditions cannot exist simultaneously.
The Wrist
Mason is unclear about the function of the wrist, although he recognizes that the impulse for this movement comes from the upper arm (see Chapter 3). The drawing by Mason, in Figure 2.2 below, shows the up-down movement at the wrist joint.
Figure 2.2. Raising and lowering the wrist at the keyboard. 30
The ‘Devitalized’ Arm
Mason describes the ‘devitalized’ condition of the arm as being limp, supple and limber. There seems to me to be an inherent contradiction here, limp being a word which is the opposite of limber, a word which implies that the condition of the body should be in a state of subtle preparedness.31 He gives three preparatory exercises, which are intended to develop the condition of the ‘devitalized’ arm so that it can deliver a powerful touch, or ‘strong blow’ (p. 6), to the keyboard. They should, he advises, be practised away from the keyboard as follows: first, the arm should be allowed to hang down listlessly while the hand of the other arm pushes at the upper arm until the whole arm swings backwards and forwards, and the ‘hand and fingers swing limply in a wave-like motion’ (p. 7); second, the upper arm then initiates this action using the muscles situated in the shoulder [he does not specify which muscles], while the hand and fingers remain limp as before; third, he recommends that the arm and hand ‘should be held in the usual position’ (p. 7), which he describes as a forward-swinging action while the middle finger lightly touches the key, and the wrist makes a circular movement In the practical exercise at the piano, the student is instructed to swing the limp hand onto the key, and then - without depressing the keys - the fingers then play the notes C D E F G respectively, using the fingering 1 2 3 4 5 with a detached effect. Mason says that the impulse for each note will be from the upper arm, and the hand and fingers must be ‘loose [and] wholly free from constriction or positive effort’ (p. 7).
The Hand
For his exploration of the role of the hand in piano performance, Mason uses the same three groupings, namely the down-hand, the up-hand, and the ‘devitalized hand’. The processes for the preparatory and practical exercises for these three conditions of the hand are similar to those of the arm. For the preparatory exercise of the down-hand movement, Mason suggests that the student should be seated, with the hand resting upon the lap then, by an impulse from the upper arm, the hand should be thrown upwards by a few inches. He says that the forearm will respond ‘somewhat’ (p. 7) to this action of the upper arm, but the hand should do so more. Interestingly, Mason is partially aware that the forearm has a function in this exercise, but seems unaware that the bicep muscle, which flexes the forearm up towards the head, does not have an attachment to the upper arm, but is connected to the shoulder
blade while the tricep muscle, which extends the forearm in a forward-pushing action, is attached to the humerus (see Chapter 3 on structure of the humerus). Mason provides also an alternative suggestion, which is, that the hand should be raised and lowered using an impulse from the arm, upon which the hand must hang loosely ‘upon the wrist like the free end of a flail’ (p. 8). This suggestion may be put into practice more feasibly, since it is possible for the hand to be raised and then lowered, using an impulse from the arm, but without engaging the flexing and extending muscles situated in the forearm, provided that the fingers remain in contact with the lap, as he suggests. Once the sensation of employing the arm to create the impulse for the hand movement is appreciated by the student, he/she may apply this at the keyboard in two practical ways. First, the hand must be held above the keys so that the third finger touches the key surface ‘after the falling back of the hand and after the up-motion’; 32 second, this touch may be repeated, but with an added down-impulse from the arm, by which the hand should respond, as described above, with a ‘flail-like swing upon the wrist joint’.33 Unfortunately, Mason does not specify whether or not the note should be sounded. While Mason’s attempts to integrate the arm movements into the performance are only partially successful, this is nevertheless a serious beginning - even though it is complex to absorb.
The ‘Devitalized’ Hand
In the section on the ‘devitalized’ hand, Mason says that this may be achieved by practising in the same way as for the ‘devitalized’ arm, i.e., by allowing one’s hand to hang from the wrist listlessly and then shake it up and down by means of pushing the forearm up and down with the free hand. The following is Mason’s test to see if the student’s hand has achieved a ‘condition of perfect limpness, suppleness, and limberness’ (p. 7). He advises the student to play a group of notes, such as C D E F G, with the fingering 1 2 3 4 5. The thumb is placed on C and the fifth finger on G, with the remaining fingers - that is 2, 3, and 4 - placed on D, E, and F respectively. The impetus is achieved by throwing the hand against the first note, the effect of which should carry the hand through the remainder of the notes in a bounding motion. The ‘ devitalized’ condition of the wrist must remain throughout this process, and the force will be reduced as each successive note is sounded.
The Fingers
As too in the previous discussions on the three conditions in the arm and in the hand, he applies the movement of the fingers to the same conditions, which are: the down-finger, the up-finger, and the ‘devitalized’ fingers. In this section, Mason does not provide preparatory gymnastic exercises to obtain the right physical condition of the finger, but instead aligns the different movements with different kinds of touch. For example, the down-finger action entails lifting the finger up at the metacarpal joint - that is, the knuckle (for the anatomical structure of the hand, see the first section in Chapter 3) - and letting it descend with the tip contacting the key perpendicularly (p. 9). Mason gives no advice about how to achieve the ‘devitalization’ action of the finger, although he says that the condition is the same as for the ‘devitalized’ arm.
The Grasp or ‘Clinging Legato’ Touch
This is the most interesting part of Mason’s work, for he understands, correctly, that the function of the hand is to grasp 34 (see Chapter 3 and the first study in Part 4 on the carezzando touch). He describes the movement of the fingers as ‘clinging’ (p. 9), and explains his meaning in the following ways: first, he says that the cushion of the finger may make a clinging contact with the keys so that players will have the sensation that they are pulling the key towards them; second, an action may be made by the tip of the finger which flexes and sweeps it towards the palm of the hand, thus creating a staccato effect; third, he says that when the pressure from the finger increases commensurately, it ‘in extreme forms draws upon the weight of the arm’ (p. 9). He advises that the degree of pressure will vary according to the intensity [i.e., dynamics] and velocity of the musical passage. Thus, faster playing will require less pressure than slower playing. Where the music requires great melodic expressiveness, the pressure from the finger increases commensurately until in ‘extreme forms [it] draws upon the weight of the arm’ (p. 9). Mason’s diagrams, given below, show first, how the fingers of the hand can extend on the key surface (see Figure 2. 3, below), and second, how the fingers can flex against the key surface in a sweeping movement towards the palm (see Figure 2.4, below).
Figure 2.3. Mason’s drawing of the fingers in an extended position on the keyboard.
Figure 2.4. Mason’s drawing showing the hand in a flexed position on the keyboard.
He says that at the end of these movements, the hand should be raised at the wrist joint. Why this should be so is not clear! While Mason’s view of the structure and function of the shoulder complex is not well understood, the most important aspect of his work - which, as he points out, is contrary to the general teaching methods of his time - is that he understands, like Deppe, that all movements of the fingers have their origin not only in the hand, but in the arm, although he does not specify where. Equally, while he recognizes that flexing the finger against the key surface is exploiting the grasping potential of the hand, he does not understand the vital importance of supporting the hand at the point of contact with the key bed (see the first study in Part 4 on the carezzando touch). Consequently, as I have already pointed out, there is a considerable risk of tendonitis if the pressure of the clinging action of the finger is increased without training the hand to support this action at the transverse arch.
Abbey Whiteside
Whiteside writes several treatises on piano performance, but it is in The Pianist’s Mechanism (1929) and Indispensables of Piano Playing (1955) that we see evidence that she not only extends Mason’s view of the movement, or function, of the shoulder and the hand in piano performance, but she explores also the ability of the hand to support the arm, and the functional role of the oppositional thumb. More importantly still, she recognizes that the torso plays a vital role in piano performance. Thus, all these areas of her work will be discussed next.
The Role of the Shoulder
As I have already shown, Mason recognizes that the upper arm is capable of providing power to the hand in piano performance, but Whiteside (1929) goes further, suggesting that the shoulder has a threefold purpose: first, she writes ‘in importance among the shoulder-actions is the use of the right kind of power’ (p. 19), which will determine any changes in tone required by the score; second, ‘of almost equal importance is the governing of the sidewise progression of the hand on the keyboard - finding the place of the tones to be played in either direction, so that the fingers and thumb do not initiate the control for either distance or power’ (p. 43). On the structure of the forearm/hand in Chapter 3, this latter point will be enlarged upon in the discussion in Chapter 3; third, her point is that the role of the shoulder is to accurately gauge ‘the level of the key-bed’ and apply the power ‘where the tone is produced’ (p. 19). Whiteside’s first point demonstrates her fundamental concept, which is that the shoulder is designed in such a way, that in piano performance, it provides power to the sound of the note. In the light of present-day research this is correct (see Chapter 3 for discussion on the function of the shoulder complex). But, while she is unable to describe accurately how the shoulder produces the appropriate force, or power, like Mason she provides a practical exercise, which is intended to help the performer to feel the ‘muscle energy’ (p. 20) of the shoulder. To achieve this feeling of ‘muscle energy’, she suggests that resting one’s elbows on the shoulder of a seated person and pressing them back into their chair as they try to rise. Whiteside illustrates her second point by suggesting that the lateral action of the shoulder along the keyboard is the same as the relationship between the tip of the finger
and the shoulder, i.e., she explains that it is the same as the process of holding a pen between the fingers and guiding it along the page with the shoulder. This suggestion is evidence that she understands that part of the function of the shoulder complex is to position the hand. This is consistent with more recent research to be discussed in Chapter 3 and in the third study in Part 4 entitled ‘Synchronizing the Movements of the Body with Shaping the Music’. Her third point is that the shoulder should be able to gauge the level of the key bed, and she recognizes too that the flexing muscles of the forearm should remain ‘constantly active to keep the forearm hooked up to the source of power at the shoulder’ (p. 23). However, she also expects that these same muscles should yield at the same instant ‘to the act of extension’ (p. 23) of the tricep muscle, but not quite relax. It is difficult to reconcile these demands when in fact it is the function of the bicep muscle to control the speed of the triceps, or extensor muscles when they perform a pushing or forward movement towards the keyboard.
The Transverse Arch or Hand Support
The following is the first account that I have found which explores the question of the transverse arch of the hand providing some support against the force of the arm after the finger has reached the key bed (see the section in structure in Chapter 3 and the first study in Part 4). The force of the arm, Whiteside writes, meets ‘the force of reaction at the centre of the radius of movement for the finger as a whole’ (1955, p. 25), and this point should be the knuckle. She says also that the force of reaction against the knuckle will be produced after the key has been played. Once again, Whiteside uses a practical exercise so that the performer may sense precisely how the knuckle should feel at the point of reaction. She advises that the forearm should be pronated, and then, with the hand lightly closed, the knuckle of the fifth finger should depress a black key. As a consequence, the performer will learn to feel the point of reaction at the knuckle. After acquiring this sensation, the performer may turn the forearm into a supine position so that the third finger of the hand rests on the key without depressing it; then again, with the ‘same amount of power and the same freedom of application’ (p. 25), the left hand may tap the knuckle of the third finger, preventing any muscle reaction of that finger except that which is strictly necessary for the action to send the key downward to the key bed. Once again she says that the knuckle should feel the point of reaction. Whiteside does not say what the role of the upper arm should be during this exercise,
i.e., whether the deltoid muscle should support the weight of the upper arm (as Mason advocates), or whether it should be relaxed, thus allowing the upper arm to hang down beside the body. If it is the former, then the weight on the knuckle will too great for the finger to support the hand when it is turned into the supine position and it will not be able to rest lightly on the key surface, as she advises. If, however, the upper arm is supported in the way that I describe in Chapter 3 in the section on structure, then the finger will be able to rest lightly in a supine position on the key surface, that is to say, without depressing the key to the key bed. If it is the latter, then the performer will feel the reaction at the point of the knuckle, as she says; but since she disregards the function of the flexor and extensor muscles of the forearm, and of the wrist extensors which would provide support at the knuckles, considerable overuse of the extensors in the forearm is likely and may result in stiffness in the posterior forearm.
Opening the Fingers of the Hand
Whiteside is adamant that a common cause of stiffness in the arm or hand of pupils is that they over-reach with their fingers, i.e, they stretch their fingers out to find the notes. She believes that it is muscles in the palm of the hand only, which are responsible for ‘governing the spacing between the fingers for chord-formation’ (: 27) (see Chapter 3), and the imagery which Whiteside uses to achieve this activity in the hand, is that the palm should feel as if it is holding a large bubble, which then becomes ‘a smooth shallow bowl, wherein it rests lightly’ (: 27). Any undue tension of the muscles she says, should be prevented, since it will break the delicate surface of the bubble. However, holding a large bubble in the palm of the hand employs not only the interosseous muscles, but the lumbricals, which are also situated in the palm of the hand (see the first section on structure in Chapter 3). Both groups work together to flex the metacarpophalangeal joint inward towards the palm. Furthermore, the lumbricals are linked to the flexor muscles in the forearm, and conjoin in flexing the metacarpophalangeal joints. I should like to add however, that in the following section on the thumb, Whiteside contradicts her point that the muscles responsible for opening the hand lie solely in the hand, writing, ‘it is not accurate to say that all sideways extensions of the fingers and thumb lies in the palm,’ and continues erroneously that ‘it is an aid in avoiding an undesirable activity to think it entirely there’ (1929, p. 30).
The Opposable Thumb
While Whiteside does not completely understand the ‘grasping’ role of the hand, she does understand the function of the thumb, which is designed to oppose the fingers. This is an important part of understanding the function of the hand which is to ‘grasp’ (for a more recent view of the oppositional function of the thumb and fingers see Marzke (1994) in Chapters 3 and 4). Drawing on the research of the anatomists and kinesiologists Bowen and McKenzie, Whiteside presents what is a unique description at this time of the function of the thumb and its application in piano performance. She writes: ‘the hand of man differs from that of the anthropoid apes mainly in the development of the muscles of the thenar eminence (see Chapter 3), and in the habitual position of the thumb, which is one of more complete opposition to the fingers’ (: 29). She believes that the thumb ‘is easily the most valuable finger of the hand’ (: 29), and describes its function as that of ‘grasping by drawing the tip of one or more fingers towards the thumb (: 29).[2] During this process she advises that the tip of the thumb should not become engaged. However, discouraging the use of the ‘tip’ or distal joint of the thumb in piano performance is to reduce the advantage of its oppositional function. Also, Whiteside contradicts the point above that the muscles responsible for opening the hand lie solely in the hand writing, ‘it is not accurate to say that all sideways extensions of the fingers and thumb lies in the palm, rather ‘it is an aid in avoiding an undesirable activity to think it entirely there’ (1929: 30).
The Torso
In 1955, Whiteside writes the Indispensables of Piano Playing, and in Chapter 5, which is entitled ‘Techniques other than Fingers’, she says that her views on the torso are a ‘diamond mine’ (p. 31). As we shall see, they are certainly innovative, for she says that when the student is seated at the piano, the torso rests on the chair, and should balance on the two ischial bones of the pelvis (see first section on structure in Chapter 3). Whiteside says that the muscles ‘under these ischial bones [the pelvic floor muscles] create activity in the torso, much as the feet against the floor’ (p. 31), but she does not name the muscles, acknowledging that she feels a ‘certain clumsiness’ (p. 30) when doing so. Instead, she
prefers to use imagery to describe the muscles, which she says are like a ‘cushion’ (: 31) and which become thicker through contraction when the pianist lifts up the torso. Equally, she says, the reverse happens when the torso is lowered, i.e., the cushion of muscles then becomes thinner and more relaxed. Continuing, she suggests that the raising and lowering of the torso through the contractions described above may be done gradually or suddenly; thus, if it is the latter, the torso will respond as if dancing a gigue, and if it is performed gradually, ‘one contraction may last for a long crescendo, and the relaxation may be sustained for the following decrescendo: the torso dances a slow waltz’ (p. 32). Fascinating as this is, contradictions appear: first, because, as she says, ‘the muscles under these ischial bones create activity in the torso…’ (p. 31); second, ‘we sit upon a cushion of large muscles’ (p, 31). However, if the torso rests on the two ischial bones, then it cannot sit on a cushion of muscles at the same time. The cushion of muscles which Whiteside may be referring to are the pelvic diaphragm or floor-muscle group (see first section on structure in Chapter 3), which, although they will not lift the torso up or down, as she suggests, will give the torso a sensation of control. This seems to be in line with Pilates, which advocates training the abdominal and pelvic-floor muscles to support the upper body. Whiteside also believes that the same cushion of muscles which lifts the torso up and down will enable the torso to sway in other directions, thus empowering the body to feel the rhythmic response to whatever is being performed. Furthermore, when the torso is raised off the seat, Whiteside suggests that this will involve ‘a transfer of resistance to feet and floor, away from the ischial bones and chair seat, not unlike the transfer from saddle to rump’ (p. 32). Whiteside warns that not to explore this activity will lead to a further damming up of a source of emotional expression. Other movements which change the balance of the torso, such as the collapsing in the centre of the torso, or, relaxing of the spine, or, the raising of the torso off the seat, are, in her view, a sign of a physical response to the emotional moment in the score such as a dramatic sforzando, or pianissimo, and should not be allowed to ‘dam up a source of musical expression’ (p. 32). Once the technique of moving the torso in the way described above is mastered, Whiteside writes ‘all the native sources are so utilized that the playing of the artist no longer seems remote, incredible and impossible’ (p. 30); and she warns that if all these ‘possibilities for blended action in playing are negated pianists will be lopsided and fall short’ (p. 30).
Supporting the Arms
Whiteside is interested also in the role that the torso can play in supporting the arms in piano performance. She considers that the torso can act as the fulcrum for the upper arm, and she provides ‘good imagery for fulcrum activity’, which is to ‘sit in the driver’s seat and hold the reins’ (p. 33). This, she says, will convey the idea of both an active body which is ‘alive’ rather than ‘stodgy’ (p. 33), and a body which takes part in the performance. Whiteside is not specific about which muscles should be engaged when the arms are held in this way, and does not warn against contracting the wrong muscle group, such as the trapezius muscles, whose function is to elevate the shoulder blades upwards and laterally (see first section on structure in Chapter 3). Contracting these muscles is a common fault to be found amongst performers and can result in mild to severe pain, usually between the shoulder blades.
Thomas Fielden
Thomas Fielden considers that the achievements of Breithaupt and Matthay (see Chapter 1), broke new ground and that this helped to pave the way for his own research. In 1927, he writes The Science of Piano Technique. This is a scientific treatise, i.e., it is based on an understanding of human anatomy at this time, rather than being - as he writes in the Preface - yet another new method of piano technique. His aim, which he says ‘will in all probability make the modern pianoforte pedants throw up shocked hands’ (p. 85), is to prove that the performer’s body can be engaged in piano performance if physical and mechanical laws are applied in a natural rather than an artificial way.35 In contrast to Whiteside, Fielden proposes that technical training should be combined with practise, which is based on the understanding of three key issues: the mental factor, the nervous factor and the muscular factor. Elaborating further, and presciently, as we shall see, he writes that these factors do not need to be trained separately, since they will react upon and coordinate with each other. For the brain conceives the movement, the nerves communicate it to the muscles concerned with the movement, and they in their turn
execute the orders they receive. This is in accordance with the discussion on the function of the somatosensory system in the last section on control systems in the brain in Chapter 3. Although Fielden places the muscular factor last in order of the three factors, he devotes the greatest part of his attention to it, and urges the student to understand from the outset that ‘the goal of muscular efficiency is not an abnormality so much as fitness, not strength as much as suppleness’ (p. 11). Fielden begins by describing the ‘general situation of the muscles groups’ (p. 26), which are grouped around six groups of bones, as those being engaged in the act of piano performance. They are: the scapula and clavicle, the humerus; the forearm (which consists of the ulna and the radius); the wrist, which comprises eight small bones; the metacarpal bones of the hand; and finally, the phalanges of the fingers.
The Scapula and Clavicle
Fielden begins his discussion on the anatomical structure of the performer with the scapula and the clavicle. Importantly, he recognizes that these bones provide the anchorage for the shoulder muscles, which he identifies as the deltoid, the pectoral and the dorsal muscles. He describes their function as follows: the deltoid muscle lifts the arm into a horizontal position, while the pectoral muscle swings it laterally inwards and forwards, and the dorsal pulls it backwards and laterally outwards. The second bone is the humerus, which Fielden believes, provides the anchorage for the brachialis, the bicepand the tricep muscles, which move the bones of the forearm, which is discussed next. In fact it is the shoulder blade which provides the anchorage, although from this division of the scapula and the clavicle from the humerus we can see that Fielden does not completely understand the importance of their interrelationship, which as we shall see in Chapter 3 are grouped together as the shoulder complex. Fielden suggests too, that it is not necessary to divide the muscles of the forearm into separate compartments since it is too difficult to do so, but that there are two functions which should be understood by the performer.36 First, the forearm rotates on its own axis. This involves the ‘supinating and pronating muscles in the forearm as well as the bicep (in the upper arm)’ (p. 89). Second, ‘the rotation of the elbow joint (and in some cases the wrist joint) is actuated by the muscles in the shoulder ’ (p. 90).
In conclusion, Fielden writes that the movement of the forearm is a ‘definite muscular effort’ (p. 95), and its rotatory action in conjunction with the rotatory action of the wrist may be used to increase the freedom and suppleness of the movement of the fingers. Finally, he says that the lower end of the humerus serves, with the radius or ulna as the anchorage for the bones of the wrist, hand and fingers. His discussion of the wrist is limited, for he writes only that it ‘consists of eight small bones which lie between the radius and the ulna and the metacarpal bones of the hand.’
The Anatomical Structure and Muscles of the Hand
Fielden gives a very detailed account of the anatomical structure and muscles of the hand, believing that a conscious location of the function of the muscles is an invaluable part of developing the work of the finger. Figure 2.5, below is a rather crude drawing of the three phalanges of the fingers.
Figure 2.5. A reproduction of Fielden’s drawing of the three phalanges of the fingers.
The Structure of the Hand
Describing the metacarpal bones in the hand, Fielden says that they form the anchorage for the interosseous muscles, which lie in two layers in the hand; they are known as the dorsal and palmar muscles. Their function is twofold: in the first instance, the palmar muscles abduct the fingers away from the middle finger and in the second instance, the dorsal muscles adduct the fingers towards the middle finger. These same muscles also assist in extending the phalanges of the second and third fingers. The lumbricals, which
are also situated between the metacarpal bones of the hand, flex the first phalanges of the fingers (see first section in Chapter 3 on structure). Fielden also says that the flexor muscles in the forearm, which he describes as the flexor profundus digitorum, flex the second and third phalanges, while the extensor communis digitorum, which is situated in the back of the forearm, extends the first phalange of the fingers. Fielden concludes: ‘There are two important and interdependent factors to be considered before leaving the subject. The first is that when the muscles have completed their own particular function, they can be, and often are, used to assist the work of the greater muscles. For instance, when the fingers are used to their maximum, the flexing muscles of the fingers go on to assist the wrist and forearm’ (p. 31). He cites, for example, the lumbricals, which are situated in the palm of the hand (see first section in Chapter 3 on structure), and which arise from tendons in the hand. Their function is to flex the first phalanges of the fingers, but, as he has already stated, there can also be cooperation between the muscles situated in the hand and the flexing muscles in the forearm, which may come to their assistance and flex the second and third phalanges. Equally, the interosseous muscles, which extend the second and third phalanges, may also draw on the extensor muscles, situated in the forearm, which extend the first phalanges.
The Relaxation Fallacy
At the time that Fielden is writing, finger training has become very neglected. The reason he gives for this, as we have seen in Chapter 1, is that ‘the traditional methods of finger training led to rigidity within the forearm’ (p. 45). However, unlike Whiteside, Fielden does not believe that a technique which encourages full use of the arm weight is the answer. Here, Fielden is referring to the method promulgated by Breithaupt, amongst others (see Chapter 1), and he presents his own argument against the theory of relaxation in piano performance, writing ‘there is no such thing as relaxation…Relaxation is not a negative action but a definite and positive muscular function’ (p. 58). Using the analogy of the cat lying in repose while waiting to pounce on its prey, Fielden argues that the cat is not relaxed, but in a state of ‘grace of movement’, that is to say, ‘poise and balance’ (p. 75). In this state, there is no extraneous muscular contraction, only a ‘perfect nervous preparation’ (p. 80) (see the discussion in the first study in Part 4). Finally Fielden states that this state cannot be relaxation, since relaxation comes only after effort, and that effort ‘is in a compartment by itself’ (p. 60). Fielden’s view that the relaxation of muscles is an
exertion, is a futuristic observation, which has only recently been addressed, by sports psychologists, amongst others.
The Role of the Finger
While Fielden’s description of the function of the finger in piano performance is not wholly accurate, it is nevertheless very interesting, given that it would appear to be the first detailed description of how the fingers move in piano performance. ‘In finger action’, he writes, ‘the finger swings from the knuckle-joint and the power is supplied by the muscles of the fingers, which start in the hand and continue into the forearm. The knuckle is the fulcrum and the energy is exerted against the keyboard by means of the flexing muscles in combination with this fulcrum’ (p. 48). However, the statement above is misleading, because Fielden describes the flexing muscles as starting in the hand and continuing into the forearm, but the lumbricals, which are situated in the hand, do not continue into the forearm. To flex the muscles more strongly as I pointed out earlier in the chapter, the intrinsic muscles within the hand may be selected rather than the flexors, which do continue into the forearm. Equally, the reverse may be the case. Fielden continues his discussion on the muscles of the fingers by describing the forearm flexors of fingers 2, 3 and 4, which he says are located in the forearm in one ‘comprehensive muscle’ (p. 99), which is the flexor digitorum profundus (see section on structure in Chapter 3). However, there are further divisions within the ‘one comprehensive muscle’, as he describes it, which are connected to individual fingers, and may be more or less developed in different performers.
The Hand and its Role in Supporting the Arm
Fielden states that the muscles of the hand must be trained to support the weight of the arm. He explains that the forearm and the fingers, which act as a brace, take up the resistance, and he demonstrates this physical condition at the point of contact with the key by drawing the analogy of attempting to touch an object gently. Fearful that the wrist might fall downwards in an uncontrolled way, thus, we hold the forearm and hand in a
state of contraction. Finally, he says, the ability to apply the muscular condition of controlled fixation and contraction will give ‘authority and definiteness’ to the player’s interpretation (p. 86). This is an interesting view, because Fielden is mooting the principle of support in the hand, while the weight is taken off the hand by the action of the shoulder muscles. But, as we have seen, while he uses the words ‘supporting’ (p. 61), ‘pivot’ (p. 62) and ‘press’ (p. 62), there is not a clear explanation about the muscular process that takes place in the forearm or in the hand at the point of contact with the keys - although he says that the flexing muscles (which muscles, he does not say) and the triceps act as buffers, ‘preventing a shock to the arm’ (p. 60). The ‘truth’, he concludes, is that ‘the contracting muscles should not be at full rigidity at the critical point: they should be in a state of resilience’ (p. 63), a prescient view which is discussed in the first study in Part 4.
The Role of the Thumb
Fielden gives the thumb scant attention, and employs his argument, already described above, that the smaller muscles may assist the larger muscles in the work of the thumb muscles during the performance of wrist octaves. As an example, he says that the thumb’s flexor muscle, which is situated in the forearm, may assist in flexing the wrist - that is to say, when drawing the wrist (or forearm) downwards towards the keyboard - and that the thumb should not be moved independently of the wrist action, because this results only result in ‘irritation and fatigue’ (p. 30). Equally, Fielden says the same may be said of the opponens minimi digiti, which also flexes the fifth finger during the performance of wrist octaves (p. 31).
The Laws of Leverage
Having systematically broken down the anatomical structure and the muscles engaged in piano playing, Fielden introduces the notion that any bone which is moving must follow the laws of leverage, i.e., the bone must have its fulcrum, or anchorage, at some point on the adjacent bone that is being moved. Furthermore - as he points out, in accordance with Mason - muscles have ‘two processes, contraction and relaxation…and that their function
is to move the bones of the limbs, enabling the bones to operate as levers’ (p. 68). An innovative thought, as is his use of diagrams. In Figure 2.6, below, Fielden’s diagram shows the two bones of the arm as represented by two lines: first, by the left hand line marked a, which represents the forearm; second, by the right hand line marked b, which represents the humerus. The shaded portion represents the bicep muscle, which is shown in a state of muscular contraction. This means that it has become shortened and bulge-like, with the result that the forearm bone is levered upwards in an extending action towards the shoulder joint.
Figure 2.6. A reproduction of Fielden’s diagram showing the shaded area, which is the bicep in a contracted state.
When the forearm bone is levered downwards, the brachial muscle extends and relaxes, and the tricep muscle on the underside of the humerus or upper-arm bone contracts in a bulge-like way (see Figure 2.7, below).
Figure 2.7. A reproduction of Fielden’s diagram showing the shaded area of the tricep on the underside of the humerus, which is in a contracted state.
Maria Levinskaya
Like Fielden, Maria Levinskaya claims that her work is scientific in its approach. However, I have found no reference to her life, or musical work,37 but in her introduction to The Levinskaya System of Pianoforte Technique and Tone-Colour through Mental and Muscular Control (1930), she says that she is descended from a ‘family who for several generations counted amongst its members men of science and medicine’ (p. 4). This, she says, gives her the advantage of being able to organize knowledge; also, since her own musical studies suffer from the lack of a general scientific basis, she puts her observations ‘to the severe test of personal experiment’ (p. 4). By this she means that from the beginning she teaches young children to play the piano, and this proves to be not only her ‘real “laboratory” of experiment [but gives her] conclusive evidence as to the fundamental principles of a “Pianistic Science”’ (p. 8). By 1917, Levinskaya has formulated a balance between two opposing schools of thought: the pure finger-work school, and the school of relaxation and weight touch. She believes that the latter has developed only as a ‘reaction against the evils attendant on too great and incorrect concentration on this branch of technique’ (p. ix). However, she does acknowledge that the work of researchers such as Ortmann (see Chapter 1) influences her during her research, since they ‘supported my theories from a totally different point of view’ (p. 213), i.e, in her ‘analysis of the causes springing from the human tool - the arm and its source of energy - the muscles’ (p. 214).
Arm Weight: The ‘Hammock-Arm’
Levinskaya’s work is of great interest to me, because she appears to be the first to recognize that the shoulder blade has a function in piano performance (see section on function in Chapter 3). She believes that the full arm weight may be suspended at one end from the shoulder blade and at the other end from the fingertip, and at any given moment the whole arm should be ready to swing between these two points (p. 141). She describes this as the ‘Hammock-Arm’ (see Figure 2.8, below). However, contradictions appear when, as she says, it becomes necessary to move from one note to the next, the single
curved shape of the whole arm changes, and while the upper arm must retain its curve, the forearm becomes convex. This, she says, may be achieved by holding the wrist in such a way that it becomes the highest point of the upward curve. This muscular change from the shape of the ‘Hammock-Arm’ to the rearrangement described above represents, according to Levinskaya, a complicated combination of the parts, which will mean, first, that the weight of the arm is carried by the dorsal muscles on the shoulder blade, and, second, that the steadiness of the upper arm will be controlled by the appropriate muscles, i.e., the biceps, or the triceps.
Figure 2,8. A reproduction of Levinskaya’s diagram of the ‘Hammock-Arm’.
Levinskaya defines the ‘Hammock-Arm’ as being the ‘passive suspension of the full arm weight in its point of equilibrium…and ready to swing between two points’ (p. 141) namely, the shoulder blade and the fingertip. However, contradictions appear in her approach when, as she says, it becomes necessary to move from one note to the next. For, she says that to do so will necessitate ‘carrying the weight of the arm on definitely supporting dorsal muscles on the shoulder blades’ (p. 142). However, the dorsal muscles she refers to (see Figure 2.9, below), are in fact the deltoid muscles, whose function is to support the arm during all its movements in piano performance.
Figure 2.9. Levinskaya’s drawing showing the upper dorsal muscle,and the lower dorsal muscle in the shaded areas, with arm raised.
Still on the subject of moving from one note to the next, Levinskaya says: ‘the upper arm’ must do the steadying ‘by controlling the different degrees of tenseness’ (p. 142), and at the same time the fingers must be ready to flex for an ‘immediate control of key descent’ (p. 142). Levinskaya does not recognize that there are three important groups of muscles which contribute to the movement of the upper arm at the shoulder joint; these are the deltoid, the pectorals (see Figure 2.10, below) and the latissimus dorsi. Instead, she assigns the work of lifting and supporting the arm to the deltoid alone.
Figure 2.10. A reproduction of Levinskaya’s drawing showing the pectoral muscles that adduct the arm across the body.
The Role of the Forearm
Levinskaya reasons rightly (see discussion in function in Chapter 2) that the descent of the forearm towards the keyboard should be done in a controlled way and it should not simply be allowed to fall. Thus, to bring the forearm bone in a downward movement towards the keyboard, the tricep will contract, while the bicep relaxes, but to lift the forearm upwards, the bicep and the brachialis on the interior side of the forearm will contract as the tricep relaxes (see Figure 2.11, below).
Figure 2.11. A reproduction of Levinskaya’s drawing shows the bicep muscle, which lifts the forearm upwards
Like Fielden, Levinskaya considers that the methods of the relaxation and weight school as expounded by Breithaupt and Matthay (which, as I have already pointed out are a reaction to the excessive training of the fingers) have ‘gone beyond all bounds and by their exaggeration had destroyed much of the old teaching which was sound’ (p. xi). After hearing Breithaupt play, she speculated that he may never have been capable of mastering finger articulation, since it seems to her, with all its control is, ‘too great a sacrifice even for the purpose of proving one’s theories to voluntarily renounce so wonderful an asset’ (p. 58).
The Role of the Hand
While, as we have seen, Mason understands that the muscles, which are partially
responsible for grasping lie in the forearm, Levinskaya goes further and recognizes that the muscles in the hand and the forearm combine to flex and extend the fingers in the grasping movement. However, according to Levinskaya, laying the correct ‘foundation for finger work’ (p. 141) means that the ‘Hammock-Arm’ must first be established as a base, before the keys are pressed down by flexing the lumbricals in the palm of the hand and the flexors in the lower part of the forearm, or released by raising the fingers using the extensors and interosseous (see Figure 2.12, below).
Figure 2.12. Levinskaya’s drawing of the flexor muscles in the forearm, and the lumbricals in the palm of the hand.
To feel the contracting action of the lumbricals, forearm flexors, and interosseous Levinskaya suggests that the student close the fingers of the hand with the palm of the hand supinated. No other muscular contraction must be felt while this action is being practised. She also posits correctly that when the fingertips pinch together, or when the fingers extend away from the centre of the hand, it is the interosseous (see Figure 2.13b, below) which control the two lower phalanges of the fingers and perform these actions.
From this description, we can see that Levinskaya understands that the fingers are capable of employing different types of grip, which she describes as the ‘The Grip-Pinch’ and ‘The Pinch’ (pp. 142-3). Describing the ‘The Grip-Pinch’, she writes that the fingers are flexed at the knuckles by the lumbricals (see Figure 2.13a, above). However, the muscles responsible for the fingertips pinching together are the interosseous, the lumbricals flex only the proximal phalanges (which are the phalanges nearest to the knuckle joints), although she shows the lumbricals, in conjunction with ‘other’ unnamed muscles, drawing the fingers together to form ‘a hollow in the palm of the hand’ (p.143). Levinskaya also illustrates with a diagram, her meaning of the ‘The Pinch’, but the text is not clear. From the diagram (see Figure 2.13b, above) we can see that the fingertips are being drawn towards the thumb (present-day researchers describe this as a precision grip, but it is not only, as she believes, the interosseous which make this function possible, but also the intrinsic muscles in the hand, which are the lumbricals, and situated in the forearm, the long flexors, and extensors of the fingers.
The Role of the Torso
While Levinskaya does not discuss the role of the torso as a whole, she does note, albeit briefly, that a ‘lack of control over the trunk is due to the incapacity for making a stabilised fulcrum at some point in the vertebral column’ (p. 105).
* In conclusion, the research of the four pioneers is invaluable, since the main thrust of their work is towards understanding how the structure and function of the shoulder complex, the forearm/hand and the torso and their application in piano performance. While their approach is incomplete, due to the limited research available at the time we have seen that Mason understands the grasping function of the forearm and the hand, while Fielden explores the potential of the shoulder muscles to transport (see chapter 3 on structure and function) the weight of the arm. Whiteside shows that the shoulder provides the force, and ‘transports’ the hand so that the muscles of the fingers refrain from contracting in order to ‘reach’ the keys. It is evident that Levinskaya does understand the structure, but not the function, of the shoulder complex, and however vague, both Levinskaya and Whiteside hypothesise that the torso can act as a fulcrum for the activity
of the upper arm. What is missing from the work of the four pioneers is an awareness that their conclusions concerning the anatomical structure and function of the performer are too fragmented. Furthermore, their work is too disconnected from real musical contexts. Thus, Chapter 3 will examine, in the light of more modern research, the anatomical structure and function of the shoulder complex, the forearm/hand and which ̶ combined, perform the ‘reach to grasp’ movement ̶ and of the torso, with the aim of laying the foundation for understanding the role of function, or movement, and memorizing in piano performance; and the systems in the brain which control the movements for the ‘reach to grasp’, the torso, and memorizing.
PART II: The Body and its Role in Piano Performance
Introduction
As we have seen throughout the extensive historical literature survey in Chapters 1 and 2, pedagogues and performers generally tend to encourage a motionless posture during piano performance. The four pioneers, who understand that movement of the shoulder complex i.e., the scapula (shoulder blade), the upper arm, the collarbone and the forearm/hand is essential, often tend to view each component as a separate entity. As we shall see throughout the inquiry in Chapter 3 into the structure and function of the body, many of the issues with which they struggle, such as the carezzando touch, and the ‘reach to grasp’ can now be clarified through the research of Tyldersley and Grieve (1996), Rizzollati (2004/6) and Ramachandaran (2011), amongst others. I should point out also that while this research is of fundamental importance in piano performance, it is also very demanding and it requires considerable effort and patience to assimilate the details and absorb them in a ‘mindful’ way into daily practice at the piano. Also, I have kept the more complex details about the structure of the shoulder complex, the forearm/hand and the torso, in the main body of the Chapter, for it seems to me that to put them in an Appendix to make the reading easier would diminish their vital importance. The importance too of understanding the structure and function of the body is underpinned further by revelations which were published after an extensive survey 38 amongst musicians undertaken in America in 1986. Many problems, including a high incidence of tendonitis and dystonia,were reported. 3 9 Although this survey increased awareness amongst the medical profession, a trend has since developed in which musicians only react when physical trauma has ensued, rather than adopt a proactive approach in early training. Second, there is also, as the medical practitioner Wynn Parry (1998) points out, a ‘crisis in the arts worldwide, although it is more acute in the United Kingdom where government support of the arts is declining’ (p. 5). The result of this decline in support is, as the British Association of Performing Arts Medicine found after their survey in 1997,that 83% of the musicians who replied, acknowledged that they had received almost no training in their schools or music colleges about the structure or function of the body in performance. 40 Evidence too from my own recent survey, albeit a small one, into modern pedagogical practice in piano performance in the conservatoires and music departments of universities, has shown me that in general, the focus is still upon finger training, and that there is little
or no comprehension of the anatomical structure of those areas of the body mentioned above, although they did feel that they ought to have some idea of what it is all about. In view of this present state of affairs, I will begin this Chapter with a transcription of a recent conversation (2010) with expert osteopath Iqbal Hussein, about the vital need for pedagogues to take a more ‘reactive’ approach when teaching performers, especially young ones, and begin their training by encouraging them to understand in the early stages of their development the anatomical structure and function of the body.
Chapter 3: Anatomical Structure, Function and the Systems in the Brain Which Control Movements and Memorising
If, as Rosen (2002) says, the ‘physical attitude or the state of nerves, tendons and muscles of the body has an inevitable effect on the mood and interpretation of every passage [of the music being performed]’, then it would seem essential that the performer educate him or herself about function or movement of the body - first and foremost, because it is the movements of the body which convey the performer’s musical intelligence to the audience. There are several areas of study - such as anatomy, physiology, physics and biomechanics, which contribute towards our understanding of movement - but since no one area of research can adequately account for how movement occurs, this Chapter will focus first, on the anatomy of the body, which provides information about the structure of the bones, joints, and muscles that are responsible for movement; second, on function, which seeks to describe how we move; and third, on the brain systems which control movement. Finally, I will inquire briefly into the role of memorizing, which is in part, a function of the body. However, to emphasize the vital importance of understanding the role of the body in piano performance, I will begin with an interview between Iqbal Hussein, a member of the Osteopathic Council, and the author.
Interview
Osteopath: The general attitude in the musical profession towards pianists seems to be that, if you can’t hack it, then you can’t be a musician. I can’t think of another instrument other than the piano which is large, heavy, and fixed and which one is unable to get close to, or hug but can only be played at arm’s length. The demand on the upper back, shoulder girdles and arms is quite immense if one thinks of the hours of practice and performance that pianists have to go through. The reality is that if you want a pianist to excel, like a soldier, they must go through a thorough and demanding physical training backed up with a knowledge of how their bodies are made and how they work, am I right?
Author: Agreed. In 1995, Krampe and Ericsson calculated that the best students practise for 7.410 hours before going to music college. Imagine practising this number of hours without a sound knowledge of the structure and function of the body. What do you suggest is the way forward?
Osteopath: The present state of affairs is unacceptable. Most people can be taught to play an instrument efficiently if they know how the body works and how this knowledge can be applied. As you know, changes are easier in young bodies. Assessing the condition of the spine, and posture, and then its regular maintenance is vital. Discovering the areas of binding and imbalance in the spine and the soft tissues, and addressing these with appropriate treatment and information or advice would be invaluable to the development of the pianist. In keeping with the crane image (see details of the crane image in Function, under the heading: The function of the shoulder complex), the human body must be oiled and well lubricated, giving time for the soft tissues to recover from regular use, or in many cases overuse. It’s not exclusively that: if one can optimise function or movement it will make the performer more adapted to the environment - i.e., the piano. Teach the anatomy and which muscles work, how and where they pull, and how the joints work. We are talking about comprehensive physical health. This will enable elegant performance, and give the musician stamina and career longevity. Physical health management and maintenance has to be introduced in the training years by the teacher. It should be part of the curriculum of the piano student.
Author: There is a huge resistance to this, as I found in my survey. Pedagogues think that they should understand the role of the body, but were not too disturbed by admitting that they did not. This is possibly because it involves making a huge mental effort over and above all the other demands of the profession. Also, if you read Dr Wynn Parry’s (1998) chapter on the ‘Musician’s Hand and Arm Pain’, he says that performers prefer to hide their physical difficulties from their colleagues, and the rest of the world. There is a real fear amongst the profession that admitting that there is a problem could lead to untold consequences.
Osteopath: It would seem that, in general like any other human being, performers only
seek professional help once physical injury has ensued. Then, they often seek the help of holistic medicine, and sit in chair and feel wider and taller as in the Alexander technique, more stretched as in yoga, or find greater ease of movement as in Feldenkrais, and yet still have no idea how their body functions. This approach is reactive, not proactive. Teaching anatomy and where function can go wrong must be part of a young performer’s training from the beginning. Young brains need information that will stick, so it has to be ‘applied knowledge’. This will enhance their playing and make them better prepared to apply principles of injury prevention. Finally, even when function is understood, the performer may not be able to hold their physical form, i.e., posture, during the performance. Form is about how you hold yourself and interact with the piano. The performer must train with the aim of being well oiled and at one with the instrument - in other words they must learn to ‘establish the dance’.
Structure
In this detailed inquiry into the anatomical structure of the shoulder complex, the forearm/hand and the torso, it should be noted that I do not provide illustrations for all the muscles to which I make reference. It is a complex subject and therefore I have restricted my choice to the large groups of muscles which are activated in piano performance. I have relied heavily upon the research of Tyldersley and Grieve (1996) and the anatomical drawings by Andras Szunyoghy (1999).
The Shoulder Complex
It is extraordinary that so little is understood by pedagogues and performers about the structure of the shoulder complex, because its ability to perform a wide range of movements in piano performance is remarkable and should be unimpeded in performance. Below are two diagrams, which view the shoulder complex from the front (see Figure 3.1a) and the shoulder complex from the back (see Figure 3.1b). Both views show that the structure of the shoulder complex consists of three bones: the scapula, the upper arm, and the collarbone.
Figure 3.1a. The bones of the shoulder complex viewed from the front. 41
Figure 3.1b. The bones of the shoulder complex viewed from the back. 42
The Muscles of the Shoulder Complex
All the movements of the performer are enabled by muscles that are attached to two separate bones forming the two points of fixation by tendons. One point is usually fixed and is called the origin, while the point which moves the bone like a lever is called the insertion (Szunyoghy, 1990, p. 479). As the muscles contract, the points are brought closer together to enable movement of the bones.
The Scapula
The scapula (shoulder blade) is loosely attached to the back area of the body by flat muscles. According to Tyldersley and Grieve (1996, pp. 121-122), the scapula can be moved in six different directions, i.e.:
i. Elevated in a shrugging movement that at the same time moves the lower corner of the shoulder blade upwards laterally. This is achieved by a contraction of the trapezius
(see Figure 3.2, below). ii. Depressed by lowering or depressing the shoulder blade, using the pectoralis minor. This same muscle also rotates the scapula medially. iii. Protracted by moving the scapula around the chest wall during the positioning and pushing forwards of the humerus, using the serratus anterior and pectoralis minor. iv. Retracted by moving the scapula down and back towards the spine - as in reaching behind the back with the arm using the rhomboids (major and minor) and trapezius-middle fibres. v.
Laterally rotated upwards, using the trapezius (see Figure 3.2, below) and the
serratus anterior. vi. Medially rotated downwards, using the rhomboids and the levator scapula.
The mobility of the scapula enables it to support and transport the movements of the humerus, or upper arm. This means that in piano performance the movement of the upper arm is greatly enhanced if this function is understood and unimpeded.
The Humerus, or ‘Upper-Arm’
As we have seen in the historical literature surveys in Chapters 1 and 2, the role of the humerus (upper arm) has been the cause of much confusion, since its use in piano performance has been either completely discouraged, or variously encouraged to move independently from the rest of the shoulder complex, or even thought to provide the necessary force in isolation from the rest of the shoulder complex. The following description is intended to dispel some of the confusion. The upper arm consists of one bone called the humerus. The ‘bony articulation of the glenohumeral joint occurs between the head of the humerus, and t he shallow glenoid fossa at the lateral aspect of the scapula’ (Tyldersley and Grieve, 1996, p. 113). The arrangement of this joint greatly increases the range of movement of the humerus when making abducting or adducting movements at the keyboard. In piano performance, abducting the arm at the keyboard means the performer carries the arm laterally along the keyboard in an outward direction from the body. To adduct the arm means to carry the arm laterally
towards the centre of the body or across the body. There are three large muscles covering the top of the humerus, and give it a distinctive, round shape. They are the pectoralis major, the deltoid and the latissimus dorsi (see Figure 3.2, below). These muscles not only move the humerus through a wide range of movements at the shoulder joint, but enable also the upper arm to perform an extending action of the forearm/hand in a downward movement against the keys.
The Deltoid
The deltoid (see Figure 3.2, below) is a very powerful muscle which supports the weight of the arm of the performer as he/she transports the forearm/hand towards or laterally along the keyboard. It is inserted halfway down the lateral shaft of the humerus, and the other end feeds anteriorly at the lateral end of the clavicle - the acromion process of the scapula. The posterior fibres of the deltoid are attached to the spine of the scapula. The deltoid is able also to abduct the humerus to 90 degrees, pull it backwards, rotate it outwards, or fix the shoulder joint. Importantly, for the performer it can also function eccentrically, controlling the descent of the upper arm so that it does not collapse under the force of the gravitational pull when it makes a downward movement towards the keyboard.
Figure 3.2. The muscles surrounding the shoulder complex 43
As may be seen, this is a complex matter, so I will give a very detailed account here of the different muscles which coordinate and enable the wide range of movements by the humerus. As I said at the beginning of this chapter, it has been necessary to draw heavily upon the research of Tyldersley and Grieve.
i.
The downwards and backwards pulling action of the humerus in piano performance
extends the glenohumeral joint by using the deltoid-posterior fibres, pectoralis majorsternocostal fibres, latissimus dorsi and teres major. These muscles coordinate also with the retraction movement of the scapula by contracting the rhomboid and trapezius-middle fibres. Lateral movements and upward action of the humerus abduct the glenohumeral oint, using the deltoid and supraspinatus, and coordinate with a lateral (upward) rotation of the scapula by using the trapezius-upper and lower fibres and serratus anterior. ii. Pulling the upper arm down to the side of the body in piano performance adducts the humerus by using the pectoralis major and
latissimus dorsi, teres major and
coracobrachialis, and coordinates with the scapula by pulling it medially i.e., downward, and rotating it by using the rhomboids and levitator scapulae (see Figure 3.3, below) iii. Moving the upper arm in front of and across the body in piano performance medially rotates the humerus using the deltoids-anterior fibres, pectoralis major, latissimus dorsi, teres major and subscapularis, and coordinates also with the scapula by protracting it by using the serratus anterior and pectoralis minor. iv. Lateral movement of the upper arm in piano performance engages the lateral rotation of the humerus and deltoid-posterior fibres and infraspinatus and teres minor muscles, and coordinates also with the scapula by retracting it sideways and backwards by using the rhomboid and trapezius-middle fibres.
Figure 3.3. The levitator scapulae, the trapezius dorsi, and the trapezius colli muscles.44
The trapezius dorsi muscle (see Figure 3.3, above) pulls the shoulder blade to the centre, while the trapezius colli muscle pulls the shoulder blade upwards, the latter is a common misuse of the movement of the muscle during piano performance.
The Pectoralis Major
The second muscle of the group is the pectoralis major. This muscle not only adducts and medially rotates the humerus across and in front of the body in a reaching action across the keyboard, but also pulls it downward or forward. The pectoralis major is a large, triangular-shaped muscle, the apex of which is attached to the humerus, while the base is connected to the thorax.
The Latissimus Dorsi
The third muscle of the group is the latissimus dorsi (see Figure 3.3, above). This
muscle also assists in transporting the humerus, or the upper arm towards the keyboard in performance. It is a very large muscle whose proximal attachment to the body is in the lumbar and upper sacral vertebrae. It wraps around the trunk, passing under the glenohumeral joint, and is attached to the anterior end of the humerus. Its function is to adduct the humerus by pulling the scapula caudally downward, and dorsally towards the performer’s back. It may also pull the humerus from a lifted position in performance down towards the keyboard. There are also four distinct groups of muscles which function as guy ropes, and which stabilize the humerus, throughout all its movements in piano performance. They are known as the ‘rotator cuff’ muscles, i.e., the supraspinatus, infraspinatus, teres major, and subscapularis muscles. The supraspinatus initiates any abduction of the humerus, even before the deltoid exerts its pull on the lateral shaft of the humerus . The remaining three muscles - the subscapularis ( moving medially), and the infraspinatus and teres minor muscles (moving laterally) - all contribute towards rotating the humerus at the keyboard. It should be noted that these muscles have only a weak action as prime movers (a prime mover is a muscle which contracts to perform a specific action). The Forearm
Structure
Unlike the shoulder complex, the forearm has not been such a source of contention amongst pedagogues and performers, although how the muscles move the bones does not yet seem to be fully understood. I view the forearm and the hand as one unit, but, for the purpose of clarification, the structure, and muscles of the forearm will be described first. It is a simple enough task to describe the bones, while the arrangement of the muscles is more complex. The forearm consists of two bones - the ulna (which is fixed) and the radius. The design of the bones allows for a powerful rotation of the forearm/hand, which can either pronate or supinate the forearm at the elbow joint, as well as being able to flex and extend the elbow.
Muscles of the Forearm
When a rotational movement of the forearm/hand to the right of the body in performance turns the palm of the hand upward, it may be said to be in a supine position. This movement is caused by the contraction of the powerful bicep (see Figure 3.4, below). The forearm/hand may be described as being in a prone position when the forearm/hand is rotated to the left, and the palm of the hand is in a downward position. Pronation is performed also by the biceps brachii, or brachialis, muscles. These muscles rotate the elbow inwards and help to flex the forearm at the elbow joint. In piano playing, this rotational ability may be employed by the left forearm/hand, when performing for example, an Alberti bass (a term that is applied to an arpeggiated bass, and which is characteristic of many of Domenico Alberti’s harpsichord sonatas). As I have already pointed out, the muscles which flex the forearm at the elbow joint are the biceps. For the purpose of piano performance, it is very important to note that the bicep (see Figure 3. 4, below) has no attachment to the humerus , but is connected to the scapula at one end by two tendons, and by an insertion into the medial, or middle side of the radius at the other end. This means that all the movements of the forearm in piano performance are supported from the scapula, and not from the humerus, as is often thought (see Fielden’s discussion on the role of the forearm in Chapter 2). The bicep can also weakly flex the arm at the shoulder joint and extend the shoulder joint while flexing the forearm. During the flexion of the forearm, the bicep produces a release of the manipulative joints of the hand after a downward push against the keyboard by the tricep muscle (see Figure 3.4, below). This action may be employed in forearm octaves, which necessitate a flexing and extending movement of the forearm at the elbow joint. During the extending or lifting action of the forearm, the tricep muscle thins, and as it flexes or pushes the forearm down towards the keyboard it contracts and thickens. Like the bicep, the long head of the tricep muscle is also attached to the scapula while the lateral head is attached to the upper part of the posterior shaft of the humerus, with the medial insertion in the lower half of the shaft of the humerus. The fibres of the three fascicles converge to insert as one tendon into the olecranon of the ulna with some fibres actually extending into the forearm. The tricep muscle also provides the forearm with extra power for pushing the hand in an extending downward movement towards the keyboard. Furthermore, as I have already said, during that descent the bicep muscle provides some control, so that the forearm/hand does not collapse on to the keyboard.
Figure 3.4. The bicep and the tricep muscles. 45
The forearm provides also a seat for the muscles which help to increase the manipulative ability of the hand. Below is a detailed description of these muscles, which will illustrate why I view the forearm and the hand as a single unit.
The Palmar Side of the Forearm
Within the palmar side i.e., the underside of the forearm lie the flexing muscles. These are known as the flexor digitorum profundus and the flexor digitorum superficialis (see Figure 3.5, below), and they flex the second, third and fourth fingers. The flexor digitorum rofundus muscle has no insertion in the humerus, being attached to the anterior and medial shaft of the ulna and to the anterior shaft of the radius, but the flexor digitorum superficialis muscle has its insertion on the medial side above the elbow and is attached also lower down on the ulna, and on the anterior shaft of the radius. The flexor digitorum profundus and the flexor digitorum superficialis muscles both pass along the length of the anterior side of the forearm and divide into four tendons. These pass over the wrist bones and the palmar surface of the hand, where each is inserted into the middle phalanx of the second, third and fourth fingers. The forearm muscle - the flexor digitorum profundus - provides also an attachment from its tendon to the lumbricals, which are situated in the palm of the hand.
The Dorsal or Anterior Side of the Forearm
As we have seen, the flexing muscles of the fingers lie in the palmar side of the forearm, but the extensor muscles, known as the extensor digitorum (see Figure 3.6, below), and extensor digiti minimi muscles (not shown), lie deep in the dorsal aspect (upper side) of the forearm; they are inserted into the lateral epicondyle of the humerus. The tendons of the extensor digitorum, and of the extensor digiti minimi muscles, pass over the dorsal side of the wrist bones and are inserted into the posterior side of the last two metacarpal joints. The tendon of the extensor indicis (not shown) also passes over the wrist bones, but is inserted into the index finger.
Figure 3.5. The palmar, or posterior, aspect of the forearm. 46
Figure 3. 6. Dorsal, or anterior side, of the forearm.47
The Wrist
Structure and Muscles
The carpal bones (see Figure 3.7, below) form a joint commonly referred to by pedagogues and performers as the wrist. The carpal bones lie between the bones of the forearm and of the hand. They facilitate all the movements of the hand when extending downward, or flexing upward, or abducting and adducting. The muscles which control the extension movements of the hand (or wrist) are seated in the posterior side of the forearm; they are the extensor carpis ulnaris, the extensor radialis longus (not shown) and the extensor carpi ulnaris muscles (see Figure 3.6, above), and are attached to the humerus. The flexing muscles - the flexor carpi radialis and flexor carpi ulnaris (not shown above) are seated in the palmar side of the forearm and pull the hand downward as the extensors release; these muscles are inserted into the medial epicondyle of the humerus and the base of the fifth metacarpal. Both muscle groups are employed in the performance of wrist octaves. Abducting movements of the hand - i.e., when the hand is turned toward the thumb employ both e xtensors and flexors, which contract on the radial side of the forearm. Similarly, when the forearm/hand is turned towards the fifth finger during abduction, the extensors and flexors on the ulnar side of the forearm contract. The wrist extensors also
combine with the finger flexors seated in the forearm, and enable the performer to grip with the whole hand, which is another reason why I view the forearm/hand as one unit. The ‘grasp’ action will be discussed later, in the third section in this chapter and in the second study in Part 4, entitled ‘The Caressing or Carezzando Touch’.
The Hand
Structure and Muscles
The structure of the bones of the hand and the thumb is straightforward (see Figure 3. 7, below).
Figure 3.7. The structure of the hand. 48
As we can see (Figure 3.7, above), the drawing showing the structure, or bones of the hand gives a palmar view of each finger, which consists of three joints: the distal interphalangeal joint (see A, above), the proximal interphalangeal joint (see B, above), and the metacarpophalangeal joint (see C, above).
Figure 3.8. The structure of the thumb. 49
The thumb is capable of great mobility in piano performance, and its main movement occurs at the carpometacarpal joint (see A, Figure 3.8, above), which is formed at the base. The metacarpophalangeal joint (see B, Fig.3.8, above) enables the thumb to make abducting movements, which draw the thumb down at a right angle, away from the palm of the hand. An adduction of the thumb is the reverse of the abduction movement, as the thumb is drawn up towards the palm of the hand. The interphalangeal joint is a hinge joint (see arrow marked C in Figure 3.8, above) with the ability to flex and extend only.
The Muscles of the Thumb
The muscles that flex and extend the thumb and fingers of the hand lie also in the forearm and the hand. When the thumb flexes towards the fifth finger during the process of shaping a chord or octave, for example, the muscle engaged in this action is the flexor ollicis longus. It is situated in the forearm, and its tendon (not shown) passes over the wrist bones and is inserted into the thumb at the base of the distal phalanx. The other muscle which assists this flexing action lies within the thenar eminence of the hand and is known as the abductor pollicis brevis.
As I have already stated, the flexing action of the hand is assisted by the flexing and extending muscles situated in the forearm as well as the hand. When the extensors relax they become thinner. This relaxation enables the flexors to thicken as they contract and pull the fingers inwards into the palm, as in a grasp. To release this contraction or ‘grasp’, the flexors become thinner, a movement which enables the extensors to thicken as they contract to extend the fingers, thus releasing the fingers from the grasp. In piano playing, the great advantage of the flexing or grasping action of the hand, is that in the flexor muscles can hold the shape of a chord or octave firmly in the hand until the extensor muscles release it (see the first study in Part 4, ‘The Caressing or Carezzando Touch’).
The Fifth Finger
Without the cooperation of the fifth finger, however, the flexing action of the hand in piano performance would not be possible. The fifth finger has comparable muscles to the thumb, and these are situated also within the forearm, and the hand. In the first instance, the fifth finger is flexed towards the thumb by the flexor digitorum superficialis and the flexor digitorum profundis which lie on the dorsal side of the forearm. But within the hypothenar eminence of the hand, it is the abductor digiti minimi which assists in drawing the fifth finger forward towards the thumb.
The Finger Muscles Within the Hand: the Lumbricals
There are four lumbrical muscles in the palm of the hand, (although the Figure 3.9 below, shows only three), which assist also in flexing or grasping the fingers in towards the palm.
Figure 3.9. The lumbrical muscles. 50
Their insertion begins on the metacarpal joint and extends around this joint to the radial side (see Figure 3.9, above). Because of the position of the first insertion, they can also flex the metacarpal joints and cooperate with the dorsal and palmar interosseous in an extension of the interphalangeal joint.
The Interosseous
The interosseous muscles also assist in the flexing process of the hand, and adduct the fingers away from the third finger, which is the central axis of the hand. They lie in two layers in the palm of the hand and between the metacarpal bones. The first layer consists of four dorsal muscles (see Figure 3.10, below), and is to be found in the back of the hand.
Figure 3.10. The dorsal interosseous.51
The second layer, is the palmar interosseous also situated in the palm of the hand, and adducts the fingers towards the central axis (see Figure 3.11, below).
Figure 3.11. The palmar interosseous.52
Figure 3.12. A lateral view of the tendons and muscles in the hand. 53
The Torso
As we have seen in Chapter 2, Gát, Fielden and Levinskaya all recognize the importance of the role of the torso in piano performance, but it is Whiteside who explores
its role more deeply. However, recent research by Tyldersley and Grieve (1996) now allows our understanding of the role of the torso to progress further still.
Structure of the Torso
The bones of the vertebral column (see Figure 3.13, below), form a stable support for the torso, sometimes referred to as the trunk, in either a sitting or a standing position at the piano. Poor working posture, which is common amongst pianists, can result in a loss of good balance, and the muscles, namely, the abdominal muscles (see Figure 3.15, below), and the deep posterior muscles (see Figure 3.16, below), are forced to overwork. Kyphosis, or rounded shoulders, lordosis, a hollowed lower back, and scoliosis i.e., lifting of the shoulders, leading to a lateral curvature of the spine, are common problems for performers.
Figure 3.1. The spine or vertebral column. 54
The torso consists of three large cavities (see Figure 3.14, below). They are: the ribcage, which supports the shoulder complex during performance; the abdomen, in the middle of the torso; and the pelvic girdle, which provides support for the torso in a sitting position at the piano.
Figure 3.14. The three cavities in the torso. 55
The Muscles of the Torso
During piano performance, the body’s vertical line (which is imaginary) starts at the sternum level with the clavicle and divides the body symmetrically in two. While the performer is seated at the piano during performance, his/her body will move through the centre of gravity as it shifts from left to right along the keyboard. During these movements the body will cross the supporting area, i.e., the weight will be shifted from one ischial, or sit-bone to the other. Balancing the torso during this activity engages primarily ‘two deep systems of muscles that collectively perform all the movements’ (Tyldersley and Grieve 1996, p. 157) of the torso; namely, the deep posterior muscles and the abdominal muscles (see Figure 3.15, below).
Figure 3.15. The abdominal muscles of the torso. 56
The deep posterior muscle is the erector spinae (see Figure 3.16, below). It is situated deep in the back and has its origin on the sacrum, and at the back of the head. It is the largest muscle in the torso and extends it in a backward movement. As a prime mover, it also stabilizes the vertebral column during performance. The other muscle system is the abdominal musculature. When the torso flexes the body forward in piano performance, the internal and external oblique muscles, which are situated in the abdomen on both sides of the torso, will respond together to assist the movement. However, lateral movements of the torso in either direction along the keyboard are made by the external and oblique muscles on one side only. Rotation of the torso is achieved by the ‘alternating action of the external oblique on one side working with the internal oblique on the other’ (Tyldersley and Grieve, 1996, p. 251). It is the quadratus laborum muscle which lifts the pelvis upwards on one side in what is referred to by Whiteside as ‘buttock bouncing’ (see Chapter 2), and which assists in the lateral flexion of the torso, i.e., in movements of the torso in either direction along the keyboard. In the third study in Part 4, entitled ‘Synchronizing the Movements of the Body to Shape the Music’ I suggest that, combined these muscles may initiate a ‘wave motion’ throughout the entire muscle system in the body.
Figure 3.16. The erector spinae.57
This section on the anatomical structure of the performer’s body has sought to present more clearly the structure and the muscles of the shoulder complex, the forearm/hand and the torso. However, as we shall see in the following section, researchers are now focusing on function rather than structure. Although research is still scant, there are interesting implications for the pianist.
Function or Movement
Gray’s Anatomy of the Human Body was first published in 1856. It contains a detailed structural analysis of the anatomical features of the body, and is still widely regarded as an extremely influential work on the subject, and one to which researchers continue to refer. Now, however, there is a shift in contemporary research from structure to function (Wingerden, 1998). This means that some researchers are seeking to understand the body by examining not just the structure of the bones and muscles, but its function in relation to movement. To understand function, I have relied not only upon the research of kinesiologists, Tyldersley and Grieve, but also upon anthropologists Marzke, Weir and Jeannerod, and neurophysiologists Ghez, Cooper and Martin, amongst others, who have all made feasible the approach undertaken in this chapter. Although their aims are disparate, they all describe the function of the shoulder complex, torso and forearm/hand in a way which I consider to be apposite in piano performance.
The Function of the Shoulder Complex
Tyldersley and Grieve (1996) describe the function of the shoulder complex in a way which is apposite for the pianist.
They suggest that the movement of the shoulder
complex may be said to resemble the cab of a crane, for like the cab, it positions [or transports] the upper arm in the same way as the ‘jib of a crane places its load’ (p. 111). In this way the upper arm may position the forearm/hand on the keyboard according to the requirements of the music, enabling it to ‘grasp’ the keys.
The Function of the Forearm/Hand: The ‘Grasp’
Tyldersley and Grieve (1996) simplify the function of the ‘grasp’ into two main types: the power grip and the precision grip. The power grip is the ‘most primitive grasping movement’ (p. 171). In piano performance this means that the fingers of the hand are able
to flex in order to hold the shape of the notes of a chord, while the thumb grasps the bottom note of the chord in an abducting movement towards the fingers. Figures 3.17 and 3.18, below, are borrowed from Tyldersley and Grieve (p. 153). Figure 3.17 shows the fingers flexed and adducted, and the thumb flexed and adducted in opposition.
Figure 3.17. The hand in a grasping position.
58
When the hand releases the ‘grasp’ the fingers and thumb are extended and abducted. Figure 3.18, below, shows the thumb abducting towards the third finger of the right hand.
Figure 3.18. The thumb abducting towards the third finger.
59
The function of the precision grip is to enable the hand to perform manipulative movements of the fingers. For example, in the precision grip the hand can hold ‘an object between the tips of the thumb and one, two or three fingers, e.g., holding a pencil or small tool’ (Tyldersley and Grieve, 1996, p. 171). In piano playing this means that individual tips or pads of the fingers can be flexed against the key surface and the thumb can oppose these movements enabling the hand to ‘grasp’.
The Function of the Opposable Thumb in the ‘Grasp’
In the previous section on structure, I pointed out, that the design of the thumb is such that it may flex, medially rotate and adduct in cooperation with each of the other fingers,
and that it is the development of the ‘opposable’ thumb in humans which has made it possible for the hand to make ‘grasping’ actions in piano performance. This function is described by Marzke (1994) from an anthropological point of view. She says that our earliest primate ancestors had pentadactyl hands, i.e., five fingers with a divergent thumb, but the design was sacrificed when our more recent ape-like ancestors developed longer fingers and independently controlled movements of the index finger and opposable thumb. In piano performance this development means that not only are the fingers of the hand able to flex around the shape of a chord, while the thumb ‘grasps’ the bottom note of the chord in an opposing movement towards the other fingers, but the individual pads of the fingers can be trained to flex against the key surface without the thumb opposing the movement - as in scale passages (see the first study in Part 4 for the discussion on the ‘grasp’). This movement can create friction with the pads of the fingers, and this in turn produces support of the hand at the metacarpal head.
The Function of the Torso
I have found very little reference to the function of the torso in piano performance; indeed, Davidson (1991) says that there are ‘virtually no precedents for an empirical investigation of this aspect of piano performance’ (p. 9). There are however, some functions, such as the ‘circumductory looping movement of the torso (see Figure 3.19, below), which the pianist may consider employing during the preparation of a musical work for performance. These movements form, in part, the basis of the 2nd and 4th studies in Part 4.
Figure 3.19. The ‘circumductory’ or ‘closed loop’ movement of the torso.
Figure 3.19, above, represents the torso’s circumductory movement. These are a combination of flexion, extension, abduction and adduction of the torso, and are known as ‘closed loop’ movements. They are subject to fine adjustment during piano performance, and the drawing above can be regarded as an approximation only. In performing these
movements, which are intended to position the shoulder complex at the keyboard, the pianist will alter their position continually from the centre line of the t orso, which is in line with the sternum with the result, as I have already pointed out above, that the centre of gravity is transferred from one pelvic bone, the ischial or sit-bone, to the other. The performer will feel the deep posterior muscles of the back, and also the abdominal muscles which activate these movements. This section has sought to understand the function in piano performance of the shoulder complex, the forearm/hand and the torso, but there is little available evidence on the function of the torso or, more importantly, about the synchronous relationship of the torso with the shoulder complex, other than that it positions the shoulder complex. The dynamical-systems theory perspective, which suggests that the human-movement system ‘is a highly intricate network of co-dependent sub-systems, dynamical systems, movement patterns’ (Glazier, Davids and Bartlett, 2003, p. 1), will be discussed in the third study in the final part of this book. This perspective may provide the basis for synchronizing the movements of the torso, shoulder complex, and forearm/hand of the pianist in performance, because of its emphasis on the processes of coordination and control in human movement.
The Systems in the Brain Which Control Movement and Memorising
This section, on the systems in the brain which control the movements of the performer’s body, will briefly discuss new research which is now emerging from a period in which a single premise guided Western science, i.e., bodily movement is regarded as behaviour and not connected to meaningful action. It has been no small task to assemble this research in a way which is apposite for the performer. That said, I am not attempting to provide an in-depth account of the complexities of the brain - this material may be found far better expounded elsewhere, by those whose expertise it is. However, I will focus, albeit briefly, on the research of Rizzolatti and Sinigaglia (2006), amongst others, since they describe aspects of the brain-control systems which enable the function, or movement, of the shoulder complex and the hand during the performance of piano music, and which form the subject, in part, for some of the research underpinning the studies in Part 4.
The Brain Mechanism
The sensory, sensory, perceptive and motor functions of the brain (see Figure 3.20, below), were, and often still are, considered to be distinct one from the other - the classic pattern being perception-cognition-movement.60 In other words, the role of the motor function was, and still is, seen as an executive one only; that is to say, it is generally believed that the motor areas of the cerebral cortex are destined to carry out merely executive tasks, which have no effective, perceptive or cognitive value (Rizzolatti and Sinigaglia, 2006:, p. x).
1 Figure 3.20. 3.20. The cerebral hemisphere showing the distinct areas of the brain. 6
Rizzolatti (2006) says that the reason for these long-held beliefs is that there was no way of understanding the initial phases of that process i.e., understanding how and where sensory information, intentions and motivations were “translated” into appropriate motor events’ (19: ). 62 Although this thinking has prevailed until recently, it is now thought that the brainmechanism system is a ‘mosaic of frontal parietal areas that are very closely linked to the visual, auditory and tactile areas’ (p. 19). This change of view, according to Rizzolatti, is due to more recent research which reveals that ‘there are neurons that become active in response to goal-directed motor acts such as grasping, holding and manipulating [the piano keys]’ (p. 19). In 2006, Rizzolatti conducts two experiments; first, an animal performed ‘fixed’ movements; second, the animal performed a wide range of movements in as natural a context as possible’ (p. 22). The results showed that in the first experiment the restrictive approach eliminated the possibility of discovering unexpected aspects of neural organization, while in the second experiment Rizzolatti observes that the majority of neurons responded in goal-directed movements as opposed to individual movements. The relevance for the performer is that these neurons, cannot as he says, be ‘adequately described in terms of pure movement, but taking the efficacy of the motor act as the fundamental criterion of classification, it can be divided into specific categories’ (p. 23), of which the ‘reach to grasp’ is one.
The ‘Reach to Grasp’ and its Relevance in Piano Performance
As we have seen so far, piano performance is, in part, an inter-coordinated act of the shoulder complex and the forearm/hand. This action will be referred to here as the ‘reach to grasp’. 63 As discussed above, until recently it was commonly assumed that the movement of positioning or ‘reaching’ with the shoulder complex preceded the movement of ‘grasping’ with the forearm/hand. However, Rizzolatti says this is not so, and suggests that on the basis of the second experiment, the movement of the positioning or ‘reaching’ movement of the shoulder complex when for example, ‘grasping’ a cup of coffee, show that both these processes start and proceed in parallel’ (p. 21). That is to say, the arm moves towards the cup and ‘contemporaneously the hand assumes the shape necessary’ (p. 21) to grasp the cup at the same time. Rizzolatti asks, ‘What could be simpler than picking up a coffee cup?’ His reply is illuminating il luminating for the performer: ‘this simple gesture requires a plethora of processes so closely interconnected that at first glance it is difficult to distinguish one from the other [including] visual, tactile, roprioceptive, motivational connections, and postural adjustments—which anticipate the execution of each movement, and its consequences and guarantee the required control over the body’s dynamic balance—and the role played by the learning process, and the know-how we have acquired in identifying, localizing, reaching for and grasping objects’ (p. 1).
The ‘Reach to Grasp’ in the Act of Piano Performance
During the act of playing the piano, the simple act of ‘reaching’ and ‘grasping’ the piano keys, as in ‘reaching’ for, and ‘grasping’ a cup of coffee, lies an equivalent complex intertwining of sensations, and the same mechanism in the brain which transforms the sensory information to the intrinsic qualities of the object, which in this instance are the piano keys. In the following passage I have transcribed tr anscribed Rizzolatti’s Rizzolatti’s analogy with the act of picking up a coffee cup and replaced it with the act of positioning or ‘reaching’ with the shoulder complex and ‘grasping’ the keys of the piano. To position or ‘reach’, forward with the upper arm towards the keys, the pianist has first to assess the distance of the keys from those parts of his or her body which will be involved in the movement. According to Rizzolatti this ‘act requires the brain to undertake a series of processes ranging from coding the spatial relations between the arm and the keyboard to the transformation of this information into the appropriate motor commands’ (2006, p. 21). This same control
mechanism in the brain also enables the pianist to ‘grasp’ the keys by first pre-shaping the fingers of the hand, and second, controlling the movements of the hand and particularly the fingers, to execute the actual grasping. These are points to which I shall return in the final part of the book, when I will show how the performer may construct analyses which may help he/she to make goal-related choices about the music in the initial stages of preparing a musical work for performance, because ultimately piano performance is dependent upon a networks of neurons for ‘processing or integrating the information before passing it on to other parts of the body to produce a response’ (p. 22).
Mirror Neurons: Neurons: Imitation and Emulation in Performance
In the last study in Part 4, I introduce Rizzollati’s view that humans, with their superior motor repertoire, have a potential for learning by imitation. Since, on this basis, I suggest that the pianist may develop a greater control of the pacing of the ebb and flow of a musical work through imitation and emulation of dancers’ movements, it is incumbent on me to explain the mechanism in the brain which is responsible for this. Upon examination of the ventral premotor cortex of the frontal lobes of monkeys, Rizzolatti and Craighero (2004) find that certain neurons in the macaque premotor cortex will fire when the monkey performs a specific action with its hand, such as grasping food and putting it in its mouth. In 2006, Rizzolatti observes that ‘in humans, as opposed to monkeys the mirror neuron system codes transitive and intransitive acts and keeps precise track of the temporal aspects of the acts observed’ (p. 150). How then do do mirror neurons mediate understanding of actions performed by others? Rizzolatti and Craighero suggest that the mechanism is rather straightforward: ‘Each time an individual sees an action done by another individual, the neurons in the brain which represent that action are activated in the observer’s premotor cortex. This automatically induced motor representation of the observed action corresponds to that which is spontaneously generated during active action and whose outcome is known to the acting individual’ (p. 172). In this way, they say, the mirror system transforms visual information into knowledge. Ramchandran 64 (2009) supports Rizzolatti’s research, writing that ‘one might be
tempted to think that these are motor “command” neurons, making muscles do certain things; however, the astonishing truth is that any given mirror neuron will fire when the monkey in question observes another monkey (or even the experimenter) performing the same action’ (pp. 39-59). He concludes that with a knowledge of these neurons you have the basis for ‘understanding a host of very enigmatic aspects of the human mind [such as] mind reading, empathy, imitation learning [and] anytime you watch someone else doing something (or even starting to do something), the corresponding mirror neuron might fire in your brain, thereby allowing you to read and understand another’s intentions’ (pp. 3959). 65
Memorising
There are many forms of memory, such as acquisition memory, auditory memory, visual and kinesthetic memory, short-term memory, and working (or long-term memory). Tulving (1983) goes so far as to say that there may be ‘twenty-five, or even double that number, forms of memory, and that it is still an immature science which abounds in loose definitions’ (p. 382). However, the psychologist Paul Connerton (1989) divides the memory into three classes: first, personal; second, cognitive; third, ‘habit memory’.66 It is his description of the third class, ‘habit’, which interests me, for his comments on the ‘habit’ memory are apposite for the musical performer. He writes that ‘habit’ memory ‘consists simply of [humans] having the capacity to reproduce a performance’ (p. 22). He cites the example of riding a bicycle, adding that often we may not remember how we acquired this ‘habit’. Recognition that humans have a ‘habit’ memory is a significant step towards the development of the notion that deliberate movements which are goal-directed will eventually become a ‘habit’ memory which may help, in part, to enhance the performer’s memory - a theme to which I shall return in the fourth study in Part 4. Ginsborg (2004) says that the performer may draw upon three forms of memory: episodic, procedural and semantic. In the first instance, episodic memory is the only form of memory which is believed to be capable of registering and storing personally experienced happenings in subjective time, that is in the past the present and the future this, she says, is achieved through autonoetic awareness. 67 Secondly, procedural memory can entail knowing how to perform i.e., how to coordinate the movements of the
performer’s body, such as the torso, shoulder complex and forearm/hand. This knowledge feeds into the semantic memory, which may be described as generic or knowledge memory and includes the performer’s ability to conceptualize about, or organize the patterns of notes in the music. Finally, semantic memory is also the portion of long-term memory which is concerned with ideas, meanings, and concepts which are not related to personal experiences. Together with episodic memory, semantic memory is part of the long-term memory, otherwise known as declarative memory. The following diagram (see Figure 3.21, below) is influenced by Ginsborg’s depiction of the processes which are involved in the process of memory storage within the ‘sensory store’ in the brain.
Figure 3.21.The memory-storage processes.
The functions of the subsystems in the brain as shown in the first box in Figure 3.2, above, are all relevant in memorizing a musical work for performance. They are: first, the somatosensory system; second, the vestibular system and third, the visual system. Each of these subsystems provides specific information to the central nervous system. The following explanation of the function of these subsystems in memorizing once again closely relies upon the research of Tyldersley and Grieve (1996).
The First Box: The Somatosensory System in the Brain
This is the primary area and pathway from which ‘receptors in the skin, muscles and oints of the body connect with the primary sensory cortex via the thalamus in the brain’ (Tyldersley and Grieve 1996, pp. 66-67). The connection of this in piano performance is that the somatosensory system in the brain receives information about the sensations of the body, such as the position of the torso and the arms at the piano, or the ‘grasp’ of the keys by the forearm/hand.
The Vestibular System in the Brain
This detects both the position and the movement of the head, and functions with the visual system in controlling the movements of the eyes.
The Visual System in the Brain
This is not only responsible for transmitting visual information about the musical score, of which information is one aspect is the positioning and balancing of the body during performance, but it can report also on the position of the notes at any point on the keyboard, thus enabling the hand to make precise movements when moving from one group of notes to another. This point is underpinned by Jeannerod (1994), who writes that, the ‘transport [or reach] component’ of the shoulder complex reflects determination by the visual system of the coordinates of a point in the body-centred space, while the ‘grasping component’ [forearm/hand] reflects visual computation of the shape, size and weight of the object (p. 235).
The Second Box: The Short-term Memory Store
The diagram in the second box shows that the short-term memory is thought to be capable of holding seven items of information at any one time.
The Third Box: The Long-term Memory Store
Information which is stored in the short-term memory is rehearsed repeatedly and then stored in the long-term memory.
While the above definitions are useful, our understanding of memory continues to widen as the topic now attracts research in many other disciplines from molecular biology to cognitive science, and in psychology.
* The purpose of this brief account is to show that brain-control systems function in a way which is relevant to piano performance. Being informed of these systems at the outset of preparing a musical work for performance, by understanding the movement or function of the body and connecting the movement to a musical goal forms an essential part of preparing for performance. We have seen, too, that in order to procure a dependable memory of the music for performance, it may be advantageous to rehearse repeatedly when, as suggested above, we first inform our movements and connect them to a musical goal.68 Essential as it has been to collate this information and demonstrate its applicability in piano performance, it is still not enough, because there is no musical context. However, before I can place the roles of movement and memorizing in a musical context, it is incumbent to examine the other issue in piano performance, which is the role of the mind, and of musical analysis in particular. This is the subject of Part 3.
PART III: The Role of the Mind
Introduction
I do not wish the reader to be misled by the title of the third part of this book, and to suppose, since the first and second parts focus entirely on establishing the role of the body in piano performance, that I have fallen into the trap of the mind/body dualism concept which still prevails in piano performance, and against which I have been arguing. However, since the role of the mind in piano performance has hitherto been a largely separate issue - the reasons for which I discussed in the introduction - I feel that it is incumbent to give a brief account of what this actually entails, before going on to show that there has been a major ‘rethink’ in musical academic circles in recent years about the relationship between performance and analysis, i.e., the practice of musical analysis has moved away from preferring the rather restricted view that structure is all-important to one which accepts more flexible analytical techniques. This is auspicious timing, for vital issues such as ‘shaping’ the music, which until now have largely resisted systemization, are becoming acceptable subjects for a new kind of analysis. This may well prove to be liberating for the performer, since ‘shaping’ a musical work for performance is one of the most important conceptual challenges they will face. After tracing the development of analysis as a separate discipline to its emergence as a sub-discipline, I will discuss more recent views which are beginning to emerge, and which have influenced my own approach throughout the remainder of this book. I will then show that it is feasible to prepare simple, ‘informal’ analyses, which may be easily constructed by the performer. The aim is to expose those elements of the music, such as the process, or pacing of motion and its demarcations: tempo, rubato, retards and accelerandos which help to ‘shape’ and control the music. This approach will be influential in the development of the final part of the book, which seeks to bring about a convergence between the role of the mind and the body, and to put behind us the all too prevalent mind/body dualism. I must address also the question of why I have chosen to focus almost entirely on the piano works of Debussy: first, in the three informal analyses in Part 3; and, second in the five theoretical studies in Part 4. In the past, the composer is also the performer. This means that each composer habituates their body, in order to perform their own compositions. Today, performers are required to perform compositions with a diverse variety of musical styles, and the specific focus within training tends to be on skill acquisition rather than physiological development, and pianists do not have the opportunity, or the time, to understand how to habituate their
bodies to a particular style. I have spent many years observing the advantages of habituating my body to one composer, namely, Debussy. His compositional style not only suits my physiological being, but has allowed me, over time, to develop a deep affinity for his work.
Chapter 4: Rethinking the Role of Musical Analysis in Piano Performance
Historical background
In the past, the relationship between performance and analysis is seen largely as a division of labour, i.e., performance is a practical matter and analysis is an academic activity. Of the former, the treatises of C.P.E. Bach (1714-1788), Leopold Mozart (17191787) and Giuseppe Mazzini (1805-1872) provide evidence of the general preoccupation in piano performance with the practical matter of fingering (discussed in Chapter 1) and expressive content of a musical work. For example, C.P.E. Bach ([1753] 1974) suggests that the performer should be concerned not only with the skilful use of the fingers, but also with the ‘true content and affect of a piece’ (pp. 149-150). Similarly, Leopold Mozart advises that, while the performer should attend to the practical aspects of performance such as to: ‘figure out the fingering’, they must also ‘attend closely to every annotation and direction and to play the work as it is set down and not otherwise; he [the performer] has also to enter into the passion that is to be expressed and to apply and execute all the runs, the legatos and staccatos, the fortes and pianos, in a word everything that bears in any way on the tasteful delivery of the piece’ (Strunk, 1998, p. 858). Somewhat later, Giuseppe Mazzini advises young artists to ‘become familiar with the music of the great…not to analyse and dissect them with the cold and ancient doctrines of the music professors, but to gather into himself the creative and unifying spirit that moves through these works’ (Strunk, 1998, p. 1094). This evidence, albeit brief, shows that ‘there is a “hands-on” engagement with the performer, which draws attention to the fact that [these] writers are primarily performers, rather than analysts’ (Goodman, 2000, p. 22). ‘By contrast’, she continues, ‘current research is driven by analysts’ (p. 22), with the result that, on the whole, performance and analysis have until recently been practised largely separately. This approach in music may have come about as a result of categories in music such as analysis being formed ‘in large part by our need to make knowledge manageable or persuasive in different contexts,’ (Samson, 1999, p. 35). Kerman (1985) describes this separation in the following way: performers are ‘doers’, and analysts are ‘talkers’ (pp. 195-6). But what is analysis?
Analysis
In 1895, Guido Adler writes a pioneering essay which lays the down the chief principles of the new discipline - it is entitled Musikwissenschaft . According to Samson (1999), ‘ Musikwissenschaft , like other emergent academic disciplines in the late nineteenth century, adopts methods of classification, which are indebted to the natural sciences and the prevailing positivist climate of the time, i.e., a scientific approach to facts and data. At this juncture, a music theory is included, while any serious reference to analysis is not.’ This omission, as Samson points out, reveals much about ‘the humble scholarly status of musical analysis’ (p. 39) at this time. Analysis as a discipline in its own right eventually emerges at the turn of the twentieth century. Reasons for this are that there is a reorientation in music theory, and in the nineteenth century concerns with as (Samson 1999) puts it ‘the idea of a structural sense of form’ in musical works begin to emerge achieving ‘an unstoppable momentum sweeping music theory before it…Unity and wholeness, whatever this may mean in a temporal art, were assumed a priori, and the analytical act was their demonstration’ (p. 41). Bent (1987) describes this form of analysis as the study of the music itself, rather than a focus on external considerations. This traditional approach to analysis, and its teaching, may also include the study of ‘textures, rhythms, tonalities, notations, texts - whatever there is to try to understand in the works of fine composers’ (Dunsby,1995, p. 49).
The ‘Rethink’
It is in the seminal publication Musical Form and Musical Performance (1968) that Cone questions the relationship between aesthetic perception and musical form. He observes that nearly all ‘practical instruction in performance is directed toward the encouragement of immediate apprehension - beauty of tone, careful phrasing, balance and rhythmic articulation’, being examples (p. 97). To counter this, he proposes that the discussion should be widened to include; first, the nature of musical form (shape); second, the aims of the performer, and how to achieve them; third, the relation of musical style to performance.
However, the emergence of performance and analysis as a recognized sub-discipline within music theory is considered to be due more than anything else to the publication in 1989 of Wallace Berry’s book Musical Structure and Performance. Here, Berry attempts to relate analysis and performance albeit, in a prescriptive way 69, and poses the question of how a ‘structural relation exposed in analysis can be illuminated in the inflections of edifying performance’ (p. 1). In other words, Berry’s stance is that analysis should inform performance, since performers have a great deal to learn from analysis; but he does not address the possibility of a reciprocal process of learning. Because of this, criticism has been levelled at Berry for, as Goodman says, there is ‘too rigid [an] application of analysis to performance’ (p 26). In 1995, Rink observes that there is a ‘virtual explosion in scholarly writing about musical performance’ (p. ix), some of which is concerned with finding an overlap between analysis and performance. Goodman suggests too that this trend ‘stems from a reaction by contemporary music-analysts to the rigours of formal or structural practices that dominated much of the twentieth century’ (p. 16). Two opposing schools of thought emerge which characterise this literature. As Rink (1995) points out: ‘first there is the authoritarian school of thought which advocates “serious” analysis of the score as the basis of interpretation; secondly, a pessimistic view expressing doubt that analysis and performance have much or anything of substance to offer each other’ (p, 254). The work of Narmour (1988) is as an example of the authoritarian approach, while Dunsby, (1995) is an example of the latter approach. Howell (1992) occupies the middle ground. The views of these writers will be discussed here briefly. Narmour (1988) stresses that analytic theory should be pragmatically useful, ‘noble’, ‘crucial’, ‘central’, and ‘indispensable…in the planning, executing and evaluation of musical performance’ (p. 317). The implications of Narmour’s approach are twofold: first, there is the suggestion that the study of analysis should not only enable performers to understand how musical art works are structured, but also help them to ‘discover how different interpretations can alter the listener’s perception and understanding of living works of art’ (p. 317); second, Narmour believes that the performer should be responsible for him/herself as the performer, as well as for the composer and listener. Others, such as Cook, say that while analysis of this kind may produce a ‘structurally informed performance’, it can only be a ‘literal translation of the product of analysis’ (p. 249). Dunsby (1995), who says that there are no ‘pre-doers’ (p. 480), gives an example of the
‘pessimistic’ view which doubts that analysis and performance have much to say to each other. His view is less prescriptive than Narmour’s, because he makes allowances for creative freedom on the part of the performer. Nevertheless, according to Cook, who considers ‘performativity’ to be the ‘foundation of pluralism’ (1999, p. 261), Dunsby remains an analyst ‘along the lines of Schenker’s well-known distinction between the musical effect and the manner of its realization in performance’ (1995, p. 12). Howell, taking the middle ground, warns against the dangers of exclusivity and specialization within the discipline, and against the influence of the current Zeitgeist, or spirit of the age, fearing that its ‘quasi-scientific’ manner may be alienating to both analysts and performers alike. Instead, he proposes a ‘middleground’, which lies between what music analysts explore and what performers produce, so that a creative energy can emerge from the conflict between reason and instinct. He concludes that this is the essence of good performance, and one which allows the role of analysis to open up possibilities rather than providing solutions. Rink’s (2002) approach is very sympathetic to the needs of the performer. He suggests ‘a more propitious transfer of procedural and evaluative criteria… accomplished in the opposite direction… from performance to analysis’, using ‘informed intuition’ - i.e., acquired musical knowledge - as a basis for that analysis, its purpose being to offer a more unified definition of analysis in relation to performance. B oth Howell’s and Rink’s approaches contrast considerably with those prevailing in the past, when performers, who are often unable to express their views in a tangible or articulate way, have to contend with the musical score as the starting point for their performance preparation, and employ stratagems peculiar to their individual conceptions, rather than depend upon formal analysis. As I will show, with the development of a more ‘performative’, or pluralistic, approach to analysis, there is now a willingness in some musical academic circles to address key issues which have been largely neglected, of which ‘shape’ is one. This development may help to liberate the performer during their preparation of musical works for performance, and are very influential in my own approach throughout Parts 3 and 4.
What Is ‘Shape’?
Attaining a coherent ‘shape’ during the performance of a musical work is one of the performer’s main objectives, but what do we mean by ‘shape’ or form in music? In the
past, the ‘shape’ or ‘form’ of a musical work fits into an ‘existing formal prototype’ (Cook, 1987, p. 9). That ‘prototype’ refers to the surface patterning of the music, and embraces terms such as sonata form, binary, ternary, da capo or introduction and coda, etc. There are a few, such as Schoenberg (1950, 1953) and Stein (1960), who express somewhat different views on the meaning of ‘shape’. For example, Schoenberg interprets the meaning of ‘shape’ or, form, from an aesthetic point of view, explaining that it means that ‘a piece is organized, i.e., the music consists of elements which function like those of a living organism…The chief requirements for the creation of a comprehensible form [or shape] are logic and coherence’. 70 Stein (1960), too, posits that a composer defines the idea of form by ‘shaping’ and organizing the music’s material. He goes on to say that the performer’s aim must be to reproduce the ‘shape’ of the work in performance in order to project the work in a ‘nutshell’. According to Stein, failure to understand how the ‘shape’ or form of the music is organized, means the performer will ‘fail in his task’ (p. 69). Beliefs like this stem from principles of aesthetics that are are formed in the eighteenth century by writers such as Shaftesbury and Baumgarten, and which in turn may be traced to Aristotle’s ‘description of a tragedy as the ‘imitation of an action that is whole and complete in itself ’.71
An Example of a Recent Analysis Analysis
The following is a recent example of a way in which the ‘shape’ of a musical work may be captured, is depicted in an analysis by Rink (1999) of the Vallée d’Obermann by Liszt. His goal, he says, is to reveal those variables in the music which may be converted into levels of energy which ‘articulate a rhetoric of performance suitable for such a work, and possibly other nineteenth-century repertoire, which responds to the piece in terms sympathetic to original contexts and its expressive raison d’ être’ être’ (p. 223). To achieve this end, Rink constructs an ‘intensity curve’ (See Example 4.1, below), i.e., a ‘graphic representation of the music’s ebb and flow, its ‘contour’ in time determined by all active elements (harmony, melody, rhythm, dynamics etc.) working either independently, or in sync, or out of phase with one another to create the changing degrees of energy and thus the overall shape of the piece’ (p. 234).
Example 4.1. 4.1. The intensity curve. 72
There are other means too by which musical works may be ‘shaped’ for performance, although, as Rink says, they are often the most difficult to control and delineate. Thus during the development of the three examples of ‘informal’ analyses which follow, I will take advantage of research tools which have recently become more acceptable in academic musical circles: such as historical recordings, historical evidence, circumstantial evidence of manuscripts; graphs and rebarring the music to examine ways by which the ‘shape’ of the music may be exposed, and its pacing controlled.
1st Analysis: Tempo: A Means to Shaping La Cathédrale Engloutie
In the first of these three analyses I will explore ways of establishing a tempo as a mechanism of control, in order to ‘shape’ La Cathédrale engloutie, engloutie, by Debussy,for performance. 73 To accomplish this, I will use the following tools of analysis which, as we have seen, have recently become more acceptable in academic musical circles: an historical recording of La Cathédrale engloutie engloutie played by Debussy on a piano roll; historical evidence such as accounts by his contemporaries, graphs, and circumstantial evidence of the manuscript; and rebarring the music. I will begin, however, by looking at distinguished pedagogues and conductors various interpretations on the meaning of tempo, by pedagogues and conductors, to see if a satisfactory definition of tempo can be established.
Tempo: A Variety of Interpretations
Issues concerning temporal matters scarcely feature in the body of pedagogical literature. Where the subject does arise, the terminology employed to describe it is often at variance. For example, the Russian pedagogue Heinrich Neuhaus (1973) states emphatically that his students should should be able to master the ‘most important aspect’ of the music, which is the ‘rhythmic structure or ordering of the time process’ (p. 33). The implication here is that the rhythmic structure (which is integral time) and the time process (which serves the pacing of motion) are one and the same thing - but they are not (see Figure 1.1 below). More confusingly, the conductor Eric Leinsdorf (1997) states that ‘tempo means pulse’ (p. 81). However, according to the conductor and author David Epstein (1995), whose ideas stimulate much thought in the following Chapters, tempo contributes, in part, to the processual nature of time (see Figure 1.1, below), while the pulse supports, in part, the structure of the music and ‘enjoys a far broader spectrum of accentual articulations [than the beat, which is not expressive, because it is] ‘the primary level of meter’ (p. 29). Epstein develops his interest in temporal issues after feeling provoked by its seeming elusiveness. He writes that it is a matter of inestimable
importance, since it is ‘a continual presence in rehearsal and performance’, and should be identified, the ‘better to shape it’. (p. xi). There is now however, a more precise use of language, and the contradiction of terms, which I described earlier may be avoided. This development is largely due, again according to Epstein (1973), to ‘a new world view’ that has allowed science74 to be ‘drafted in as a hand maiden’ (p. 3). This involvement of science has enabled the use of more precise definitions of musical concepts, such as time and motion and their demarcations (see Figure 1.1, below). For example, Epstein divides time into two basic aspects - structure and process. Figure 1.1, below, is influenced by a similar diagram by Epstein (1995, p. 11); here we can see, on the left-hand side of the diagram, that structure is divided into two elements: chronometric time, such as beat, and measure, and rhythm and its demarcations - pulse, motive, etc. The right-hand side of the diagram shows the sub-divisions of Process - or the pacing of motion - i.e., tempo rubato and its demarcations, accelerandos, and retards. In the following analysis, I shall focus on establishing a ‘right’ tempo - i.e., tempo as process - in order to ‘shape’ La Cathédrale engloutie. engloutie.
Figure 1.1. 1.1. Properties of Time.
The Analysis
Historical Evidence
Tempo as process is a fundamental ingredient in performance, yet while Debussy expresses many views about his music there is no evidence of his views on tempo, other than that provided by the American pianist Robert Schmitz (1966), who is both a colleague and a lifelong friend. He writes that understanding tempo is essential, ‘for in Debussy’s interpretation, an overabundance of rubato, of arbitrary fluctuations in tempo, has long been current’ (p. 38). What is needed, he says, in the performance of Debussy’s music is a basic tempo, which is ‘exact for each succeeding section or break in texture, determined by Debussy’s indications’ (p. 38).
Establishing the Tempo Tempo
To establish a tempo which will contribute to the ‘shaping’ of La of La Cathédrale engloutie, engloutie, I will now discuss some instances in the music where observations of Debussy’s temporal markings, and rebarring his notation might help to achieve this goal. I begin first by reading the piece through, finding that it may be counted throughout in a straightforward 6/4 or 3/2. However, upon playing it in this way on the piano, it becomes apparent that it is difficult in performance to maintain a viable ‘shape’, which is of course one’s primary aim. I then develop a graph (see Figure 1.2, below) which shows my interpretation of the sections, large and small, but - more importantly - with their temporal markings, such as ‘Un peu moins lent’ and ‘au Mouv’t’. 75 Each group is defined by a curve which is drawn over the continuous horizontal line. The first section is between bars 1-15. This is mirrored, or balanced, by the closing bars 84-89.
Figure 1.2. A graph showing the sections of La Cathédrale engloutie and Debussy’s temporal instructions.
The next section, bars 16-28, is matched in length by the penultimate section, bars 7284. Between these sections lie two more sections, both of greater length than the two so far indicated, and the second of which articulates the second main tonality of the Prelude C# minor. This makes for six sections in all. Musicologists such as Schmitz, view the prelude as being in eight sections. This is to accommodate an interpretation in which Debussy imagines the ringing of the bells of the sunken cathedral, waves, more bells and finally, ‘slowly engulfing waves’ (p. 157). Howat (1983), however, interprets the structure somewhat differently. Central to Howat’s approach76 is the concept of the Golden Section. 77 Based on this concept, he proposes that the Prelude follows an arch form A B C B A with the main divisions (see Figure 1.2, above) occurring at bars 28, 47, 72 and 84 (p. 183). The reasons for my own demarcations of the musical material are influenced by Debussy’s indication of mood changes. For example, at bar 16, ‘Peu à peu sortant de la brume’ (little by little out of the mist, or haze), the music is texturally dense, and in performance there should not be an obvious change of gear, or tempo. I have marked also a sectional boundary-point at bar 16, which in performance should be unobtrusive, and in keeping with Debussy’s marking, ‘Peu à peu’.
Establishing a Tempo: The Score and the Historical Recording
Keeping the established ‘shape’ of La Cathédrale engloutie in mind, I read the score through again, and at first it seems that the piece might be counted throughout in a straightforward 6/4 or 3/2. However, after playing the piece through several times, using ‘informed intuition’ to establish a tempo, the difficulties are immediately exposed, since Debussy’s instructions and notation will not allow it. In the first instance which arises between bars 5-13 - the first five ‘gutted’ chords, which ascend through bar 5, are given crotchet values thereafter, the last crotchet beat of bar 5 is tied across to the first crotchet beat in bar 6, and the remaining notes (to the end of bar 13) are notated in minims, or tied minims. Herein lies the problem for the performer, for, if the pulse is set for the opening at a quarter note = 50, then playing the minims at the same tempo as the opening crotchets would causes the forward impulse to follow a considerable downward curve in what should be a forward-flowing tempo. Also, by not adhering to the meaning of, ‘Doux et fluide’, in bar 7 (see Figure 1.2, above), this section will lack temporal direction, and hence ‘shape’.
The Historical Recording
I then proceed with one piece of circumstantial evidence - the historic recording of La Cathédrale engloutie which is played by Debussy on a piano roll in 1913. 78 It reveals that Debussy, intuitively or otherwise, knows that his notation will not work in performance. For example, he plays the opening bars 1-2 with the crotchet notes = 50 precisely. This is followed by discreet fluctuations of the tempo during his performance of the repeat through bars 3-4. However, while Debussy maintains a feeling for the same tempo of the opening bars in bars 5 and 6, the tied minim at the end of bar 7, which should last two minim beats, is cut short by one crotchet. Thereafter, the remainder of the passage ‘Doux et fluide’, continues in an hypnotic forward-wave motion, produced by a steady flow of crotchets, which again are at the same tempo as the opening bars, with the exception of the C# placed on the third minim at the end of bar 7, and of the C# placed once again on the third minim in bar 9.
Rebarring and the Manuscript
The evidence of the recording on the piano roll of Debussy’s own playing of La Cathédrale engloutie79 then allows me to rebar the music from the last crochet of bar 5 to the end of bar 13 (see Figure 1.3, below). This rebarring now allows the performer to have confidence in playing these same bars seamlessly, and to make a smooth temporal connection with the return of the opening ‘gutted’ chords through bars 14 and 15, while bringing the first section to a close in - as Debussy directs - a mood of ‘Profondément calm’.
Figure 1.3. Rebarring of bars 5-13.
Through bars 70-83 the performer once again encounters a problem with Debussy’s notation (Figure 1.4, below, shows bars 70-75 only). Here, he writes accompanying quavers in the left hand, which should link this section smoothly into the fifth section beginning bar 84 (not shown). However, since there is no significant indication of a tempo change since the beginning of the piece, this means that the performer has no choice, but to play the piece through to its conclusion at an almost unsustainably slow tempo, which, once again would risk losing the ‘shape’. An examination however, of the circumstantial evidence provided by the copy of the autograph manuscript, resolves this problem. In Figure 1.5, below, we can see that Debussy alters the notation in bar 70 from quavers to semiquavers, while, in the right hand, the minims are changed to crotchets so that the performer can keep the metric beat, with each crotchet note = 50 in the manuscript below. .
Figure 1.5. The autograph manuscript of La Cathédrale engloutie, bars 67-73.80
Had these remarkable pieces of evidence provided by the historical recording, and by a copy of the manuscript, not been available, the notational evidence of the score would have had to be taken at face value, making it difficult for the performer to make the piece cohere in time. However, with this evidence of the manuscript and the recording, a quite different account of the piece’s tempo may now be realised. As we have seen, a successful performance of the piece depends on giving due consideration to establishing a ‘right’ tempo, one which will allow the ‘shape’ to emerge, and by changing the notation in the bars discussed above, it is now possible to perform the piece throughout with each crotchet note = 50, although allowing for slight fluctuations of tempo at sectional boundary-points, or where there are indications of mood changes. In this piece, establishing a tempo as a mechanism of control is critical in order to ‘shape’ La Cathédrale engloutie by Debussy for performance, so that the performer may then realise all the details of the music, and allow them, as Epstein (1995) suggests, to unfold in the dimension of time.
2nd Analysis: Motion and its Demarcation Rubato: A Means to Shaping Ondine
Evanescent and mysterious, ondines are mythological creatures who dwell in deep pools, lakes and riverbeds, luring the unwary to their palaces beneath. This prelude by Debussy, is composed of swelling wave-like motifs, which in turn evoke the opalescence of the underwater world and the scintillating surface effects of the ondine’s movement. Controlling the pacing of these wave-like motifs so that the ‘shape’ of ondine is exposed can be quite a challenge for the performer. In the second of these three analyses, I shall examine motion and its demarcation – rubato - as a means of ‘shaping’ Ondine, the eighth Prelude from Book 2, which Debussy composed for the piano in 1913. It is these elements - motion, and its demarcation rubato - which ultimately ‘shape’ the music and control the pacing of its ebb and flow. Yet while rubato is well understood by performers, motion as process, or its pacing thereof, is not, even though, and as Epstein (1995) points out, it occupies the highest level in the structural hierarchy in music - as we see in Figure 1.1, in the first analysis. As in the previous chapter, I shall draw once again upon recent research by Epstein, historical evidence, and informal tools of analysis such as a graph which represents the motion of Ondine as a fluctuating wave.
Motion
Difficulties are often encountered by performers when attempting to describe motion, but, as we have seen above, Epstein holds the belief that there are other ways of looking at this problem. He sees motion not in ‘terms of its mechanisms - mechanisms of construct, and mechanisms of control - thereby providing a bridge between structure per se, which has been the prevalent view of music for some decades’ (1995, p. 5) but, he suggests instead that motion may be similar to experiencing a wave in a small boat (see Figure 2.1, below), where he says, one may feel ‘the acceleration as the boat slides down the wave towards its trough, and as the craft rises upon the next wave, the uphill motion creates retardation’ (p. 461).
Figure 2.1. The wave motion, adapted from the drawing by Epstein (1995), p. 461
While bearing in mind Epstein’s thoughts on motion, I will look at Debussy’s understanding of the term ‘rubato’ - the second theme in this Study - since it is this which yields the evidence of the wave and its ‘motion’. I begin by looking at the research by the musicologist Richard Hudson (1994), and other historical evidence, to gain some insight into Debussy’s intentions.
Rubato - A Demarcation of Motion
The musicologist Richard Hudson (1994) writes that Debussy uses rubato under different names than any other composer, applying one hundred and two rubato markings between 1880-1917, of which fifty-two are for piano, eighteen for orchestra, ten for solo voice and piano, and twenty-two for chamber music. Hudson comments that in the earlier works (prior to 1902), Debussy’s use of rubato follows ‘the practice of Liszt and Tchaikovsky by including tempo rubato as the main tempo marking, or as a tempo change in effect for an entire section of up to thirty-two bars’ (p. 341). After 1902, and in the period when Debussy composed both books of Preludes, he seems to deploy rubato in ‘brief self-contained units’ (p. 343), and then cancel it with the instructions ‘Mouv’t’, or ‘au Mouv’t’. Debussy also uses terms such as ‘à l’aise’, ‘en dehors’, ‘retenu’, ‘ad libitum’ and ‘volubile’, all of which, Hudson suggests, give a sense of the ‘natural, effortless flow of water’ (p. 341). ‘ Doux’, ‘gracieux’. ‘expressif ’, amongst others, are also, according to Hudson, terms which ‘accompany rubato passages’ (p. 344).
Historical Evidence
Contemporaries of Debussy also provide some insight into his intentions where the use of rubato is concerned, but they are often at variance. For example, Durand writes that Debussy’s rubato is imperceptible, and always framed within the beat (Eigeldinger, 1886, no. 120, p. 128). Marguerite Long (1972) observes that Debussy’s ‘prodigious love of nature plunged him into that life-giving element, water. Not a current in it, not a caress nor a treacherous movement escaped him. In his music, this all adds up to a series of nuances that are not to be defined unless they are felt, and which are represented by rubato’ (p. 25). Long says that this type of rubato ‘is difficult to obtain…it is confined by a rigorous precision, in almost the same way as the stream is the captive of its banks’ (p. 25). Debussy’s style of rubato does not, she concludes, ‘mean that the musical line or measure should be altered, but rather nuance and élan’ (p. 25) should be employed. Finally, Hudson suggests that, in the performance of Debussy, ‘the tempo remains constant, but the bar is lengthened, the rhythm deformed’ (1994: 354 n.175).
The Analysis
I have approached the analysis by developing a diagram (see Figure 2.2, below) which represents the ‘wave motion’ of the piece. The wave is shown as a continuous line through bars 1-74, which make up the entire piece. A horizontal line is drawn below the wave, and each bar is notched with a vertical line. Placed above the wave line are Debussy’s instructions, such as ‘rubato’, ‘au Mouv’t’ and ‘Mouv’t’. As I say earlier, it is these terms which yield the evidence of the wave motion. The following text gives my reasons for the way in which I establish the wave. The piece is marked ‘Scherzando’, and we can see in Figure 2.2, below, that the wave rises incrementally through bars 1-9, before beginning its decrement, albeit for a brief moment, at bar 10, which Debussy marks ‘Retenu–// ’. The dotted lines and the forward slash are intended to indicate its importance, exact duration, and the point of termination.
Figure 2.2. The wave motion of Ondine.
An increment in the wave follows at bar 11, and it is marked ‘au Mouv’t’. This is followed by a decrement of the wave through bar 14 and is marked ‘Rubato’. During the
increment in the wave through bars 16 to 19, fresh motivic material is introduced. Once again Debussy instructs the performer to play ‘au Mouv’t’ on the increment of the wave, until musical material of a more melodic, declamatory nature is introduced in the left hand at bar 20. This is performed on the decrement of the wave. The undulating motivic character found in the left hand between bars 22-23 is eased out of auditory reach (marked ) as the wave’s decrement deepens in bars 24-25, again marked ‘Retenu - - - //’ . The wave then rises incrementally through bars 26-29, with a near-repeat of two motivic figures taken from bars 11-12 and 16-7; but this time they are placed in reverse order, without the linking rubato bars 14-15. With the wave’s decrement, marked ‘Retenu - - - //’ at bars 30-31, comes the introduction of a new staccato semiquaver motif. This, I think, implies a gathering energy, despite the decrement of the wave, which leads with ‘wavelike’ smoothness into the second main tonality of the piece: Eb major. It is at this point that Schmitz, despite his desire for a more ‘modern’ approach to analysis, interprets the motion of the piece in the traditional way, naming this stage of the wave as Section C, which, he says, ‘could be considered as the development section of this sonata-rondo’ (p. 179). This view, however, would break the ‘motion’ of the wave, as it flows towards its inevitable goal in bar 74. Bars 34-37 are repetitions of the playful semiquaver motif from bars 30-31. Marked ‘Mouv’t’, the semiquavers drive the wave’s increment to bar 37. This is followed by two similar motifs from bars 16-20, which continue the increment of the wave on until bar 41. However, during this repetition, there is no repeat of ‘au Mouv’t’. Bars 32-41 are composed along the longest roll yet of the wave, which drops with dramatic effect at bar 42 after Debussy’s unmistakable command: ‘Le double plus lent’. This paves the way for a further release of tension in the longest trough between the waves, at bars 45-53, marked ‘Rubato un peu au-dessous du mouv’t’. At bar 44 Debussy modulates to the third main tonality of the piece, which is B major, and the semiquaver staccato motif between bars 34-38, which Debussy had previously energized by marking ‘mouv’t’, appears again, this time written as quavers. This variation creates quite an opposite effect in bars 44-53, which become an area of doldrums with the slower, more sustained repetition of the quavers pulling against the cross- currents created by the polyrhythmic writing below. The introduction at bar 44 is marked ‘Rubato un peu au-dessous du mouv’t’ (or, a little beneath the movement). This mark suggests that this is an area of calm before the rise of the final wave, which begins ‘mouv’t’ in bar 54. Here, for the third time Debussy reinstates the staccato semiquaver motif taken from bars 32-37; but this time he places them in the bass clef. And, with the repeat of bars 28-29 through bars 62-63, and without a
repeat of the filigree pattern on the second and fourth quaver, the piece continues on a wave that rises incrementally to the last bar. There is no final descent of the wave, thus no deceleration in performance. Bars 54-74 are a return to the main tonality of D major; they are twenty in number, and almost twice (with one bar less) the length of the Scherzando. Thus the beginning of the piece is balanced with the end, not because of the musical material hereto employed, or the number of bars contained therein, but because Debussy knowingly, or unknowingly, introduces and closes the piece on the increment of the wave, which contributes to the feeling of completeness. As I show, the wave motion (see Figure 2.2, above) is constructed from Debussy’s rubato markings, and is intended, in part, to help the performer to ‘shape’ the music by controlling the pacing of its motion. Even so, motion remains an elusive matter, for while it is possible from the diagram, to see the wave motion of the piece, with its continuous ebb and flow through the increment and decrement of the wave, the analysis remains a qualitative one. As Epstein writes, performance is the ‘best crucible for this experience’ (1995, p. 5).
3rd Analysis: Shaping the Melodic Curves in Bruyères: A Rollercoaster Solution?
In this analysis I propose to show that the performer may ‘shape’ the melodic curves 81 which characterize Bruyères82 by pacing their ascent and descent using a subtle application of retards and accelerandos following the principle of the rollercoaster. However, the retards and accelerandos, like the rollercoaster, also require some means of support; so I shall suggest too, that Debussy’s deployment of cadences is intended to give support to that pacing. But how may the performer achieve this? In the previous two analyses we see the problems which can arise when attempting analyses of motion and its demarcation tempo and rubato in order to ‘shape’ the music for performance. More problematic for the performer, however, is controlling the graduated pacing of flexible tempos, such as retards and accelerandos, which depart from, yet link, the established tempos. Retards and accelerandos, like rubato, are another demarcation of motion as process, and their pacing during performance is, according to Epstein (1995), amongst the least accomplished events in our concert halls; indeed, it is often left to chance. There are few systematic studies on either retards or accelerations. Whilst Sundberg and Verillo (1980) deal with the retard as a gesture during the closure of a work, Epstein (1995), perhaps more relevantly, proposes in an empirical study that retards or accelerations may be best performed if they fit within a mathematical equation known as the cubic curve. However, this is a pilot study which does not investigate how retards and accelerations, which are inverse forms of each other, may be paced smoothly one to the other. Kinetic and potential energy, which are exemplified in the pacing of the retardations and accelerations of the rollercoaster, may provide in part, a simpler solution. As will certain aspects of the ‘rethink’ which has taken place in recent years in musical academic circles, notably by Berry (1989) and Rink (2002), amongst others, who as we saw in Chapter 4, look afresh at the relationship between performance and analysis. These changes make possible the informal analysis described below, which will seek to demonstrate that the graduated pacing of the ascent and descent of the melodic curves in Bruyères requires a subtle application of retards and accelerations following the principle of the rollercoaster. Informal tools of analysis such as découpage, diagrams and historical
evidence will be used to support this approach.
Retards and Accelerations
Retards and accelerations are governed by the principle of graduated change in the pacing of motion. As such, they do not proceed towards ad hoc goal tempos, but rather, link tempos which are already predetermined. Describing the retard/acceleration process, Epstein (1995) states that the ‘initial tempo from which the change starts, the number of steps though which the change must move, a related tempo to be achieved at the end of the time series: these elements set the temporal framework within which a retard/acceleration must be shaped’ (p. 418).
The Cubic Curve
Epstein (1995) suggests that the cubic curve, while mathematically complex, can describe an act of timing, such as the retard and acceleration which not only ‘feels natural and seemingly effortless to effect, but is compatible with our own musical intuitions’ (see Figure 3.1, below). From this mathematical concept, Epstein extracts the idea that the shape of the curve could represent a ‘possible timing trajectory in the moulding of a retard and accelerando’ (p. 419). In this pilot study, Epstein transfers performances of retards by Szell, and of Stravinsky, and accelerations by Karajan and Herrara de la Fuente, onto an analogue audio tape, and times the ‘durations of their successive beats with the tape measure technique’ (p. 417). This enables him to assemble a ‘highly correlated model’ of a retard and accelerando performance, from which he observes that their trajectory fits within the model of the cubic curve with striking similarity. These findings, he suggests, mean that these performers all have a good comprehension of the ‘boundary tempos’ which frame the ‘timing path’ of their retards and accelerations. Finally, a computer program reveals that the retards and accelerandos measured in the study, consistently fits within the cubic curve model with less than 7 per cent variance. Epstein concludes that the ‘cubic model does about as well as it is possible to do’ (p. 423).
Figure 3.1. An approximate reproduction of Epstein’s (1995) cubic curve, p. 420
The Figure above is a reproduction of Epstein’s (1995, p. 420) diagram, which shows, first, two horizontal lines between w-x and y-z. These lines represent the steady or predetermined tempos; second, an s-shaped ascending curve links the horizontal line, w-x to the horizontal line marked y-z at the uppermost point of the curve. Since the time constraints on a performer ’s life may discourage the study in detail of the models described above, it may be more effective for him or her to observe the similarities between the shape of a melodic curve in Bruyères, and the path of the rollercoaster as it rises and falls (this being closely related to the cubic curve). The energy of the rollercoaster during its fall is transformed from potential to kinetic (energy in motion); and during its rise, from kinetic to potential (stored energy). Thus, during the ascent of the rollercoaster there is retardation as it draws towards the top of the curve, and an acceleration as it descends on the other side of the curve (see Figure 3. 2, below).
Figure 3.2. The path of the roller coaster.
The Analysis
In 1966, Schmitz notes that Debussy’s second book of Preludes, which includes Bruyères, is ‘more advanced in its musical language, more difficult in its interpretations’ (p. 129) than the first, and he looks forward to the day when more modern methods will be developed to assist in this process. Now that there is an acceptance of more ‘modern’ or informal tools of analysis, it seems appropriate to attempt an informal analysis which may help to ‘shape’ the melodic ‘curves’ during the performance of Bruyères. This analysis seeks to expose elements which will support the pacing of the ascent and
descent of the melodic curves in Bruyères. Since the aim is to apply a subtle application of retards and accelerations, following the principle of the rollercoaster, I first expose the ‘shape’ of the melodic curve between bars 9-13, since as Schmitz points out, ‘curves not angles are the very nature of this composition’ (p. 172). Second, I attempt to demonstrate that the roles of the perfect cadence and the cadences irregulières support the pacing of the curve. Découpage and a diagram will be employed as part of the analytical process using bars 9 to13 as the example (see Figure 3.3, below).
Figure 3.3. An informal analysis of bars 9-13 from Bruyères by Debussy.
First, the contour of the melodic curve is highlighted above the score, with a black line to expose it more clearly. Second, level 1 shows the perfect cadence device. Third, level 2 shows the deployment of the cadences irregulières at an intermediate level of hearing. Fourth, an approximation of the area of the predetermined tempo - 66 to the quarter note is shown within the brackets. The vertical bar lines have been removed to expose a complete melodic curve. Its contour is highlighted above with a black line to reveal the similarity of the rise and fall of the musical curve with the ascending and descending path of the rollercoaster. Thus, just as the energy of the roller coaster is transformed from kinetic to potential as it draws towards the peak of the curve and with the added energy of the acciaccatura in the bass at the end of bar 9, which helps to push the music up and forward to the top of the curve, like the car on the rollercoaster, bars 9-10 may be performed with a subtle departure from the predetermined tempo of approximately 66 to the quarter note, and a retardation applied towards the Eb at the top of the melodic curve.
In the same way, the rollercoaster uses kinetic energy during its descent of the curve to ‘fuel the rest of the ride’ (Epstein, 1995, p. 27), performers may plan their descent of the to curve with a graduated accelerative pacing through bars 10-13 and gradually re-join the smoothly the predetermined tempo of 66 quarter However, the pacing of the ritardando and accelerando, like the note rollercoaster, needs in some means of support, or stability. I suggest that this is provided by Debussy’s bar 14. deployment of a hierarchical arrangement of cadential points (see Figure 3.4, below).
Figure 3. 4. The curve represents the path of the rollercoaster as it ascends and descends, and the vertical lines below it represent the hypothetical cadential points of support.
level At level 2 (see At Figure 3.3, above), the cadences irregulières are identifiable by the 1 (see the subdominant with an added sixth, which then resolves harmonic progression using Figurecadences 3.3, onto the tonic. These may be seen first between the third beat of bar 8 and the bars 3.3, above), and similarly between bars 12 and 13. In both first beat of bar above, 9 (see Figure 10-13), is to support the pacing of a subtle retard towards the end of the instances, their function Debussy’s descent of the melodic curve, and to establish a smooth connection to the predetermined positioning tempo of approximately 66 to the quarter note. the that the similarity of the ‘shape’ of the melodic curves in In conclusion,ofI suggest Bruyères, with perfect the track of the rollercoaster and with the degree of slope and cadence on corresponding retardation and acceleration with its ‘coefficient of friction at all points the last beat along the way’ (Epstein 1995: 27) - which in this case is supported by two different types bar 12 of cadences - of is clear to see. If the performer plans and controls this recurring and, on the accumulation and release of tension, which together affect the pacing of the retardation beatthe of ascent and descent of the melodic curve, this planning and and accelerationfirst during bar 13 out, ‘lead the car to its designated end, its motion controlled control will, as Epstein points provides throughout’ (1995, p. 27). Otherwise the pacing of the ascent and descent of the melodic support androllercoaster, may be spent too soon, with possible dissipation curve, as with the car of the to of the intended stability musical effect, which is to control a graduated pacing of the ascent and the decrease descent of the melodic curve from the predetermined tempo of approximately 66 to the in same related the quarter note, to the tempo at the downward end of the curve. pacing of However, important as it may be to identify the ‘shape’ of a musical work through more the motion,
flexible forms ofenhancing analysis, there is still the embodiment of the performer to be considered. This will be the focus the sense of the offive studies presented in the final part of this book. closure
as
the car of the rollercoaster descends to the end of the melodic curve.
PART IV: The Convergence: Five Theoretical Studies Concerned with Unifying Piano Performance
Introduction
In Part 3, I address the role of the mind in piano performance, and show that the changes in the relationship between performance and analysis have opened up new and more informal avenues for analysing music, ones which may prove to be liberating for the performer. Part 4 will present five theoretical studies which are concerned with taking advantage of the recent move away from the narrowly reductive analytical approach to piano performance in order to bring about a convergence, or unification of the role of the mind and of the body. For example, the first study, ‘The Caressing or Carezzando Touch’, will explore the potential of the ‘reach to grasp’ and give musical examples of where this technique may be applied more effectively; while the second study, ‘The Role of the Torso in Shaping the Temporal Flow of the Music’, will discuss the potential of the torso to ‘shape’ the rise and fall of the music. However, vital as it is to understand these functions separately, the aim should be to synchronize them during performance. Thus, the third study, ‘Synchronising the Movements of the Body and Demonstrating its Potential for “Shaping” the Music’ suggests that the ‘kinetic chain’ or wave-motion theory, may not only synchronize the movements of the torso, and the ‘reach to grasp’, but have a role to play in ‘shaping’ musical works for performance. The fourth study, ‘The Movement of the Torso and its Role in Enhancing the Memory in Piano Performance’, shows that although the conceptual and motor systems were once thought to function independently, now the field has been widened by neuroscientists and philosophers alike, who are pursuing a more global view of the memory processes. Can this research and the function of the torso be unified to enhance the role of memorizing? The fifth study, entitled ‘Widening the Approach: Imitation and Emulation in Piano Performance’, suggests that skilled pianism cannot be achieved exclusively by pursuing the traditional route, in which the student and the teacher sit side by side throughout the piano lesson. It may be better achieved by including some collaboration with other disciplines, such as musical analysis, dance and neuroscience.
1st Study: The Caressing or Carezzando Touch As I show at the beginning of Chapter 3, in the discussion with the osteopath, there is a high incidence of non-structural musculoskeletal problems and pain among pianists. This is not surprising, since pianists in general focus on developing their finger strength, and independence of one finger from another, by adopting high, moderate, or small tapping movements of the fingers to depress the note to the key bed. In this way, the fingers are subjected to an enormous number of repetitions throughout the lifetime of the pianist, who often fails to give due consideration to the function of the hand. There is an alternative approach to the development of the hand which, as we have seen in Chapter 1, may be traced back to J. S. Bach, and includes advocates such as Deppe and Chopin; since then it has been largely forgotten. It is called the carezzando or caressing, touch. This is the natural prehensile function of the hand, and is part of the ‘reach to grasp’ function, which is discussed in Chapter 3. It may be applied to the performance of individual fingers, as in scales, arpeggios, or by groups of fingers with the opposable thumb as in chord-playing, etc. In this study I will discuss the efficacy of developing such an approach vis-à-vis the more traditional finger-training, and at the end of the study I will give an example of how the performer may apply this movement in bars 8-9 of Feuilles Mortes, by Debussy. I will begin by briefly summarizing how the carezzando or caressing touch, or prehensile function of the hand, is perceived in historical accounts by a few practitioners from 1650-1930, before looking at a study by Ghez et al (1996) of the kinematics factors in prehensile movements in felines. Their research is invaluable, but it accounts for only part of the prehensile movement in piano performance, which must consist also of ‘friction’ and ‘release’ to complete the cycle. Thus, I will look at research into the function of friction (Salisbury and Craig 1982), while the ‘touch-down’ and ‘lift-off’ (Raibert 1988) of the foot in running may provide further insights into this complex issue.
Historical Background: The Carezzando Touch
The aim of the caressing, or carezzando touch is to produce a ‘singing’ quality of sound,
or bel canto. It is a technique which is extolled by the Italian vocal school in the 1830s. The caressing, or ‘grasping’, movement of the hand is in direct contrast to the percussive sound produced by striking the keys with a perpendicular movement of the fingers in the traditional way, which I discuss in Chapter 1. For example, Forkel (1749-1818) gives what may be the first account of the carezzando or ‘grasping’ movement. He writes that J.S. Bach (1685-1750) bent his five fingers ‘so that their points come in a straight line [and the finger is] not raised perpendicularly from the key [in the traditional way], but that it glides off the forepart of the key, by gradually drawing back the tip of the finger towards the palm of the hand’ (David and Mendel, 1966, pp. 307-308). This is the beginning of a mode of practice which does not emerge again until the nineteenth century, in the teaching of a few such as Kontski, Chopin, Marx, and Deppe. Kontski advises that, to caress the keys, the performer should hold the wrist in a low position while the pad of the finger slides from the middle of the key to its edge ‘in a delicate manner’ (1851, pp. 15-17). Czartoryska, a student of Chopin, describes his hands as ‘often seeming to caress the keys’ (Eigeldinger, 1986, p. 30). Adolph Marx (17951866) writes that ‘the key must be felt, not pushed or struck, it must be seized with feeling as one presses a friend’s hand only with sympathy’ (Kullak, 1893, p. 85). Ludwig Deppe (1828-1890), a pupil of Marx, advises that playing a scale should be like ‘gathering the hand into a nut shell’ (Fay, 1979, p. 300) while the American pianist William Mason (1897) (whose work is reviewed in Chapter 2) says that the cushion of the finger may make a clinging contact with the key, so that the ‘players will have the sensation that they are pulling the key toward them’ (p. 9). As we see also in Chapter 2, Thomas Fielden (1927) and Maria Levinskaya (1930) go further and attempt to describe the anatomical structure and forearm/hand, and the muscles which are engaged in the caressing movement. Since then, the efforts of these pioneers are largely forgotten and the traditional approach to finger training still persists. As we see in those brief historical accounts, the focus is largely on the caressing action of the hand. It was not understood that caressing, or ‘grasping’, with the hand as I point out, is only part of the movement cycle. To gain a broader view I shall draw upon research in other fields, such as kinematics, neurophysiology and robotics, which have established important factors engaged in the organization of prehensive movements.
Kinematics in the Coordination of Prehensive Movements
In 1996, Ghez et al undertake a study which examines the organization of prehension in the feline, ‘an animal with natural speed and great skill in catching its prey with its paws’ (p. 189). The aim is to establish, among other issues, a kinematic analysis of a feline’s ‘reach to grasp’ movement. Since their experiment is a complex one, I will simplify those findings which bear directly on prehension in piano performance. The feline is trained to retrieve a small piece of meat by extending its paw into a narrow food-well which is positioned in front of it. The head and body of the feline are restrained in a hammock to avoid the need to evaluate any other movements of its body except the shoulder complex, the forearm, and paw. Retro-reflective markers are attached to the glenohumeral (shoulder) joint, the metacarpophalangeal joint (the knuckle), the wrist (see Chapter 3 on structure) and the skin of the paw tip. From the quantitative kinematic analysis they are able to compute the feline’s movements during prehension. This enables them to identify the ‘elementary components’, which they say are similar to primate prehension. For example, the scapula of the feline first retracts the scapula to ‘linearize’ the paw path during the lift, and then protracts, or flexes the scapula to increase the elbow extension during the thrust (p. 193). Where the feline fails to retract the shoulder during the initial lift there are marked ‘systematic end point errors’ (p. 193), a point to which I shall return. Ghez et al observes also that the wrist speed of the feline has the bell-shaped tangential-velocity profile typical of humans performing similar movements of the shoulder complex and the forearm/hand. Furthermore, the feline adapts the ‘angulation of distal joints to the changes in orientation of the target’ (p. 190), a response which, they say, is similar to hand pre-shaping in humans. They infer too, that the overall tempo of the movement components of the feline is determined by the nervous system ‘quite early as it establishes the movement plan’ (p. 203). Their research reveals several vitally useful parallels with piano performance; first, as the feline lifts its upper limb, the shoulder blade retracts to stabilize the movement. Stabilizing the shoulder blade of the performer during the lifting of the humerus is prerequisite to ‘grasping’ the keys with accuracy; second, the prehension movement of the feline is fluid, i.e., before the grasp takes place there is no hesitation which would impact unfavourably on the control of the joint dynamics, this would equally be the case in piano performance; third, it takes the feline several days to learn to adapt its wrist angle to the inclination of the food well, or container. In piano performance, determining the ‘target distance’ to the keyboard, and the ‘location’ of the notes, is critical in the planning of the kinematic reach. Without this prior determination, ‘profound trajectory disturbances and errors in aimed hand movements’ (p. 188), may result. In piano performance this requires,
as with the feline, time, planning, concentration, and repetitive practice.
Friction
However, the approach by Ghez et al (1996) forms only part of the movement cycle in prehension. Indeed, Salisbury and Craig (1982) say research such as this is the ‘classic kinematic approach’ (p. 408), i.e., it only considers contact without friction. In reality, and as Salisbury and Craig (1982) say, ‘frictional forces must be present in common prehension movements, since friction is resistant to motion’ (p.408); without friction, they continue, ‘most manipulator end effectors would be unable to grasp a common object’ (: 407). Salisbury and Craig define these movements as a ‘closed-loop kinematic chain’. In piano performance there is no precedent for what happens as the ‘grasping’ action of the hand makes contact with the key bed. However, inference may be drawn from research by Raibert (1988) into balance and symmetry in running. He concurs with Salisbury and Craig’s view that friction is an integral part of the process of prehension, which, in the case of running, prevents the foot from sliding. Furthermore, he says that friction on the sole of the foot, which he describes as the ‘touch down’ (p. 490), provides support. The parallel in piano performance is that during the ‘touch down’ the friction of the finger pads impacts against the key bed thus causing the control architecture, i.e., the intrinsic muscles of the hand (the palmar, dorsal interosseous, and lumbrical muscles see Chapter 3 on structure), to brace and support the transverse arch at the metacarpal (knuckle) head (see Chapter 3, Figure 3.12,).
The Release
In running, the description of the release or ‘lift off’ by Raibert (1988), of the supporting leg, has a parallel also with releasing of the transverse arch in the hand in piano performance, for he says that during support the foot remains stationary and the leg exerts a combination of vertical and horizontal forces on the body. Because the legs are springy, the body’s vertical motion is an elastic rebound that returns the system to the flight phase after each collision with the ground (p. 490). Equally, the parallel with piano performance is like the leg, for the braced hand remains
stationary, and, like the leg, the arm is ‘springy’, until the release of the agonist muscles which support the hand in the brace position, and the next movement cycle is initiated once again. Figure 1.2, below, gives an example of where the complete movement cycle may be applied in the performance of each chord of bars 8-9 of Feuilles Mortes, by Debussy. Each box represents the complete movement cycle, or CMC. The CMC is summarized below.
Figure 1.2. Bars 8-9 in Feuilles Mortes, by Debussy.
To summarize: the complete movement cycle or CMC in piano performance; first, the scapula of the performer retracts to ‘linearize’ the hand path during the lift of the upper arm. Second, the performer protracts the scapula to increase the elbow extension during the thrust towards the key bed. During the ‘touch-down’ on each chord, the performer reshapes the hand for the new chord. During ‘touch-down’ the friction of the finger pads will impact against the key bed, causing the control architecture, i.e., the intrinsic muscles of the hand the palmar, dorsal interosseous, and lumbrical muscles to brace and support the transverse arch at the metacarpal (knuckle) head. To prepare for the next chord, the agonist muscles, i.e., the muscles which act in the direction of the motion, and support the hand in the brace position, are released by the dorsal muscles so that the performer can initiate the next movement cycle. As in felines, human limbs comprise relatively straight segments, and during the transport or positioning of the upper arm the performer is able to pre-shape the hand to the contours of the music before reaching the keyboard. While in piano performance this preshaping may provide a welcome reduction in trajectory disturbances and errors in handaimed movements, it is only a part of the movement cycle. Finally, the advantage of this approach to piano performance is that as in felines, human
limbs comprise relatively straight segments, and during the positioning or ‘reach’ of the shoulder blade and the upper arm the performer is able to stabilize the scapula and preshape the hand to the demands of the music before ‘grasping’ the keys. This pre-shaping may not only provide a welcome reduction in trajectory disturbances and errors in handaimed movements, but may reduce the risk of injury.
2nd Study: The Role of the Torso in Shaping the Temporal Flow of the Music
As we see in Chapter 2 on the anatomical structure and function of the performer’s body, the torso is the central axis of the body, upon which the pianist depends for support; while its function is now attracting the attention of researchers in fields other than musical performance such as human movement sciences, its potential for moving in synchronism and ‘shaping’ the temporal flow of the music is not. This study is presented in three parts: first, I will show that the ‘circumductory’ movement, so described by kinesiologists Tyldersley and Grieve (1996), may be an effective use of the torso in piano performance. This is followed, in the second part of the study, with an analysis which shows that the temporal flow of bars 27-35 of the Valse Romantique by Debussy (1918) is carried in the linear patterns of notes such as the ascending and descending diatonic scales, and in small chromatic details. Finally, I will show how the pianist’s torso, with its facility for making ‘circumductory looping’ movements (henceforth CLM), is able to move synchronously with the temporal flow of the notes, and control bodily the pacing of its accelerations and decelerations.
The Circumductory Looping Movement
Research does not yet focus on analysing the kinematic features of the torso in piano performance, so I depend upon Tyldersley & Grieve’s (1996) predication that most movements of the body are a combination of ‘closed loop’ and ‘open loop’ movements (p. 306). The ‘closed loop’ movement is a guided movement which depends upon visual, auditory and tactile information as the movement proceeds. During piano performance this sensory information enables the pianist to make fine adjustments to the movement of the torso. Distinct from this, the ‘open loop’ movement is a ‘response to activation of the motor programme, which once initiated must follow its course’ (p. 306), pressing the piano key being an example. On this evidence I suggest that the CLM is a combination of these movements which may be effectively employed in piano playing. There are two muscle systems which collectively perform the extending, flexing and
lateral movements which make up the CLM of the torso. The erector spinae is the largest muscle-system (see structure in Chapter 3) and lies deep in the back. Its origin is on the sacrum and at the back of the head, and it ‘acts strongly to raise the torso from a backward position to an upright position’ (p. 247). The internal and external oblique muscles are situated on both sides of the abdomen and flex the torso forward. Lateral movements of the torso also involve the external and oblique muscles but on one side of the torso only i.e. the side of the torso which is moving laterally. Smooth muscular changes such as these minimise ‘the strain they must sustain’, while preserving ‘their natural physical structure’ (Epstein, 1995, p. 420). Figure 2.1, below, is a general representation of the shape of a single CLM of the torso. In piano performance its shape does not change, although its amplitude will vary according to the spatial demands of the music. To perform a complete CLM the two deep muscle-systems described above combine to shift the centre of gravity from one ischial, or ‘sit-bone’, at the bottom of the pelvis to the other.
Figure 2.1 A diagram showing the ‘circumductory looping movement’ (CLM) of the torso from one ischial or sitbone to the other.
In the drawing above, the CLM of the torso begins on the left ischial (1). It then moves to the right of the curve onto the right ischial (2), before shifting along the left of the curve onto the left ischial (3). The CLM is completed as the torso shifts further down along the left of the curve onto the right ischial (4). This pattern may be reversed according to the direction of the music.
The Analysis
In preparing the following analysis (see Figure 2.2, below) of the Valse Romantiqueby Debussy, I do not apply a ‘rigorous and theoretically informed’ (Rink, 2002, p. 35) approach, but rely rather upon ‘informed intuition’. I describe it also as work in progress, to illustrate that this is not a definitive version, because throughout the development and
life of the performer subtle changes will always occur, whether knowingly or unknowingly.
Figure 2.2. An analysis of the Valse Romantique by Debussy.
There is not the space here to discuss more than a few bars of the analysis, which shows how the CLM of the torso can move synchronously with the rise and fall of the notes of the Valse Romantique, and control bodily the pacing of the temporal flow. I therefore extract bars 27-35 of the Valse Romantique (see Figure 2.3, below) from the complete score by Debussy, which shows that in these bars there is a succession of thickly textured chords whose function may be best understood ‘less in terms of root function’, but more as Devoto suggests, ‘in terms of specific sonorities deployed as a colouristic expansion of a single melodic line’ (Trezise 2003: 186).
Figure 2.3. The complete bars 27-35 from the score of the Valse Romantique by Debussy.
Thus, I consider that the chords, which are written in the bass and performed with the left hand, are not merely colouristic, but function as a vehicle for the continuing rise and fall of the scale pattern through bars 27-35. As may be seen in Figure 2.4 below, I extract the ascending and descending diatonic scale and small chromatic details in the treble from the full score above, which carry the temporal flow linearly, and which Debussy artfully embeds in the chords.
Figure 2.4, The ascending and descending diatonic scale and small chromatic details extracted from bars 27-35 of the Valse Romantique by Debussy.
However, how the temporal flow is to be paced is dependent also upon other analytical decisions, which in this instance are the dynamics. Since Truslitt (1938) writes that ‘every crescendo and decrescendo, every accelerando and decelerando, is nothing but the manifestation of changing motion energies’ (p. 52), I suggest therefore that the pacing of the decrescendos in bars 28 and 33-35 may be achieved by a subtle deceleration of the temporal flow, while the crescendo in bar 30 may be performed with a subtle acceleration of the temporal flow. The chromatic activity in bar 28, from Ab to G and back to Ab, and similarly in bar 33, Eb- to D, suggests that these are expressive moments which also help to underpin the deceleration in the temporal flow of the music.
Embodying the Music
With analysis established, it now remains to show that it is feasible for the torso to synchronise its movements with the rise and fall of the notes using the ‘circumductory looping’ movement (CLM). It should be noted too, that during the performance of the Valse Romantique, each CLM must necessarily be connected (see Figure 2.5, below) to achieve a smooth pacing of the temporal process.
Figure 2.5, The ‘circumductory looping’ movement (CLM).
The drawing above shows a representation of the CLM of the torso, connected one to the other. In piano performance these connections create a smooth ‘momentum of return’, from point A to point B at the keyboard, without having to perform a second muscular impulse to return from point B to point A.
The Performance
The following description of the CLM of the torso in the Valse Romantique is to be used in conjunction with Figure 2.6, below. The performance begins with the centre line of the torso positioned approximately in front of B, below the centre line E. It begins its ascent in a CLM from the octave Bb on the first beat in bar 27 to position itself approximately near the chord on the first beat in bar 28. The analysis shows that chromatic activity in bar 28, from Ab to G and back to Ab, with a small decrescendo marked beneath it, is an expressive moment. Here the torso performs three small, slower CLM towards each chord in bar 28, which controls the subtle deceleration in the temporal flow of the music at this uncture. This deceleration is aided also by the ‘time’ it takes the performer to make a large CLM to the left in the direction of the octave Bb on the first beat of bar 29. The torso then performs a large CLM to the right towards the chord on the third beat of bar 29,
before returning in an equally large CLM to the left to play the acciaccatura Bb on the first beat of bar 30. Then, with a small acceleration of the torso, indicated by the crescendo through bar 31, the torso moves to the right and performs three small CLM near each chord of bar 30, before moving in a CLM to the left towards the chord on the first beat of bar 31. Thereafter, the torso performs a large CLM to the right towards the chord on the second beat of bar 31, a CLM to the left towards the chord on the first beat of bar 32, and a large CLM of the torso to the right towards the chord on the second beat of bar 32. An equally large CLM to the left positions it near the Bb on the first beat of bar 33, and the torso then moves in a CLM toward the Eb on the second beat of bar 33. Bars 33, 34 and 35 are marked ‘dim’. This suggests a deceleration in the pacing of the temporal flow, which again may be bodily controlled by a deceleration in the CLM of the torso as it moves towards the octave Eb at the beginning of bar 35.
Figure 2.6, Plotting the rise and fall of the notes with the CLM of the torso.
In Figure 2.6, above, the score of the Valse Romantique, shows the left hand part, which has been extracted from the complete score bars 27-35 shown in Figure 2.6, above. The drawing above represents three variables. First, the progression of time represented by the horizontal line (this same line also represents E, which is at the centre of the piano); second, the vertical letters BCD E FGA on the left which represent the lateral displacement of the torso; third, the curved lines in the drawing representing the anteriorposterior displacement, or CLM, of the torso. These curves are not intended to prescribe the exact position of the torso other than to
indicate that for the purpose of performing these movements through bars 27 to 35, the centre line of the torso may align itself (as suggested above) approximately between B, below the centre line E, and A above E, according to the direction of the notes and the height, breadth and length of arm of the player. To summarise, the direction taken in this study is made possible because of the development of recent views which underpin it. For example, first, Williamon (2004) writes: ‘The direction and quality of one’s practice are integral to performance enhancement’ (p. 5); second, as already pointed out, the recent ‘rethink’ in academic musical circles enables the development of more ‘informal’ analyses; third, recent research into the kinematic features of the torso underpins the premise that the torso can perform CLM which synchronize with the temporal flow of the music and bodily control its accelerations and decelerations. This is a performative approach to performance, and one which stresses the inseparability of the mind and the body. The strategies, while not intended to be prescriptive, aim to show the potential for linking the temporal flow of the music with the role of the body during preparation for performance. Another advantage of integrating the function of the torso into the performance of the music is that, in doing so, it positions the shoulder complex and the forearm/hand, thus enabling the function of the ‘reach to grasp’.
3rd Study: Synchronising the Movements of the Body to Shape the Music
In the previous studies, I looked at the different structural components of the pianist’s body and their potential role in piano performance. In this study, I hope to show that the areas of the body which I have discussed so far, i.e., the shoulder complex, and the torso may not only be synchronized, but also play a role in ‘shaping’ musical works for performance - a view which is now largely supported in those musical academic circles who wish to promote a more interdisciplinary approach to performance. The argument will be presented in three stages, as follows: first, the section on ‘Human Movement Systems’ is an account of recent research which shows how movements may be synchronized in such a complex system as the performer’s body, which is continually undergoing change during piano performance. For example, the ‘kinetic chain theory’ - so described because of its emphasis on the processes of coordination and control in the human movement system - is viewed here as a viable framework on which the movements of the performer may be organized in piano performance. This research, by Lees and David (2002) amongst others, seems to be an appropriate basis for drawing together the information gleaned, in Part 2, on the structure and function of the performer’s body. Second, I explore the most important conceptual challenge a pianist can face, which as we see in Part 3, is how to ‘shape’ a musical work for performance. I will draw upon the ‘informal’ approach to analysis which I discuss in Part 3, and I will present a simple ‘performative’ analysis which exposes the structural elements of the music which support its ‘shape’. In the third and final stage, both approaches are shown to converge and complete the ‘performative’ analysis as a design which may be used by the pianist during his/her preparation of a musical work for performance.
Human Movement Systems
As we see in Chapter 3, and the 2nd study in Part 4, the structure and function of the three main areas engaged in piano performance, i.e., the torso, the shoulder complex and the forearm/hand is still only partially clarified, and with the present level of research into
human movement being rather scant, it is difficult to arrive at a complete understanding of how the movements of the body may be synchronized in piano performance; indeed, it would seem to be an almost insurmountable task, for the body comprises over one hundred bones, joints and limbs, and seven hundred muscles which are in a constant state of flux. However, recent research into physical anthropology and the human movement sciences all points the way to a clearer understanding of how the movements of the abovementioned three key areas may be synchronized in piano performance. Of the synchronous relationship between the shoulder complex and the hand for example, the anthropologist Mary Marzke (1994) writes that our: ‘early hominid ancestors dwelt in the trees and the development of their synchronous ability to position the upper arm and perform grasping actions with the hand for food were essential to their survival and success. By the time they left the trees to dwell on the ground, this ability to position the upper arm and perform grasping actions with the hand was as developed as ours is today’. As I discuss in the 1st study, this means that in piano performance the shoulder complex positions, and ‘reaches’ with upper arm; this enables the performer to pre-shape the hand according to the demands of the music, before ‘grasping’ the keys. Synchronized in this way, the forces may then be applied by the shoulder complex and modulated to maintain a stable ‘grasp’; of the piano keys. Also we see in Chapter 3 and the second study, there are very few references to the function of the torso in piano performance. However, insights into the function of the t orso may be gleaned from another area of research, namely cybernetics, i.e., the study of automatic control systems in living things. For example, Gracovetsky (1998) says that when analysing our evolution from fish-like ancestors, we seem to have lost touch with the fact that the spine and surrounding tissue of a fish is the primary engine which the animal uses for locomotion (p. 1). He concludes from this observation that the human ‘spine behaves like an engine driving the pelvis, with the legs following and amplifying its motion’ (: 1)83 Thus, it may not be unreasonable to suggest that if the function of the spinal engine is to drive the ‘pelvis, which in turn amplifies the movement of the legs’ (p. 1), then this may equally be said to be the case for the movement of the arms in piano performance. This is an interesting approach, but it may be that the aim should be to understand how ‘order emerges in such a complex system that is continually undergoing change’ (Lees and
David, 2002, pp. 274-5) as it is in piano performance, by inquiring into whether or not the movements of the shoulder complex and the forearm/hand may be synchronized with the torso in piano performance in other ways. For this reason, the research of sports scientists Glazier, David and Bartlett (2003) is pertinent, because they suggest that the dynamical systems theory is a viable framework for modelling athletic performance, owing to its emphasis on processes of coordination and control in human movement systems. A key theoretical concept is the ‘kinetic chain theory’, although Glazier, David and Bartlett admit that this has yet to be fully explored. They define this phenomenon as a ‘proximal-to-distal linkage system through which the energy and momentum (as in a wave motion) are transferred sequentially, achieving maximum magnitude in the terminal segment’ (p. 2). This means that the build-up of velocity in the segments with high moments of inertia causes them to move first, with the smaller segments having less mass moving later and with higher velocities. Such a sequencing allows proximally located muscles (the abdominal muscles in the torso) to use their capacity to the full to do work in contributing to the continued acceleration of the most distal segments, which in piano performance would be the hands.
The Analysis
If a performer makes claims for melodic ‘shaping’, then a contingent interpretive question must be: which analytical assumptions are going to inform these decisions? In the example below (see Figure 3.1), the assumption is that accents (such as >) and dynamic markings (such as ff , sfz, and sff ) ‘shape’ the melodic line. Figure 3.1, below, is a simple ‘performative’ analysis which the pianist may easily devise during the preparation for performance of Em Um Berço Encantando (1918) by Villa-Lobos.
Figure 3.1. An analysis of bars 10-16 of Em Um Berço Encantando (1918), by Villa-Lobos.
The analysis in Figure 3.1, above, shows the time signature is 9/8. Level 1, ( Upper staff) shows the accents >, ff , sfz, and sff , which provide the structure for the entire melodic phrase. Level 2 (Lower staff) shows the melodic goals i.e., the accents such as >, ff , sfz and sff, which are reproduced from the score above. Level 3 shows the trajectory of the body of the performer as the wave motion directs it towards the musical goal. Bars 10-16 are a complete melodic phrase. It is reproduced deliberately on one line (see Figure 3.1, Level 1). The intention is, first, to see the ‘shape’ of the phrase as a whole, when it is not broken by the printed notation wrapping round onto the next line, and second, to note the accents and dynamic markings which are deemed here to support the melodic phrase. Below this, Level 2 shows a reproduction of those same accents and dynamic markings in the upper most staff (at Level 1). They are positioned directly below the accents and dynamic markings in the score. The reason for this is revealed below in ‘The Convergence’.
The Convergence
The final stage of this study is to demonstrate a convergence of both approaches described above. Thus, Level 3 (see Figure 3.1, above) completes the ‘performative’ analysis. It depicts the trajectory of the performer’s body as the wave motion directs it
towards each of the musical goals. The wave motion is initiated by a contraction of the deep abdominal muscles in the torso and transferred sequentially. It passes through the torso, the shoulder complex and the hand with increasing velocity, thus allowing the ‘reach to grasp’ function of the latter to be initiated before the energy is finally transferred to the key bed. Once the wave motion is initiated and the performer’s body reaches the musical target, the lower abdominal muscles may relax before repeating the same procedure towards the next musical goal. It should be pointed out however, that the velocity of the wave motion will vary, since it is dependent upon the intensity of the musical goal (that is to say, it is dependent upon the requirement of the dynamics). This can only be determined by ‘informed intuition’ on the part of the performer. To summarize, the aim of this study is to examine the potential for synchronizing the movements of the performer’s body and ‘shaping’ the music. The approach taken here is yet a further example of the benefit of adopting an interdisciplinary approach which draws upon the research of writers in other fields, such as physical anthropology and the human movement sciences, as well as an exploration of recent innovations in traditional analytical procedures in areas such as ‘shape’. As a result, I am able to show, first, that the movements of the shoulder complex, the forearm/hand and the torso may be synchronized by a wave motion in piano performance, and second that, a simple ‘performative’ analysis may be easily constructed by the performer, one which exposes the structural elements which ‘shape’ the music. Finally, I seek to show that the structural elements of the music can function as the musical goals to which the movements of the performer’s body are directed during the performance, thereby deliberately engaging the movement of the body of the performer in the act of music-making.
4th Study: Enhancing the Memory in Piano Performance: A Mind/Body Approach
In the 2nd study I discussed the potential of the torso to move synchronously with the rise and fall of the notes in bars 27-35 in the Valse Romantique by Debussy, while at the same time bodily controlling the pacing of the temporal flow of the music. In this study, these same details will be drawn upon to advance the argument that the performer’s capacity for memorizing a musical work for performance does not depend upon one particular part of the brain or another but, rather, it is based upon a global interaction which involves both conceptual fields and the sensorial-motor system. As the philosopher Roland Bartsch (2005) writes, a ‘brain cut loose from the body and [its] surroundings has no indicating, or referential, function. It refers to nothing, it indicates nothing, and it cannot even refer to itself, because it cannot locate itself within the world…’ (19).
Background
I will begin by briefly outlining the background concerning the memorizing of music for performance. As I have already pointed out, there are, according to Clarke (2002), two techniques of central importance in the Western concert tradition: notation; and the memorizing of music for public performance. Despite the latter being the cause of acute anxiety amongst a large number of pianists, there are few systematic studies of the mental processes involved in memorizing the notes or; of the effect that the role of bodily movement may have on the memory process. Why, then, do performers play from memory in public? According to Ginsborg (2004), performing from memory is seen as a ‘measure of professional competence for concert soloists’ (: 114). However, this is not always the case. Before the ‘birth of the concert culture around 1800, musical performances and performers were deeply embedded within the social functions of which they were explicitly a part (church, court, secular celebrations, domestic entertainment and military function)’ (Clarke 2002: 186), and the players read the music as they perform. For this reason, he suggests, the performers themselves are unlikely to be under scrutiny. However, when the players begin to use a raised platform on which to perform they become separated from the audience. This
change inevitably draws attention to them and evokes comment. With the focus of attention thus shifting to the performer, and with the stress of performing the music from memory, problematic issues emerge, of which memory loss is one?
Memory Loss
Memory loss is the result of an ‘over-arousal of the autonomic system’ (Clarke 2002: 168), and is more commonly referred to as the ‘flight or fight’ syndrome. The central alarm-system for the brain, and the centre for emotional and fearful responses such as ‘flight or fight’ are both located in the amygdalae. These are two almond-shaped clusters of interconnected structures, one on each side of the brain i.e., above the brainstem, but below the limbic ring. Normally, the ‘visual signals are transmitted from the retina to the thalamus where they are translated into the language of the brain’ (Goleman 1996: 19), and the message is then transmitted to the visual cortex, where it is processed for the appropriate response. However, if the performer begins to experience fear at the thought of having to perform from memory, then the thalamus reacts by sending to the amygdalae signals which cause the muscles to tense, the heart rate and blood pressure to increase, and the breathing to slow down. Under these circumstances, the functioning of the prefrontal cortex of the brain, which is responsible for memory, is sabotaged because the amygdalae are able to respond to signals from the thalamus before the neo cortex can react. This response from the amygdalae leaves the performer unable to complete the task of successfully performing from memory. The experience is often described by performers as a ‘red mist descending’, or a ‘blank’ mind. Despite this, over-arousal of the autonomic system, Ginsburg (2004) says that there are practical advantages in playing from memory, such as not having to turn the page of the score, or share the stage with a second person whose role it is to turn each page of the music. In these ways the effects of musicality and musical communication are not interfered with. Furthermore, she says that ‘the very act of memorizing can guarantee a more thorough knowledge of, and intimate connection with, the music’, and allow the performer greater freedom ‘to receive and react to visual feedback from the audience’ (: 124). Although performing music from memory in public has now become an established tradition, there are few studies on how performers may achieve this successfully.
The Way Forward: A Brief Survey of Some Recent Studies
As we see, the Preface gives some of the key reasons for the separation of the mind and the body, and it is surely not surprising to find, in the study by Hallam (1997), that musicians use either cognitive analysis, such as practising ‘chunks’ ̶or small sections o ̶f the music; or else adopt kinaesthetic strategies such as the repetition of finger-movements until the music is implanted in the memory traces. According to Hallam’s research, the latter strategy, is for the majority of performers, the ‘prime source of memory’ (p.8). This finding does not discount other important strategies which she says performers develop ̶such as a visual image of the score, or an aural memory of the notes ̶ but it illustrates the disconnection of one strategy from another, most notably, as we have seen, in the first two examples described above, i.e., cognitive and kinaesthetic strategies. It is in the discipline of dance that we find dancers adopting strategies to enhance their memory which may be more relevant for the pianist. In an experiment by the Canadians Starkes, Deakin, Lindley and Crisp (1987), two groups of eight young dancers are tested. The first group of subjects are expert young dancers recruited from the Canadian National School of Ballet. They have an average of 5.1 years’ experience and an average age of 11.3 years. The second group are recruited from a local ballet school and have only an average of 4.7 years’ experience and an average age of 10.9 years. Both groups are asked, to first, motor-recall a choreographed, or structured dance sequence; and, second, to motor-recall unstructured dance sequences. The researchers find that while the expert dancers remember their movements in the choreographed, or structured dance, sequences better than do the novices, neither group remember very accurately their movements in the unstructured sequences. This finding according to Starkes et al. suggests that the strategies of the expert dancers are metacognitive, i.e., that they use executive-control strategies to enhance their overarching learning and performance. In another experiment, Adams and Dijkstra (1966) explore whether or not increasing the rehearsal-time of the sensory aspect of a movement will enhance the memory of the dancers. They impose three requirements on their subjects: to remove their hand from the end point of a movement after two seconds; then, in a repeat procedure, after fi ve seconds; and third, in a further repeat, after fifteen seconds. The data show that each time the
participants are permitted ‘longer rehearsal of the sensory aspects of a movement, retention losses are smaller’ (p. 123). This result, Adams and Dijkstra say, supports the ‘facilitation of covert activity in memory-trace development’ (p.123). The evidence gained from both these experiments by Starkes et al. and by Adams and Dijkstra, suggests that memorizing may be a matter of the performer cultivating the ability to bring about a convergence of information concerning both the role of the mind and the body in performance, rather than simply storing in the memory traces a collection of propositions or images. As I shall show, by drawing upon the structured content of stored musical information during practice, and with consistent and repetitive music-related practice of body movements, these separate elements may become increasingly interconnected, and thereby strengthen the memory traces in the brain – a view which is endorsed by the neuroscientist Bernard Hummel (2001), who proposes that cognitive representations sub serve not only representational functions such as perception and memory, but also action-related functions such as movements of the body.
The Study: Establishing the Memory Traces
Bearing in mind the findings of the above research quoted, it now remains to suggest how a convergence of the mind and the body may be achieved, so that the music is established in the long-term memory of the performer. While it is difficult to avoid being prescriptive at this juncture, I suggest that the performer establish the musical goal, and then apply repetitive movement patterns of the body – or circumductory looping movements (CLM) of the torso, as described in the 2nd study – in ‘chunks’, which are then connected together to establish the memory traces in the sensory motor system. To illustrate this dual process, the approach taken here is threefold. First, I have, as in the 2nd study extracted bars 27 to 35 (shown at the Upper Level, Figure 4.1, below) of the left-hand part of Debussy’s Valse Romantique in order to see the dynamic markings, the performance of which set the musical goals; and 2. determine which notes may be deliberately selected to facilitate the CLM of the torso in practice and performance. Second, I give two examples from the score, of ‘chunks’ which comprise a): the first two quarter note beats of bar 33 (see Figure 4.1, below), and b): the six quarter note beats beginning on the second quarter note in bar 33, and continuing through bar 34 to the first quarter note in bar 35 (see Figure 4.1, below). Finally, I follow this with an example of how to connect the first ‘chunk’, in Figure 4.2a, to the second ‘chunk’, in Figure 4.2b. The
Lower Level shows the drawing of the CLM of the torso.
Establishing the Musical Goal
The Upper Level in the score below (see Figure 4.1) shows that Debussy places a ‘dim’ mark through bars 33, 34 and 35 ̶ which suggests a deceleration in the pacing of the temporal flow. Thus, during each repetition of the CLM of the torso in the ‘chunks’ described below (see Figures 4.1a, and 4.1b,), the performer ̶may as described in the 2nd study ̶bodily control the deceleration of the CLM so as to produce a smooth temporal pacing and ‘shape’ to these bars.
Figure 4.1. Reproduced from the 2nd Study, Figure 2.5. The Upper Level shows the full score (bars 27-35) of the left-hand part of the Valse Romantique by Debussy. The horizontal centre line marked by the letter E represents the centre of the piano keyboard. The alphabetic letters placed vertically on the left side of the drawing represent the keys on the piano. For example, the bottom letter B represents two Bs below middle C. The C above the letter B represents two Cs below middle C and so on. The Lower Level shows the CLM of the torso aligning with the rise and fall of the notes of the Valse Romantique.
Practising the First ‘Chunk’
To begin, I extract the first two quarter notes, namely Bb and E b, from bar 33 (see Figure 4.2a, below) from the score at the Upper Level. This extract represents the first ‘chunk’, which is to be practised repeatedly with a CLM of the torso, which in turn positions the left hand, as described below.
Figure 4.2a. This Figure shows a partial CLM of the torso ascending along the right-hand side of the curve towards the Eb on the second beat in bar 33 from the Valse Romantique, by Debussy.
In Figure 4.2a, above, the centre line of the torso, i.e., the navel, is positioned approximately in front of B (two Bs below the centre line E), and its weight is balanced on the left ischial bone. To reach the Eb above middle C on the second beat of bar 33, the torso ascends in a CLM along the right-hand side of the curve by transferring its weight onto the right ischial bone until it (the navel) is positioned approximately in front of F, above the centre line E. The performer may practise this ‘chunk’ by initiating a CLM of the torso, and then, as Adams and Dikjstra suggest, hold the position (with the thumb on the Eb) at the end point of each movement for two seconds, then for five seconds, and again for fifteen seconds. As Adams and Dikjstra say, waiting at the end point will provide increased time to rehearse the sensory feedback associated with the final position of the chosen trajectory of the body, and will help to ensure that the movement is embedded in the long-term memory.
Practising the Second ‘Chunk’
Figure 4.2b. This Figure shows a partial CLM of the torso descending via the left-hand side of the curve from the Eb on the second beat of bar 33 to the first beat on the octave Eb in bar 35 in the Valse Romantique by Debussy.
Figure 4.2b, above, shows an extract taken from the Upper Level (see Figure 4.1, above) of bars 33, 34 and 35. This extract forms the second ‘chunk’, and the CLM of the torso may be practised repetitively in the following way. This time, the performer places the centre of the torso (navel), which is now balanced on the right ischial bone, at the topmost part of the curve, and approximately in front of F above the centre line E, before it loops circumductively downwards via the left-hand side of the curve towards the octave Eb at the beginning of bar 35. The torso (navel) should end the movement when it is positioned approximately in front of the B (two Bs below middle C). At this point the weight of the performer’s torso is transferred onto the left ischial, or sit-bone, and he/she holds the octave Eb down at this end point for two seconds. This ‘chunk’ may be repeated for five seconds, and then for fifteen seconds in the same way as before. Practising the CLM of the torso repetitively in isolated ‘chunks’, in the way described above, is of little value unless these are then connected one to the other while maintaining bodily control of the pacing of the temporal flow i.e., incorporating a gradual slowing down of the CLM as it moves through bars 33 to 35. (See Debussy’s temporal instruction ‘dim’ in bars 33-35 in Figure 4.1, above).
Connecting the ‘Chunks’
Figure 4.3, below, shows the complete phrase through bars 33, 34 and 35, which are
extracted from the score (see Figure 4.1, above), with the completed CLM of the torso drawn beneath. As before, and bearing in mind the musical goal, the centre line of the torso is placed approximately in front of B (two Bs below the centre line E), and then it loops up and round the right-hand side of the curve to position itself approximately in front of F above the centre line E. The torso then loops down the left-hand side of the curve towards the octave Eb on the first beat of bar 35, positioning itself, as before, approximately in front of the same B i.e., two Bs below the centre line E.
Figure 4.3. This Figure shows the complete CLM of the torso aligning itself with the rise and fall of the notes in bars 33, 34 and 35 from the Valse Romantique by Debussy. Once again the notes at the Upper Level are extracted from the score (see Figure 4.1, above).
The following is a brief summary of the present study. According to the evidence of the research discussed here, during piano practice the memory traces in the brain maybe strengthened by connecting the musical ‘chunks’ in the manner described above, with the prescribed number of repetitions; by following a consistent trajectory of the CLM of the torso; by maintaining complete concentration; and by constantly keeping the musical goal in mind.
5th Study: Widening the Approach: Imitation and Emulation in Piano Performance
The Background
This final study suggests that skilled pianism cannot be achieved exclusively by pursuing the traditional route, in which the student and the teacher sit side by side throughout the piano lesson. It may be better achieved by including some collaboration with other disciplines, such as musical analysis, dance, and neuroscience. As I discussed in Chapter 3 on the brain-control systems, the research by Rizzolatti and Craighero et al. (2004 and 2007), Haggard (2008), Iacoboni (2008) and Ramchanderan (2011), amongst others, into the role of mirror neurons underpins the view taken here that humans, with their superior motor repertoire, have greater potential for imitation, and above all for learning by imitation. Equally, I suggest that the pianist may develop a greater control of the pacing of the ebb and flow of Clair de lune by Debussy from one section to the next, through imitation and emulation of dancers’ movements. As the reader will recall, the aforementioned researchers show that mirror neurons in the brain respond not only when a subject performs a given action, but - more significantly - also when the subject observes someone else performing the same action. This present study is designed as a preliminary test of the relevance of this idea to musical performance. In it, a music analyst, a pianist, a choreographer, and two dancers from the Royal Ballet, Covent Garden, collaborate in assisting the pianist to control the pacing of the ebb and flow of Clair de lune, from one section to next through imitation and emulation of the dancers’ movements. The study, which spans a two-and-a half-hour period, begins with the analyst, who provides the musical template for discussions with the pianist and the choreographer. At the end of the final performance, seven delegates who attended the workshop at the London International Piano Symposium in February 2013, at the Royal College of Music are asked to assess whether or not there is any notable improvement in the pianist’s control of the pacing of the piece through the imitation and emulation of the dancers’ movements.
The Study
In this pilot study, the pianist and the dancers each requires a template to work from. As the music analyst, I chose Clair de lune, by Debussy, because of its extreme beauty and imagination, and because I believe that it deserves to be restored, as far as possible, to a rendering closer to Debussy’s intention. Why does Clair de lune need restoring? Robert Schmitz, a French-born pianist, and a contemporary of Debussy writes, ‘this Clair de lune is one of the most frequent dramas of the musical scene; it is slaughtered in public more often than revealed!’ (1966, p. 53). Instead, he suggests that ‘it is a piece in half-shades and half-lights, with the peaceful abandon that the scenery establishes. Its anticipations and retards of rhythm create suspense, but, as proven by some virtuosi, the inexact timing of such values can easily dispel the mystery. Under such brutal assaults, the piece becomes vulgar, distorted and sometime very Hollywoodish’ (p. 54). He paints an illuminating picture of this vulgarity writing, ‘the moon is now made of paste boards and the light is crude, a klieg 84 focused by a machinist’ it is, he continues ‘a poor substitute’ (p. 54). Today, a quick glance through Amazon’s list of MP3s shows that Clair de lune continues to suffer from misuse - being appropriated to calm dogs, accompany dinner or massages, and even used as elevator music. During my research to ascertain how more serious pianists approach the performance of Clair de lune, the Sound Archives at the British Library reveal that there is no single catalogue that lists all the recordings made of Clair de lune, so it is not possible to compile a complete list of timings. However, while the research is not complete, a survey of some one hundred and forty-eight timings of the piece by different performers from 1924-2012, shows that they appear to range from an early performance of 4.5 minutes by Olga Samaroff in 1924, to a later performance of 8.57 minutes in 1977 by Pascal Rogé. This wide range of timings does suggest an alarming disregard by performers for Debussy’s temporal instructions. So, I decided that for this collaborative workshop it is vital to strip the piece back and start afresh. The inherent problem for the pianist in performing Clair de lune is twofold: first, it is divided into different units, or sections, with seemingly unconnected musical material in each; second, Debussy’s temporal instructions need some clarification, so that the tempo is controlled without arbitrary fluctuations from one section to the next, and so that, as Schmitz suggests, ‘The peace of the transparent and soft light [is] not disturbed by
brusqueness [of] rhythm’ (p. 54). With these issues in mind, the first analysis exposes the musical line, while the second presents a pitchless representation of Debussy’s notation of the rhythm, which paces the ebb and flow from one section to the next. At the same time, the choreographer designs the movement template for the dancers after listening to recordings of the piece by other performers.
The First Analysis: Exposing the Musical Line
Throughout Clair de lune, Debussy employs scale passages, either in full or in part, in ascending or descending form. This technique enables the musical line to connect one section to the next in a coherent way, as we shall see. In this analysis (see Figure 5.1, below) I show that in bars 1-8 Debussy uses a descending scale of Db in the treble clef and repeats it in bars 9-14. In bars 15-18 we can see the same scale artfully embedded in the triple octaves. In bars 19-27 we can see also part of the same scale ascending in octaves in the bass from Ab (although this time with an added A natural in bar 20), before closing on the tonic Db in bar 26. Finally, the analysis of bars 38-42 exposes also a descending scale in the bass, which is another example of Debussy’s continuing dependence on scale patterns to produce the musical line, which otherwise would be too fragmented.
Figure 5.1. The full analysis exposing the musical line of Clair de lune by Debussy.
The Second Analysis: Connecting the Sections
With the musical line exposed, it remains for us to understand Debussy’s temporal instructions so that the performer may control the pacing of the tempo without arbitrary fluctuations from one section to the next. Interpreting Debussy’s temporal instructions may be helped by first looking once again at the diagram, influenced by David Epstein (shown in the first analysis in Figure 1.1 in Part 3). As we see, Epstein divides time into structure and process. On the left-hand side of the diagram, structure is divided into two elements: chronometric time, such as beat, measure, and rhythm, with its demarcations, pulse and motive, etc. On the right-hand side of the diagram we can see the heading ‘Process’ or the pacing of motion with its sub-division, ‘Tempo’, and its demarcation rubato. Understanding these demarcations, such as rubato, is key to pacing the ebb and flow of Clair de lune successfully through one unit or section to another; as too are the comments by Debussy’s contemporaries which, again, may be found in the first analysis in Part 3, in particular by Schmitz, who notes appositely in this instance, ‘that what is needed is a basic tempo, which is exact for each succeeding section or break in texture,
determined by Debussy’s indications’ (p. 38). On this basis, in this second analysis I extract the rhythm on each side of the sections and represent it by a single headless note on B b to show that Debussy’s rhythmic notation allows for increases or decreases of movement without altering the tempo. The example (see Figure 5.2, below) shows the link between sections 1 and 2, where Debussy writes duplets on the second and third beat of the bar to give a sense of a small ritenuto. He continues writing a duplet on the first beat of bar 15 of the 2nd section, and instructs also ‘Tempo rubato’. On the 2nd and 3rd beats however, Debussy writes triplets to give a sense of increase in the movement, or rubato, without having to increase the tempo.
Figure 5.2. Rhythmic representation of sections 1-2 from Clair de lune, bars 14-15.
In the rhythmic link between sections 2 and 3, we can see that Debussy once again builds in a subtle ritenuto into the rhythmic notation, and underpins this, by using the expression ‘dim molto’. This tempo may be sustained through the beginning of the third section, bar 27, which is marked ‘un poco mosso’ and may remain so until bar 35, albeit with subtle increases and decreases indicated by the crescendo markings.
Figure 5.3. Rhythmic representation of sections 2-3 from Clair de lune, bars 25, 26, and 27.
Continuing, the ‘crescendo’ marking at bar 35 suggests a nuanced acceleration to link the pacing of the tempo to bar 37, which is marked ‘En animant’ and ‘piu crescendo’. Thereafter, a subtle increase in the tempo may continue to be applied until bar 42, whereas can be seen in Figure 5. 1, above, Debussy instructs a ‘diminuendo’ to slow down the semiquaver pattern of notes in the left hand, thus smoothly connecting them to the beginning of section 4, marked ‘calmato’ (see Figure 5.4, below).
Figure 5.4, Rhythmic representation of sections 3-4 from Clair de lune, bars 42- 43.
In the link between sections 4 and 5 (see Figure 5.5, below), the performer may practise hearing the opening triplets of bar 1 against the semiquaver pattern shown in bar 50, in order to link the tempo smoothly into bar 51, which is the beginning of section 5, and so establish ‘Tempo 1’, as marked.
Figure 5.5. Rhythmic representation of sections 4-5 from Clair de lune, bars 50- 51.
With the musical line revealed in the first analysis, and the suggestion in the second that the increases and decreases of the tempo between the sections should be imperceptible, the template is ready for the pianist to rework their performance.
The Collaboration
In the first meeting, the pianist and the dancers meet for one hour to rehearse their movements, to the accompaniment of Clair de lune played by the pianist in the traditional way. This is followed by a workshop of one-and-a-half hours, the analyst, the pianist, the choreographer, and the dancers meet again to discuss the findings of the analysis. This shows that the tempo as Schmitz suggests, may now be sustained exactly for each succeeding section and should be maintained throughout, albeit with subtle alterations. This result produces some tensions in the discussion between the analyst and the choreographer, who has visualized the development of the movements of the pas de deux against the recordings of Clair de lune by other performers, which he considers are interpreted with greater feeling - but which, as is pointed out by the analyst, has little regard for Debussy’s temporal intentions. A consensus is eventually reached between the analyst and the choreographer, and they agree that an overabundance of rubato, or arbitrary fluctuations in tempo, does indeed reduce the sense of coherence throughout the piece. During the remainder of this rehearsal the pianist attempts to control her own pacing of the ebb and flow of Clair de lune through imitation and emulation of the dancers’ movements as they practise connecting one section to the next with subtle fluctuations only in the tempo. The study concludes with an uninterrupted performance of the whole piece. The following are comments on the success or otherwise of the study in which the pianist attempts to control the pacing of the ebb and flow of Clair de lune, from one section to the next through imitation and emulation of the dancers’ movements. i.
‘I found your study to be very interesting and also a very useful approach towards
piano playing. I think it might attract the attention and interest of different types of people, and therefore have a big potential for improvement in different ways’. ii. ‘During the practice, the student started to play brighter, clearer and more poetically, in a very obvious way. I believe that after this workshop she will be playing this piece with much more expression at her solo performances’. iii. ‘I find such projects always to be an improvement for playing, and in your case I believe it is also interesting and attractive’. iv.
‘I am very interested in this topic and this job because a part of my study is
dedicated to mirror neurons and instrumental duo. Yes, I noticed that the performance of the pianist improved with each repetition. It seemed to me however, that the packaging was unilateral, i.e., that the pianist was trying to adapt to the dancers but that the pianist could not, in turn, affect the dancers. However, if the question is only if the pianist’s performance was improved, my answer is yes; no doubt in terms of phrasing and direction of the musical phrase, it was more adapted to the movement and needs of dance’. v. ‘By all means, there were definite improvements as you went along in the pianist’s response to your joint direction with the dancers. I felt that this particular pianist needed to make a greater commitment to feeling the longer beats, where, pianistically, nothing happens, but of course the rhythm must continue. I must say that the concept of making a dance out of this piece was quite a beautiful one, and I was most appreciative of the underlying concept and the choreographic execution’. vi. ‘Yes, I remember that the pianist’s shaping of the body of timing was better’. vii. ‘During the workshop [the] young pianist improved her musical breath and body movements through the collaboration with the two dancers. At the end of one hour working we could see how she [caught] the musical shape, [and] how she changed her gestures in the performance by looking at and following the movements of the dancers and their choreographer’.
Two weeks later, another questionnaire is sent to the pianist and seven of the delegates asking, once again, to what extent did the pianist succeed in controlling the pacing of the ebb and flow of Clair de lune by Debussy from one section to the next, through imitation and emulation of the dancers’ movements? Four of the delegates find an improvement in the pianist’s performance, and three do not address the question at all. The pianist observes, and I quote, ‘the challenge for me is to be able to be fully aware of what the dancers are doing, rather than sticking to my own playing’. To conclude: this pilot study suggests that the pianist might learn to control the pacing of the ebb and flow of Clair de lune, from one section to the next, through imitation and emulation of the dancers’ movements. While the analyses and the historical evidence provide some useful insights apropos of the pacing of the ebb and flow from one section to another, it is difficult say whether or not the pianist develops a greater control of pacing through imitation of the dancers’ movements, since the responses by the participants are too subjective, and in some cases the question is not fully understood. At this stage of the study, the evidence is inconclusive, and suggests the necessity for
applying more appropriate performance-assessment criteria in the future. In neuroscience, research in musical performance is beginning to burgeon however, and may open the way also for more robust collaborative undertakings between performers from different disciplines, which will enhance studies of this nature on piano performance in the future.
Footnotes Forenotes [1 This is not to forget Edward Cone’s book, Musical Form and Performance, which was first published in 1968, and is considered by many to be a seminal work.]
Preface [2 The Greek Hippocratic tradition is determined to be rid of the vestiges of ‘magico-religious’ thinking, and replace it with a rational approach to all clinical practices, i.e. treatments, are to be dependent upon what is observable and palpable. This progressive thought becomes obscured during medieval times by Christian dogma until it is reopened by Descartes (1596-1650). Lock & Scheper-Hughes (1987) ‘The Mindful Body: Prolegomenon to Future Work in Medical Anthropology’, Medical Anthropology Quarterly, 1(1), p. 6-41.] [3D escartes is both a philosopher and a mathematician. His view of the body versus the self gives fruit to his famous dictum: Cogito, ergo sum - ‘I think, therefore I am’.] [4‘ The Enlightenment’ is a term which is used to describe a period in Western philosophy and cultural life in which reason is advocated as the primary source and basis of authority. The specific dates of the Enlightenment are a matter of debate, but it is generally agreed that it begins in the mid to late 17th century, and continues throughout much of the 18th century.] [5L ock and Scheper-Hughes (1987) suggest that this ‘radically materialist thinking is also the product of a Western epistemology which extends back to Aristotle’s ‘starkly biological view of the soul in De Anima’. 1(1) p. 6-41.] [6E rgonomics is a science which is concerned to ‘fit’ the movements of humans with their work. For further reading see Frederick Taylor (1911), Principles of Scientific Management (New York and London, Harper & Brothers).] [7T oday, the ‘technique’ required for playing the piano comprises many facets, from the ‘ten fingers microscopic movements which have potential in determining the music’s expressive content, to the image projected by the pianist’s body as a whole, which acts as an agent of expression…’ Rink (2005) p. 30.] [8A traditional long-necked two-stringed musical instrument known as the lute, which may be found in Iran.] [9M ine Dack’s (2014) response to Jin Hyun Kim’s (2013) article ‘Shaping and Co-Shaping Forms of Vitality in Music’ in Empirical Musicology Review, Vol. 8, No. 3-4.] [10 In The Art of Memory (1966), Yates traces the history of mnemonic systems fr om the classical period of Simonides of Ceos in Ancient Greece to the Renaissance era of Giordano Bruno. The book ends with discussions of the work of Gottfried Leibniz and of the early emergence of the scientific method in the 17th century] [11T he first person to discuss the art of memory is allegedly Simonides. He devises a technique in which the subject memorises the arrangement of buildings, or artefacts in a room, which are composed of a number of discrete loci. In order to memorise the buildings or artefacts the subject practices walking through these loci and concentrates on committing the desired item to memory by forming an imaginary link between the item and any distinguishing feature of that locus. To bring the items back into the memory it is necessary only to walk once again through the loci to retrieve the chosen items] [12C ottingham, J., Stoothoff, R., Murdoch, D., 1984, The Philosophical Writings of Descartes, 2 vols, Cambridge, p. 107).] [13T he discussion throughout this book focuses on the role of human movement in piano performance, and is not to be confused with human gesture, which may be, as Hatton (2006) defines it ‘any energetic shaping through time that may be interpreted as significant’ (: 1) i.e., humans may make a musical gesture which may be ‘conceived, produced, experienced and interpreted by individuals in various ways, whether aurally, physically, conceptually or otherwise, and the function of these gesture depends upon the context in which they arise’. A. Gritten and E. King 2011: New Perspectives on Music and Gesture SEMPRE Studies in the Psychology of Music. p.1.]
Chapter 1 [ 14T he clavichord developed from the monochord (which was a single-stringed instrument), and at first had a compass of eight notes; it appears in Western Europe during the early part of the fifteenth century and remains in use throughout the Renaissance and in Germany until the early nineteenth century. Sadie, S., 1980: The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, vol. 12 (London, Macmillan), p. 495.] [15E vidence shows that performers and pedagogues continue to employ the same ‘old dreary finger-exercises’ (Fielden 1932-3, p. 51) when exercising the fingers in this way. The ‘same old dreary exercises’ are those created by, amongst others, the pianist/composers mentioned above, with the exception of Mozart.] [16T hese exercises based on five notes, are diatonic and chromatic scales, scales and chromatic scales in thirds and sixths, and chords and octaves.] [17In wrist octaves, the hand spans eight notes, so that the thumb is placed on C while the fifth finger is placed on the C above. The hand is lifted up from the keyboard at the wrist joint and lowered to sound both notes simultaneously. There should be no movement of the forearm or upper arm.] [18J . Bellman, 2001: ‘Frederic Chopin, Antoine de Kontski and the Carezzando Touch’, Early Music, August.] [19 Ibid.] [20J . Bellman, 2001: ‘Frederic Chopin, Antoine de Kontski and the Carezzando Touch’, Early Music, August] [21J . Bellman, 2001: ‘Frederic Chopin, Antoine de Kontski and the Carezzando Touch’, Early Music, August] [22C hopin recognizes also that the arms have a role to play in piano performance, recommending that although arms ‘should be the slaves of the fingers…the opposite always tends to occur… [continuing he says], one should keep one’s mind off the arms and just use them as naturally as possible’. This practise suggests that he understands that the function of the upper arm is to provide the necessary force to the fingers. J. Bellman, 2001: ‘Frederic Chopin, Antoine de Kontski and the Carezzando Touch’, Early Music, August p. 31.] [23J . Bellman, 2001: ‘Frederic Chopin, Antoine de Kontski and the Carezzando Touch’, Early Music, August] [24 Wesley Weyman was born in Boston, Massachusetts, USA, and was the pupil of, amongst other teachers, William Mason (whose work is surveyed in Chapter 2), and Tobias Matthay.] [25O . Ortmann, 1929, The Physiological Mechanics of Piano Technique (New York: Paul, Kegan, Trubner, Trench & Co, Ltd). The bibliography is of great value, since it reflects the body of work, by performers and pedagogues, which emerges between 1888 and 1927. Their work is less interested in the traditional, subjective approach to piano technique, and their aim is to adopt a more scientific stance. The authors are mainly from America and Germany, and Ortmann divides the new subjects under the headings: General Anatomy and Physiological, Muscular Structure, Function and Action and the General Principles of Physiological Movement.]
Chapter 2 [26F ielden draws upon Grays (1918) Anatomy of the Human Body (New York, Leas & Febiger.), Colin Mackenzie’s The Action of Muscles (1918) and Macdonald Smith, who is a pioneer of gymnastic training. Levinskaya claims that she is descended from a ‘family who for several generations counted amongst its members, men of science and medicine’ (1930, p. 4). This, she writes, gives her the advantage of being able to ‘organize knowledge based on personal experience’ (1930, p. 4).] [27L eopold de Meyer ’s provenance was Austria.] [28 Mason, W. (1929), Touch and Technic: Artistic Piano Playing vols. 1-4 (Philadelphia: Theodore Presser Co).] [29T he tendon is a band of dense fibrous tissue which attaches the muscle to the bone. Tendonitis is a condition caused by an inflammation of the synovial sheaths which surround the tendons of muscles; it is often caused by overuse of the muscles. Tyldesley & Grieve (1990) Muscles, Nerves, and Movement: Kinesiology in Daily Living ( Oxford: Blackwell Science Pub.), p. 159.]
[30 Mason, W. (1897), Touch and Technic: Artistic Piano Playing, vol.1 (Philadelphia: Theodore Presser Co).] [31 The Concise Oxford Dictionary (1999).] [32 W. Mason (1897), Touch and Technic: Artistic Piano Playing, vols. 1-4 (Philadelphia,Theodore Presser Co.), p. 7.] [33I bid., p. 8.] [34M ason describes the action as that of ‘gathering up crumbs’.This description shows a similarity with the way in which J.S. Bach uses his hand in keyboard performance, which I discuss in Chapter 1 and in the first study, Part 4. But there is no evidence that links Mason’s ideas to the tradition begun by J.S. Bach, for even if it comes through Meyer, who studied with Czerny, there is no record, as Fielden says, of how Czerny taught his pupils to cultivate right the movements and conditions.] [35U nlike Matthay, Breithaupt and Steinhausen (a physiologist), Fielden recognizes the value of training the fingers to increase their strength and independence.] [36F ielden recommends that the rotation of the forearm should be applied only to passages which contain broken octaves and tremolo passages.] [37L evinskaya does say however, that she studied with Safonoff at the Imperial Moscow Conservatoire, and subsequently with the ‘greatest masters in Western Europe’ (p. ix) i.e. Godowsky, Philip and Matthay. Following these studies, she wrote The Levinskaya System of Pianoforte Technique and Tone-Colour through Mental and Muscular Control (1930: London & Toronto: J. M. Dent & Sons, Ltd).] [38T his extensive survey was undertaken by the International Convention of Symphony and Orchestral Musicians Survey in America (Fishbein et al, 1998). It involved 4000 questionnaires, of which 55% were returned. These revealed that a great many practising musicians suffered from some form of musculoskeletal disorder.] [39T he medical practitioner Wynn Parry (1998) has written a comprehensive account of the surveys conducted since 1986, which have revealed many of the problems, both physical and psychological, that musicians are likely to endure during their performing lives. See Chapter 2, ‘The Musician’s Hand and Arm Pain,’ in The Musician’s Hand: A Clinical Guide. Dystonia is a neurological movement disorder, in which sustained muscle-contractions cause twisting and repetitive movements, or abnormal postures. Tendonitis is a condition of irritation and inflammation of the tendons in the forearm/hand, possibly from repetitive use.] [40 See: The Musician’s Hand: A Clinical Guide, by Wynn Parry (1998).]
Chapter 3 [41B y kind permission of András Szunyoghy, Human Anatomy for Artists (1990: H.F.Ullmann GmbH, Potsdam, Germany).] [42 Ibid.] [43B y kind permission of András Szunyoghy, Human Anatomy for Artists (1990: H.F.Ullmann GmbH, Potsdam, Germany).] [44B y kind permission of András Szunyoghy, Human Anatomy for Artists (1990: H.F.Ullmann GmbH, Potsdam, Germany).] [45B y kind permission of András Szunyoghy, Human Anatomy for Artists (1990) H.F.Ullmann GmbH, Potsdam, Germany.] [46B y kind permission of András Szunyoghy, Human Anatomy for Artists (1990) H.F.Ullmann GmbH, Potsdam, Germany.] [47B y kind permission of András Szunyoghy , Human Anatomy for Artists (1990) H.F.Ullmann GmbH, Potsdam, Germany.] [48B y kind permission of András Szunyoghy, Human Anatomy for Artists (1990) H.F.Ullmann GmbH, Potsdam, Germany.]
[49B y kind permission of András Szunyoghy, Human Anatomy for Artists (1990) H.F.Ullmann GmbH, Potsdam, Germany.] [50 By permission of Tyldesley, B, and Grieve, J, 1996: Muscles, Nerves & Movement: Kinesiology in Daily Living. (Oxford: Blackwell Science Pub).] [51 By permission of Tyldesley, B, and Grieve, J, 1996: Muscles, Nerves & Movement: Kinesiology in Daily Living. (Oxford: Blackwell Science Pub).] [52 By permission of Tyldesley, B, and Grieve, J, 1996: Muscles, Nerves & Movement: Kinesiology in Daily Living. (Oxford: Blackwell Science Pub).] [53 By permission of Tyldesley, B, and Grieve, J, 1996: Muscles, Nerves & Movement: Kinesiology in Daily Living. (Oxford: Blackwell Science Pub).] [54 Gray’s Anatomy of the Human Body (1918).] [55B y permission of András Szunyoghy, Human Anatomy for Artists (1990) H.F.Ullmann GmbH, Potsdam, Germany.] [56B y kind permission of András Szunyoghy, Human Anatomy for Artists (1990) H.F.Ullmann GmbH, Potsdam, Germany.] [57B y kind permission of András Szunyoghy, Human Anatomy for Artists (1990) H.F.Ullmann GmbH, Potsdam, Germany.] [58 By permission of Tyldesley, B. & Grieve, J. (1996), Muscles, Nerves & Movement: Kinesiology in Daily Living. (Oxford: Blackwell Science Pub).] [59 Ibid.] [60T his drawing (see Figure 3.20, below) shows the different parts of the brain which were once thought to function individually.] [61 www.waiting.com/brainanatomy.] [62 Some other views: recent research shows that ‘the brain did not evolve merely to register representations of the world: rather, it evolved for adaptive actions and [my italics] behaviours. It is the entire system of muscles, joints, and proprioceptive and kinesthetic functions and appropriate parts of the brain that evolve and function [move] together in a unitary way (Scott Kelso (1995, p. 268). Freeman (1999) too suggests that the movements of the body emerge through a continuous loop which may be divided into three stages; first, there is ‘the emergence and elaboration within our brains of goals concerning future states towards which we will direct our actions’ (p. 96); second, this ‘involves acting and receiving the sensory consequences of actions, and constructing their meanings’ (p. 96); and third, ‘we modify our brains by learning which guides each successive pattern’ (p. 96). More importantly, he says that each of these three stages is accompanied by dynamic processes in the brain and body which prepare the performer not only for forthcoming actions, but also enable them to carry them out.)] 3 [6 The term to ‘reach’ is the movement of the shoulder blade and the upper arm as it positions or transports the forearm/hand towards the keyboard. The term to ‘grasp’ is the movement of the hand as it grasps the keys.] [64 Ramchandran V.S. and Oberman L. (2009), ‘Reflections on the Mirror Neuron System: Their Evolutionary Functions Beyond Motor Representation’, in Pineda J. (ed). Mirror Neuron Systems: The Role of Mirroring Processes in Social Cognition.] [65 Hickok and Hauser (2010), suggest that the interpretation of mirror neurons supporting action, rather than action understanding, by Rizzolatti, amongst others, was a wrong turn and is no longer compelling. Recent evidence, they say, shows that monkeys do, in fact, exhibit behaviours which support an alternative interpretation. Elsevier (2010), ‘Current Biology’, vol. 20, Issue 14.] 6 [6 Habitus is a learnt skill which humans generally take for granted. The concept of habitus was first used by Aristotle, and reintroduced by the French philosopher Marcel Maus (1950), who defines habitus as those aspects of culture which are anchored in the body. This notion is elaborated on, somewhat later, by Pierre Bourdieu (1977). He suggests that habit is dependent not only upon memory, but also history.]
67 [ Autonoetic consciousness is the human ability to place ourselves mentally in the past, in the future, or in counterfactual situations, and to analyse our own thoughts.] [68 According to a recent study by Jorgensen (1998), it was found that conservatoire students started their practice without ‘efforts to plan and establish goals’ (p. 89).] [69 There are two kinds of analysis; the first is described as ’prescriptive’, and is designed to serve as the basis for performance. This means, according to Goodman (2001), that the analysis essentially dictates the performance (p. 18). The second kind of analysis is ‘descriptive’, and is used to ‘describe aspects of performance’ (p. 18).] 0 [7 S adie, S. ed. (1980), The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (London, Macmillan Publishers Ltd) vol. 5, p.709.] 1 [7 Ibid.] [72 Rink, J. (1999), ‘Analysing Performance and Performing Analysis’, in Rethinking Music: Issues of Historiography, ed. Cook, N. and Everist, M. By permission of Oxford University Press).] [73 La Cathédrale engloutie, by Debussy, is believed to be influenced by a Breton legend which says that the Cathedral was taken below the waves in the fourth or fifth century, because of the misbehaviour of the town’s citizens. On occasions, it was believed to have risen again above the waves. The work is a ‘crucible’ in which Debussy inserts, according to Schmitz, ‘historically heterogeneous materials’, such as ‘plainsong treated in medieval organum’ (1966, p. 155).] [74H ere, Epstein is referring to subjects such as mathematics and physics.] [75 I do not, as can be seen, focus on Debussy’s harmonic style, with his use of organum, modal implications and continuous bass, because in my view it does not - as Schoenberg (1925) observes much against the general trend in thinking at this time - help to determine the form, or ‘shape’ of a musical work.] [76H owat believes the first section lies between bars 1-28, thus giving the Prelude an arch form: A B C B A.] [77 The Golden Section has enormous importance in architecture and painting since ancient times, and is otherwise known as the Golden Mean, or Golden Ratio. In practical terms, this means taking a fixed length and dividing it into two sections so that the ratio of the shorter portion to the longer portion equals the ratio of the longer portion to the entire length.] [78 Debussy, C, Great Composers’ Own Performances, Telfunken, London. Mono, GMA 65.] 79 [ For further reading on the question of whether or not musicology changes the way we perform see: Pereira, R (2007), ‘La cathedrale engloutie: Is musicology changing the way we perform?’, in the Proceedings of the International Symposium on Performance Science, ed. Williamon, A., and Coimbra, D (Association Européenne des Conservatoires Académies de Musique et Musikhockschulen)] [80T he autograph manuscript of ‘La Cathédrale engloutie, bars 67 -73, reproduced by permission of the Robert Owen Lehman Foundation, and the Pierpont Morgan Library, New York.] [81I n Debussy’s letters there is evidence of the effect that the curve of the horizon, had on him - he writes that it issues ‘forth to express itself in the language of music’.] [82P relude no. 5, from Book 2 for piano, by Debussy, 1913, (London, United Music Publishers Ltd.)] [83S . Gracovetsky (1998), ‘The Spinal Engine - Cybernetics’, www.spine.dr.com] [84 A klieg is an intense carbon light produced by a carbon arc-lamp.]
Postnotes
In 1889, Sir Alexander MacKenzie, principal of the Royal Academy of Music, proposed to Sir George Grove, director of the Royal College of Music, that they should unite to create an examining body known as the ABRSM. 1 Their aim was to inspire a ‘musical education… which would genuinely provide a stimulus and an objective for a high standard of achievement’. Since then, the board’s commercial success has enabled it to dominate the grade exam market. This has had, and still has, significant consequences for the organization of musical training for the formation and sustaining of a particular sort of British musical culture, and influencing the musical lives and tastes of millions of people not only in the United Kingdom, but in the Commonwealth and beyond. Nevertheless, their vision was quite remarkable; for over a century it enabled those engaged in the world of performing and teaching to structure their progress through an exam system. However, despite this extraordinary achievement, ‘expert performance’ 2 [remains] rare enough across the larger population [and] ‘artistic performance’ is even less common’3 (Rink 2005). There are many reasons which may account for this, but I will address only two here. First, during the years leading up to grade eight the student will probably prepare one exam a year, each exam being designed to increase in difficulty. At each level the student will perform three pieces of music, so that on average the student will have worked for ten years on twenty one pieces of music. Once they have gained a place in a music department at a university, or at a conservatoire (for which a grade eight standard is essential), they will then spend three or four years preparing pieces for a diploma. Once again this entails a recital each year, which consists of three or four contrasting pieces, for which they are usually ill-prepared. As Rosen (2002) writes ‘the lack of performance experience, lack of freedom to develop at one’s own pace and the constraint of stylistic standards imposed by a teaching staff and by the administration’ (: 96); and, not being allowed to learn only those pieces which they really love, often imposes an intolerable burden on the student. The second reason may be that throughout the student’s development the musical score is almost invariably studied in isolation from the role of the body, apart from one area that has always attracted attention which is ‘technique’. Technique plays a fundamental role in the preparation of a musical work for performance, yet it is a term which is still fairly illdefined, and usually refers to the work of the fingers alone, without any reference to the
role of the body as a whole. Technique, as I pointed out in the Preface, is described by Maus (1950) as an action of a physical nature, and as I have attempted to show throughout this book, the performers ‘first and most technical object, and at the same time technical means is his [her] body’ (: 104). So far there has been no precedent for a book of this kind which addresses the role of the body, or more specifically the function or movement of the body in performance, and its ability to control the pacing of the music, thereby ‘shaping’ it for performance. It is hoped that this approach may contribute toward the beginning of a ‘rethink’ in piano performance by kindling the notion that ‘expert pianism’ cannot be achieved by pursuing the exam route exclusively, rather it can be achieved by encouraging pedagogues and performers to develop themselves more fully by exploring recent research at the interface between science and the art of piano performance, with the aim of overcoming the mind/body dualism which is still all pervasive. On a final note, Rosen (2002) writes that ‘almost all books on how to play the piano are absurd, and …any dogmatic system of teaching technique is pernicious’. 4 This is a view with which I agree wholeheartedly, and my only hope is that through the wide variety of views which have been presented here, I have been able to provide the performer with a broader range of opportunities for self discovery.
[1]A BRSM, or the Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music. [2]E xpert performance as defined by Sloboda (1985), requires expert listening, sophisticated storage of the music, and the ability retrieve it in performance, and much else besides. [3]C hopin and the Technique of Performance’, in Chopin in Performance: History, Theory, Practice (2005), ed. Artur Szklener ( Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina, Warsaw, Poland) pp.225-38 [4]R osen, C., 2002: See the Chapter on the ‘Body and Mind’ in Piano Notes (New York, Free Press, Simon & Schuster).
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY
LITERATURE IN THE HISTORICAL SURVEY
Bach, C.P.E., [1753] 1974: Essay on the True Art of Playing Keyboard Instrument ( London, Eulenburg Books). Clementi, Muzio, 1974: Introduction to the Art of Playing on the Piano Forte (New York, Da Capo Press). Couperin, F., 1716: L’Art de Toucher le Clavecin (Paris). Czerny, Carl, 1839: Complete Theoretical and Practical Piano Forte School, opus 500, p.129. (London R, Cocks & Company). Diruta, Girolamo, c.1600: Transilvano Sopra il Viro Modo di Sonare Organie Stromenti di Pena (Venice). Dussek, J. L., 1796: Instructions on the Art of Playing the Piano Forte or harpsichord (London). Forkel, Nikolaus, 1920: Johann Sebastian Bach (London, Constable & Co.) Kalkbrenner, Frederick Wilhelm, 1830: Méthode pour Apprende le Piano à L’aide du Guide-Main, op.108. (Paris J. Messonnier Fils). Kontski, A., c. 1885: L’indispensable du Pianiste (Berlin). Kullak, Theodor, 1893: The Aesthetics of Pianoforte-Playing, trans. Dr Theodore Baker from the 3rd German edition, 1972: Reprint (New York, Da Capo Press). Lambert, M., de St: Les Principes du Clavecin (Paris, dates unknown). Logier, Johann Bernhardt, 1816: An Explanation and Description of the Royal Patent Chiroplast or Hand Director: A newly invented Apparatus for Facilitating the Acquirement of a Proper Execution on the Pianoforte (London, Clementi & Co.). Rameau, Jean Philippe, 1724: Méthode sur la Mechanique des Doigts sur le Clavecin (Paris). Schumann, R., [1854] 1956: ‘On Music and Musicians’, in S. Morgenstern, ed. Composers on Music (New York, Pantheon Books, Inc.).
LITERATURE ON THE ROLE OF THE BODY IN PIANO PERFORMANCE 18501965
American Journals: The Etude, 1833 The Musician The Music Quarterly The Resumé
Ansermet, E., 1924: ‘Qu’est-ce que la “Rythmique”?’ Le Rhythme, 12. Bauer, Harold, 1943: ‘Self-Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man’, in The Music Quarterly, vol. XXIX, no. 2, April, p.158. Bolton, Hetty, 1937: How to Practise: A Handbook for Piano Students (London, Elkin & Co.). Bolton, Hetty, 1954: On Teaching the Piano (London, Novello and Co.). Bonpensiere, Luigi, 1952: New Pathways to Piano Techniques: A Study of The Relations between Mind and Body with Special Reference to Piano Playing (New York, Philosophical Library). Brèe, M., 1927, Die Grundlage der Methode Leschetizky (Mainz). Breithaupt, R.M., 1905: Natural Piano Technic: The School of Weight-Touch, trans. John Bernhoff (Leipzig, C.F. Kahnt Nachfolger), 2 vols. Brower, Harriett, 1909: ‘Reconstructing the Hand’, The Musician, no.11. Brower, Harriette, 1923: ‘Where Technique and Mechanics Differ’, The Musician, XXV111, no. 9 (September). Caland, Elizabeth, 1903: Artistic Piano Playing as Taught b y Ludwig Deppe, trans. Stevenson, E. S., (Nashville, Tenn. The Olympian Publishing Co.). Campbell, Le Roy B., 1922: ‘The True Foundation of Relaxation in Piano Playing: A Treatise on the Psycho-Physical Aspect of Piano Playing with Exercises for Acquiring Relaxation’, (St Louis, Art Publication Society).
Ching, James, 1934: Piano Technique: Foundation Principles (London, Bosworth and Co.). Ching, James, 1946: Piano Playing, A Practical Method: A Rationale of the Psychological and Practical Problems of Pianoforte Playing and Teaching in the form of twenty-five lectures originally given in London in the years 1944-45 (London, Bosworth and Co.) Cortot, Alfred, 1930: The Rational Principles of Piano Technique, trans. LeRoyMétaxas (Paris, Salabert). Czerny, Carl, 1839: Complete Theoretical and Practical Piano Forte School, Op. 500 (London, R Cocks and Co.) David H. T., and Mendel A., 1966: The Bach Reader (London, Dent and Son Ltd). Debussy, Claude, [1903] 1962: Gil Blas, 2nd Feb. in Three Classics in the Aesthetics of Music (New York). Ehrenfechter, C.A., 1891: Technical Study in the Art of Pianoforte-playing: Deppe’s Principles (London, William Reeves). Eigeldinger, Jean-Jacques, 1986: Chopin: Pianist and Teacher (CUP). Fay, Amy, 1890: The Deppe Finger Exercises for Rapidly Developing an Artistic Touch in Pianoforte Playing (Chicago, S.W. Straube & Co.). Fay, Amy, 1979: Music Study in Germany (New York, Dacapo Press). Fielden, Thomas, 1927: The Science of Pianoforte Technique (London, Macmillan and Co.). Fielden, Thomas, 1932-33: ‘The History of the Evolution of Piano Technique’, Proceedings of the Musical Association, 58. Fielden, Thomas, 1937: Marks and Remarks. Musical Examinations and Their Problems (London, OUP). Fielden, Thomas, 1948: Marks and Remarks. Musical Examinations and Their Problems (London, OUP). Fielden, Thomas, 1949: Music and Character (London, Nicholson and Watson). Fielden, Thomas, 1949: A New Approach to Scales, Arpeggios, combining them with Technical Exercises (London, Joseph William). Fiset, Gene, 1940: ‘Piano Technique Through Science’, Keyboard, April.
Gerig, R., 1976: Famous Pianists and Their Technique (Newton Abbot, David Charles). Godowsky, L., 1933: ‘The Best Method is Eclectic’, The Etude (November, vol. 51) p. 784. Gray, H., 1918: Anatomy of the Human Body (New York, Leas and Febiger). Haake, Charles, 1921: ‘Modern Piano Technic-How New is it?’, Music Teachers’ National Association Proceedings, 16th series. Harrison, Sidney, 1953: The Young Person’s Guide to Playing the Piano (London, Pitman). Hofmann, Josef, 1909: Piano Playing (New York, Dover Publications, Inc.). Hudson, R., 1994: Stolen Time: The History of Tempo Rubato (OUP). Jackson, Edwin Ward, 1865: Gymnastics for the Fingers and Wrists (London, Truebner & Co.). Langer, S., 1977: Feeling and Form: A Theory of Art (Macmillan, New York). Levinskaya, Maria, 1930: The Levinskaya System of Pianoforte Technique and ToneColour through Mental and Muscular Control (London and Toronto, J. M. Dent and Sons Ltd). Lhévinne, Joseph, 1912: ‘Good Tone is Born in the Player’s Mind’, trans. Bower, Harriet, The Musician, vol 28, 7. Lhévinne, Joseph, 1972: Basic Principles in Pianoforte Playing (New York, Dover Publications.). Logier, Johann Bernhard, 1816: ‘An Explanation and Description of the Royal Patent Chiroplast or Hand-Director’, (Dublin, Clementi and Co.). Long, M., 1960: Au Piano avec Claude Debussy (Paris, Julliard). Lukacs-Schuck, Anna, 1897: Reform of Piano Playing (Budapest). Mackenzie, Collin, 1921: ‘The Action of Muscles, Including Muscle Rest and Muscle Re-education’, ed. by Charles Mackay (New York, P.B.Hoeber). Mason, W., 1897: Touch and Technic: Artistic Piano Playing, vols. 1-4 (Philadelphia, Theodore Presser Co.). Mason, W., [1901] 1970: Memories of a Musical Life (New York, The Century Co.). Matthay, Tobias, 1903: The Act of Touch in All its Diversity (London, Bosworth and
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LITERATURE FROM 1965-2013
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in the Coordination of Prehension Movements’, in Hand and Brain, Wing, A., Haggard, P., and Randall, J., (New York, Academic Press Inc.). Gibbs, R., 2006: Embodiment and Cognitive Science (New York, CUP). Gibson, J., 1980: ‘The Varieties of Human Movement’, in E. S. Reed E.S., and Gibson, J., The Psychology of Perception (Yale University Press). Glazier, P., Davids, K., Bartlett, B., 2003: ‘Dynamical Systems Theory: A Relevant Framework for Performance-Oriented Sports Biomechanics Research’, Sportscience 7,sportsci.org/jour/03/ psg.htm. Goleman, Daniel, 1996: Emotional Intelligence (London, Bloomsbury Publications). Goodman, Elaine, 2000: Analysing the Ensemble in Music Rehearsal and Performance: The Nature and Effects of Interaction in Cello-Piano Duos (London, Dissertation, University of London). Gritten, A., 2009: ‘Why is Ergonomics Useful for Performing?’, Paper at the conference ‘The Musical Body: Gesture, Representation and Ergonomics in Performance’, Institute of Musical Research, and the Royal College of Music, (London, 22-24 April). Haake, C., 1921: ‘Modern Piano Technic-How New is it?’, Music Teacher’s National Association Proceedings, 16th series. Harré, R., 1991: Physical Being: A Theory for Corporeal Being (Oxford, Blackwell). Hickok, G., and Hauser, M., 2010: ‘(Mis)understanding Mirror Neurons’, Current Biology, CB, 20 (14). Hasty, Christopher, 1997: Meter as Rhythm (OUP). Holsinger, B., 2001: Body and Desire in Medieval Culture (Stanford University Press, California). Horowitz, Joseph, 1982: Conversations with Arrau (London, Collins). Howell, Tim, 1992: ‘Analysis and Performance: The Search for a Middleground’, in Paynter, J., et al eds. Companion to Contemporary Musical Thought (London, Routledge), vol. 11, p. 692. Hughes, E., 1915: ‘Musical Memory in Piano Playing and Piano Study’, in The Music Quarterly,1. Hussein, Iqbal, and MacKie, Cristine, 2011: ‘An Inquiry into the Function of the Torso and its Potential for a Relationship with the Music’, in Proceedings of the International
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Raibert M., 1988: ‘Balance and Symmetry in Running’, in Natural Computation, ed. Richards, W., (Cambridge, MA, MIT Press). Rasche, P.J., and Burke, R.K., 1989: Kinesiology and Applied Anatomy: The Science of Human Movement (Philadelphia). Repp, Bruno, 1993: ‘Music as Motion’, A Synopsis of Alexander Truslit’s Gestaltung und Bewegung in der Musik, in The Journal of the Society for Research in Psychology of Music and Music Education. vol. 21. Ridley, Aaron, 1995: Music, Value and the Passions (Ithaca, Cornell Press). Rink, J., 1990: ‘Review of Berry’ 1989, in Music Analysis, 9/3. Rink, J., (1999) ‘Translating Musical Meaning: The Nineteenth-Century Performer as Narrator’, in Rethinking Music, ed, Cook, N., and Everist, M., (New York, OUP). Rink, J., 2002: ed. Musical Performance: A Guide to Understanding (CUP). Rink, J., 2002: ‘Analysis and (or?) Performance’, in Musical Performance: A Guide to Understanding (CUP), ed. Rink, J., Rizzolatti, G., and Craighero, L., 2004: ‘Mirror Neuron Systems’. Annual Review of Neuroscience, 27. Rizzolatti, G., 2006: Mirrors in the Brain, (OUP). Rizzolatti G., and Sinigaglia C., 2010: ‘The Functional Role of the Parieto-Frontal Mirror Circuit: Interpretations and Misinterpretations’, Nature Reviews Neuroscience, 11 (4), pp. 264-274. Rosen, C., 2002: Piano Notes (New York, Freepress, Simon & Schuster). Runeson, S., 1984: ‘Perceiving People through their Movements’, in Individual Differences in Movement, ed. Kirkaldy, B., (Lancaster, M.T.P Press). Runeson, S., 1983: ‘Kinematic Specification of Dynamics as an Informational Basis for Person-and-Action Perception: Expectations, Gender, Recognition and Deceptive Intention’, in Journal of Experimental Psychology: General, 112, pp. 585-615. Sachs, C., 1943: The Rise of Music in the Ancient World, East and West (London, Dent and Sons). Sachs, C., 1953: Rhythm and Tempo. A Study in Music History (New York, W.W. Norton and Co.). Sachs, H., 1982: Virtuoso (Thames and Hudson). Sadie, Stanley., 1980: ed. The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (London,
Macmillan Pub), vol. 20. Salisbury and Craig, 1988: ‘Articulated Hands: Force Control and Kinematic Issues’, in The International Society of Robotics, vol 1, no.1, Saltzer F., 1982: Structural Hearing: Tonal Coherence in Music (New York, Dover Pub), vols 1 and 2. Samson, Jim, 1996: Chopin (OUP). Sandor, Georgy., 1981: On Piano Playing, Motion, Sound and Expression (New York, Schirmer Books). Schaffer, L. H., 1976: ‘Intention and Performance’, Psychological Review, 83, pp. 37595. Schaffer, L.H., 1981: ‘Performances of Chopin, Bach and Bartok: Studies in Motor Programming’, Cognitive Psychology, 13, pp. 326-76. Schaffer, L. H., 1882: ‘Rhythm and Timing in Skill’, Psychological Review 89, pp. 109–23. Schenker, Heinrich, 1980: Harmony, trans. Borgese, E.M. (Chicago, Schenker, Heinrich, 2000: The Art of Performance (OUP). Schmalfeldt, Janet, 1985: ‘On the Relationship of Analysis to Performance: Beethoven’s Bagatelles, op.126, no’s 2 and 5’, Journal of Music Theory 29/1 pp. 1-31. Schmitz, Robert, 1950: The Piano Works of Debussy (Dover Publications). Schusterman, R., 2008: Body Consciousness: A Philosophy of Mindfulness and Somaesthetics (CUP). Scott-Kelso, J.A., 1982: Human Motor Behaviour: An Introduction (London, Lawrence Erlbaum Association). Scully, D.M., 1986: ‘Visual Perception of Technical Execution and Aesthetic in Biological Motion’, in Human Movement, Science 5, (University of Chicago Press). Shove, P., and Repp, B., 1995: ‘Musical Motion and Performance: Theoretical and Empirical Perspectives’, in The Practice of Performance: Studies in Musical Interpretation, ed. Rink, J., (CUP). Smith, R., 1986: ‘Creative Motion’, in Epta Journal, vol, 7, no. 20, June. Sound Archives, British Library: http:// cadensa.bl.uk. Starkes, J., 1993: ‘Cognitive Issues in Motor Expertise’, in Advances in Psychology, 104, ed. Stelmach and Vroon, Elsevier Science BV, (Amsterdam, Netherlands).
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Praise for the Author’s Work
‘The critical role of the body in musical performance has often been downplayed in both instrumental teaching and scholarship. Cristine MacKie’s innovative approach seeks to redress this balance in highly practical ways, and builds upon a wealth of experience and a thorough knowledge of relevant physiology.’ Dr Henry Stobart, Department of Music, Royal Holloway, University of London, UK.
‘Cristine MacKie has investigated many factors affecting musicians’ performance, both physical and mental from the point of view of an experienced piano pedagogue. Her work is an exciting and valuable contribution to the world of music teaching.’ Dr Robert Hanson, Director of Music, Morley College, London.
‘It is critical that pianists understand the science of piano performance as much as t he art.’ Sofya Gulyak the first woman to win the Leeds International Piano competition.
‘I believe that Cristine MacKie’s approach helped me to become a better and more expressive performer; it gave me a sense of freedom that I will always be grateful for.’ Harriet Power M.Mus student at Royal Holloway, University of London.
Cristine MacKie is ‘one of the foremost leading advocates in the UK of the mind/body approach to piano performance.’ The Music Teacher (April 2014).
Cristine MacKie has contributed to each of the International Symposium on Performance Science in 2007, 2009 & 2011. Her proposals ‘were reviewed enthusiastically by the ISPS Scientific Committee for their originality, importance, clarity and interdisciplinarity’.
Professor Aaron Williamon, Professor of Performance Science, Royal College of Music, London. UK.
